First, let me say that my son had a great time. Second, let me say that POB (partner of blogger) and I did the least we could do. Everyday we star in our own MasterCard commercial. In this case, paying for an all-in party at Chelsea Piers bowling alley, $___; seeing your kid smile, PRICELESS.
We were greeted by the shift manager, a friendly enough woman. She failed to enunciate when she said her name and between the thumping music (which I forced them to turn down) and my middle aged ears, I couldn’t catch her name. Not to worry, my middle aged brain would have forgotten it in seconds anyway. She asked who was the mother and we both said, “we are”. Shock and consternation showed on her face. She then asked, “are there two birthday boys?” Ok, maybe she was thinking she needed to charge extra or maybe she was worried that there was some foul-up. But this is NEW YORK CITY on GAY PR IDE WEEKEND. (As for our family, we’re here, we’re queer, we are sooooo over it.)
Ok, so it took a few screams in all of our ear canals to get the point across (remember there was the thumping, party tape playing — another gift by the gay community) in order for the manager to understand that there were two Moms and that all was the same as planned. Phew. One small step for us, one giant step for GAY families.
My dad arrived early but not as early as usual so I was tempted to start a police manhunt to track him down. (He is almost 90 and I worry.) I waited outside and caught him as he was passing the place. He noted the loud music and then I wondered to myself, how can he hear the loud music but not hear me screaming “DAD!!!!” on the pier. A cosmic puzzlement. One of the moms of our son’s friends asked Dad, “whose father are you?” (as in is your daughter POB or Blogger?). My dad misunderstood the question, and answered, “No father. Two moms.” He came over to me later and suggested that someone didn’t realize the family dynamics and whether he should have a word with her. G-d bless my Dad. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the mom-in-question already told me about the mis-communication. So, I said, “Another time, Dad, and thanks.”
It is my son’s day, but I need to have a moment about my Dad. Sometimes, being the sandwich generation has it joyful moments.
I have spent the day putting together Star Wars lego battle cruisers, whatever. Every parent can relate. That’s why we don’t march in the parade. Who has time when there are Lego projects and Little League and Hebrew School and birthday parties?
I get emails from my college friends asking about the birthday party. I did NOT tell them (not that I wouldn’t but we had facial moisturizer to discuss). But one is “friends” with my sister who posted pictures of the event. You can run but you can’t hide.
