Dialogue in Family

I have been blessed with grandparents who have lived long, connected lives to their grandchildren. Recently the first of my grandparents passed away. Grandma Pearly lived in Florida for much of my life and while I loved her deeply, we didn't always get along. At times, I did not feel respected by her for who I am. I share the following story and accompanying details because one of the deepest lessons I learned from her came out of this struggle.

My hair was always too short for her. In middle and high school, the first thing she'd say to me when we talked on the phone was "Do you have a boyfriend?" (or at least that's how I remember it). She was annoyed with my baggy t-shirts often saying, "That should be ironed." Sometimes before I went to visit her in Florida, I would strategically go shopping looking for more "feminine" clothes (a tighter shirt, less baggy shorts). And even when I would wear these clothes -- I would hear the same comments. These comments wouldn't anger me -- they were just annoying. Once I came out as gay and had a girlfriend, I wondered when or if I would talk to her about this identity of mine. I remember thinking, "Did she know this about me all along and think she was going to change me with her comments? Or will she be relieved that I finally started dating? Or is she homophobic?"

One of my last visits with her in her Florida home I decided I'd come out to my 90+ year old grandma. It is a conversation I hold on to so dearly now.  "Grandma, there's someone I want you to know about," I said as I pulled out a picture of me with my girlfriend, at that time. "Nooo," she said shaking a bit. "I don't want to know." She didn't say this in a stern way. It sounded to me like she didn't want to know this truth about me. I continued anyway. "This is my girlfriend" and preceded to tell my grandma about her, what we did together. She asked me if I was sure I was gay and I said yes. Then she wanted to know if I just couldn't find a boy. I said I wasn't interested in men. She continued to search for clarity about why I "turned out this way." I asked her why she didn't want me to be gay. You can't have kids, was her reply. I dispelled that myth for her. She wanted to know if it was because I went to an all-women's college. I dispelled that myth for and I told her I came out in high school. She talked about the Holocaust and the discrimination I would face as someone who is gay. She talked about my liberal "hippie" parents. I said it wasn't about them. She shared some of her other fears with me. I can't even remember them all anymore. Our conversation remained calm--it was a quiet dialogue about stereotypes, differences, identities, generations. Almost an hour passed and the conversation ended with her telling me about another relative in our family that is gay and how supportive she was to this family member. And then she said, "Okay, Emma. Your grandfather and I used to invite my school principal over for dinner when I was a teacher. He used to bring his partner over." That's how it ended. For me, I said what I wanted to my grandma. I wanted her to know more about her granddaughter. And by the end, I saw her final comment as a way to say, "Emma it is okay that you are gay."

It wasn't perfect after that conversation. But after some gentle reminders from my dad to "ask Emma about her partner," she did (although often asking, "How is your friend?"). I would smile upon hearing this because to me it showed me that people can change.

Change is slow and requires that we be open to dialoguing with others -- sharing insecurities, questions, stories. We must share our vulnerabilities with others. Sometimes we can plan parts of the dialogue, as I had done. Sometimes dialogues come at unexpected moments, catch us off guard and we can respond with anger and hurt, as some moments had felt with my grandma. In the end, I am so honored and blessed to have had a grandma who at 90-something was willing to sit with her 20-something granddaughter and talk. I could be honest with what I needed and wanted from my grandma and say confidently, "I am not changing." And she could eventually hear this and say, "Okay and I love you."

In my last visit with her, I showed her some videos of my teaching. She was a teacher in New York City. It was a beautiful last visit that I will forever cherish, especially when she said with excitement, "You can wear pants as a teacher!" We ate some Jewish baked goods and Noodle Kugel. And without any prompts she asked me about my girlfriend. Change is possible at any age, indeed.