Purple Golf Cart: The Misadventures of a Lesbian Grandma (10 page)

My true feelings—what were they? Did I even know? I stuffed them down when I was a kid, knowing I was so different from family and friends because of my sexual orientation and because of the colitis. I stuffed down grief when beloved grandparents died, though I think the “happy, happy” culture of my family sometimes actually served me well on some level. If everything was happy, then nothing was sad, so when my grandmother Frances died I didn’t know how to feel my sadness. Years later, I couldn’t share my true feelings with and for Mitra when she and I lived together, and certainly not my feelings about getting married. The only depth of feeling I allowed myself was my infinite love for my children. So what did I do? I left them! But I couldn’t stay! I would have died. No drama here, just truth. I was physically and emotionally ill. I would have died if I had stayed, and THAT kind of leaving would have been final. I wasn’t ready to do that now.

The sharing of the children worked for Jake and me, but I felt so incredibly sad when I had to take the kids back to him. I cried every night, wondering if they were crying, too. Did they miss their mom? Did they need my hugs and kisses as much as I needed theirs? Both Berit and Erik were such loving children, always touching me, always wanting my arms around them. They loved their mom, I had no doubt, and I loved them—still love them—so deeply.

Today, as I understand the struggle to avoid my feelings back then, I miss what I missed, and I know I can never regain those years.

~~~~~~

August 20, 1979. The day our divorce was final. Jake and I worked out the details over the months as we practiced our joint custody set-up. But when we went to court to finalize our divorce—on August 20, 1979—the show belonged to Jake’s mother Cynda.

August 20, 1979. The day I lost custody of my children. Jake’s parents provided him with the best lawyer in our county. I had Legal Aid. The courtroom was in a stately old Southern-style building in the heart of an old Southern-style town with old Southern-style attitudes. The judge, a long-time crony of Jake’s parents, peered down at me with the most condescending glare I’d ever experienced. His voice was deep and booming and deliberate and scary. It made me shudder.

“I award full custody of the two children in question to their father. Young lady, if you have any intentions whatsoever of ever seeing your children again, do not fight this. Considering your, uh, situation and your, uh, lifestyle, you have no rights under the law in this state to have children. You will have the right to visitation two days every other week if you don’t fight this. The children’s father will select the two days, neither of which is to be on a Sunday because the children will be in church with their grandparents.”

What???? That’s not how Jake and I worked it out! We shared weekly duties and we alternated full weekends with the children. That’s how it was supposed to be! Not this! I seethed! We were supposed to have the children equally!

“I’m so sorry, Ronni. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” My lawyer seemed as shocked as I. “They pulled a fast one. They can do that.”

“Do WHAT? What just happened here?” My panic was visible in the courtroom. My attorney was nearly crying.

“It’s the law. No kids. No joint custody.”

“Young lady,” the judge said again in an exasperated and still condescending tone. He looked like a missing-link mammal. “I’m sure you know the law regarding…” he looked disgusted in his Southern hesitation and then enunciated every syllable, “hom-a-sek-sha-al-a-teh.”

I looked at Jake, his head hanging low on his chest. His mother sat next to him, beaming, looking every bit as wicked as I knew her to be. I knew in an instant who was behind this.

This day was the nightmare of my life. For 20 years I hid my truth because I was afraid I would lose the people I love. And now—damn it!—I told the truth about myself and my deepest fears were validated. That day, that August 20, 1979, I lost custody of my children because I told the truth, because I’m a lesbian. I died a death that day, and unknowingly, I was also reborn.

Several months later I lost my job at Burdines Department Store because of my sexual orientation. Fuck the state of Florida and its hateful laws.

13. Out On My Own

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1980

U.S. President
: Jimmy Carter

Best film
: Ordinary People; Raging Bull, The Elephant Man, Coal Miner’s Daughter

Best actors
: Robert De Niro, Sissy Spacek

Best TV shows
: Lou Dobbs Tonight; Bosom Buddies; Magnum P.I.

Best songs
: Another One Bites the Dust, Upside Down, Lady, It’s Still Rock and Roll To Me, Woman in Love, Funkytown, The Rose, Ride Like the Wind, Lost in Love, Do That To Me One More Time

Civics
: Iraqi war begins; U.S. Supreme Court upholds limits on aid for abortion

Popular Culture
: John Lennon killed; Ted Turner launches CNN.

Deaths
: Erich Fromm, Alfred Hitchcock, John Lennon, Jesse Owens, Jean Piaget, Jean-Paul Satre, Mae West

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As I was learning to live on my own, I desperately needed information about what it meant to be a lesbian. While I was a lesbian in my head for 20 years, I had no idea how to court another woman or what to do when a woman was interested in me, and I sure didn’t know how to be sexual with a woman. I needed instructions. Patsy and her girlfriend Dawn gave me a book called The Joy of Lesbian Sex. They said I should call them if I had questions. I called constantly!

I started the dating process very slowly. Debbie, my first girlfriend, was an outdoorsy young woman and invited me to go boating with her. I wasn’t sure but I thought it might be an actual date, my first woman-date. It was. She brought sandwiches, sodas, and fishing gear. Her small motor boat was in tow behind her 1975 Ford pick-up. We put the boat into the water at Sanford Harbor and motored up the St. Johns River, stopping in the area of Blue Springs near Deland for a picnic. As Debbie handed a sandwich to me, she leaned over and kissed me. I held my breath, my eyes wide open. OOooooo….my first real-woman kiss! So gentle, so sweet, so soft. In the daylight of the warm Florida sun, she put her arm around my waist and kissed me again. My heart pounded. So this is what it was like! I liked it! It was everything I knew it would be. We kissed again. Nothing else, just sweet kisses. It was all I needed, and really, the thought of anything more scared me and my inexperienced self! Young Debbie was the perfect gentlewoman. We continued boating, marveling at the flora and fauna of the river, and at the beauty of the day.

I read The Joy of Lesbian Sex with amazement! We’re supposed to do THAT!??! How on earth...???? After about the 20th call to Patsy and Dawn, they suggested that I needed to meet with a pro. A pro what?

“You just need a good teacher, Ronni, and we know the best.” They set up a sex lesson for me with Eileen, a woman 25 years my senior but with the reputation of being THE best lover, bar none. I dressed in my tightest tank top and shortest shorts and showed up at Eileen’s house at the appointed time. I couldn’t wait to begin, to learn, to eventually have the same reputation as Eileen! Illusions of lesbian grandeur!

As Eileen began to work on me, I quickly realized that she was about to do things that seemed awfully risqué, and risky! I don’t think I’d gotten to that chapter in The Joy of Lesbian Sex! Some of her, uh, techniques just did not seem joyful to me at all! I did the only thing that made sense to me. I left! Actually, I ran out of Eileen’s house, carrying more of my clothes than what I was wearing, and high-tailed it right back to my apartment. So much for my sex lessons. I was left to my own devices and novice explorations, illusions of lesbian sexual grandeur shot to hell.

Another time, several months later, after Patsy and Dawn broke up, and during a time when I had a whopping case of laryngitis, Patsy called me. Patsy was the lesbian extraordinaire of Orlando back then. Everybody wanted to date her, but she selected her escorts, dates, and lovers judiciously. Her method of operation was to ask one woman to take her to the dance club, then go home with someone else, all the while dancing with many others in between. Everyone knew that was how Patsy worked, and apparently no one cared. I figured she’d never be attracted to me since she could have anyone she wanted, so I didn’t play those games with her. As a result, we had an easy friendship. During this bout of laryngitis, Patsy called me for something, but she was apparently attracted to the deep raspy sound of my voice. She asked me to take her to the club that night. Me! I had not intended to go out because I was so sick, but this was Patsy! And I was the one she asked! YES! My turn! Laryngitis be damned!

I arrived at Patsy’s condo at the appointed time and knocked. She opened the door and kissed me lightly. She took my hand and led me to her living room. I’d heard about her set-up but could never have anticipated this. The living room walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors, with candles strategically placed around the room, glowing softly. Patsy sat me down on the white leather couch, no words spoken. On the coffee table were two glasses of wine and two marijuana joints. Patsy leaned over to kiss me. I quickly surveyed the situation: I’m sitting on a white leather couch with Patsy who already scares me. The reflecting candlelight made it all look surreal. I was sick as a dog. I don’t smoke pot! I panicked! I slugged down the wine and bolted for the door! I could hear Patsy cackle as I ran out, back to my apartment and the safety of my bed, snuggly under the covers. I saw Patsy often after that episode. She graciously never mentioned it to me or to anyone, her trademark.

Shortly after the non-evening with Patsy, someone loaned a book to me, not about sexual training but a book of lesbian poetry. I don’t remember the book’s name, but there was a poem in it called How to Make Love to a Woman if You’re a Woman. The poem said something like, “Know what you like, then do that.” I didn’t know what I liked. I got a copy of JoAnn Loulan’s Lesbian Passion: Loving Ourselves and Each Other. That did it! Maybe I wasn’t as proficient as Eileen, but I developed enough of a fun technique that women seemed to enjoy.

~~~~~

If Patsy was the woman most desired among Orlando lesbians, Cheri Goyette was the lesbian ring leader. Her house was home-base for many lesbians in the Orlando area, it seemed, and Cheri often provided me and many others a place to stay when we needed it. She was incredibly opinionated and highly animated but amazingly generous. She had a gruff demeanor and was strong as a friggin’ ox.

I remember the second time I saw Cheri, the first being at that NOW meeting. It was at the Parliament House club in Orlando. She always had an entourage, and walked with a swagger that made John Wayne look like a drag queen. I watched Cheri saunter into the Parliament that night, moving slowing, deliberately, with a group of women behind her. Without even looking—I swear!—Cheri tossed a giant wad of keys over her shoulder. They landed on a table that was already occupied by several women. Without hesitation, the women deferred to Cheri and vacated the table. That’s how she worked. She was tough, she owned the place, and everyone knew it. Yet she had a heart that was huge and open. Years later I helped her get a job in the AIDS Surveillance office with the Florida Health Department in Orlando. Cheri Goyette died a few of years ago but her swagger lives on, in my memory and now in my writing.

~~~~~~

I had no money because I had no job. I kept getting fired for being a lesbian. Therefore, I had no transportation. When Jake and I separated, I got our old orange MG Midget which was already on its last wheel. I traded it for a little blue Datsun pickup truck. I had an orange stripe and University of Florida insignia painted on either side. But lack of employment and funds forced me to trade my truck for a beat-up old car that didn’t work very well. Then no car. Jake’s father occasionally loaned his old car to me on the days I had the children, which I’m sure chapped Cynda’s ass.

I needed reliable, regular transportation so I bought a motorcycle, a light blue Kawasaki 250. I hated it from the day I got it but it was all I could afford, and didn’t “dykes ride bikes” anyway? I remember one day when I was trying to impress a potential girlfriend, I was at a dead stop in her driveway. The engine wasn’t even on. I will never understand how I fell over sideways. I felt like Arte Johnson, the little guy who always fell over sideways on his tricycle on the Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In television show in the late 1960s. I was so happy to get rid of that thing. I just wasn’t that kind of dyke!

~~~~~

Researcher Vivienne Cass created a model of sexual identity development in 1979. She theorized that there are six stages through which each lesbian or gay person must go before they are fully synergistically integrated into their sexual orientation. Stage One happens when one realizes she or he is different but unwilling to deal with it. For twenty years I was in the Cass Stage One in which I remained silent, closeted, unwilling to acknowledge my sexual orientation to anyone. Stage Two occurred when I accidentally found relevant information at the Sisterhood Bookstore. I realized I wasn’t the only one and finally told another person about myself. Stage Three was about becoming comfortable in my identity as a lesbian. Stage Four happened when I found the lesbians of Orlando and became part of a community. Stage Five is leadership, and Stage Six is full integration of my sexual orientation with all my other identities—as a woman, a Jewish person, a white person. That had not happened yet back then, but I was on my way.