From: Sam Damon <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 2 Apr 1994 19:32:48 -0500 (EST)

I meant to upload this humorous piece pre-Xmas '93 but was too busy to do
so.  I guess it's still  applicable now since many people went home for
Easter/Passover.  It's somewhat dated (ie the TV shows listed ... early/mid
80's?) and relies on stereotypes but older gays (25+ yrs old) seem to enjoy
it for nostalgia's sake if nothing else.  I'm not sure where my photocopy
came from.

============

"Despite what Thomas Wolfe said, you not only *can* go home again, but about
this time of year you may *have* to!  Remember, though, that donning your
"gay apparel" is only good at a songfest, not for --

SURVIVING A HOLIDAY VISIT HOME
   advice from Alan Banks

There are many ways to prepare for a visit home for the holidays.  One way
is to brush up with a phrasebook of regional expressions -- "Pleased to meet
you, ma'am," and "Hot enough for you?" for example.  Another way is to go
through an old high school yearbook or family album, reminding yourself that
the awful way you looked back then is the way most of them still look now. 
Unfortunately, the best preparation for a visit home is to spend a couple of
days inside your closet.  And I don't mean trying on outfits.

Even if your family knows Your Terrible Secret, there will still be a wide
cultural gulf to bridge.  When you ask to see a newspaper, you might be
passed a copy of the National Enquirer, or worse, USA Today.  When you ask
what's been going on in theatre locally, you'll be pointed to the newest
Neil Simon comedy, or possibly a splatter movie.

Certain of your behaviors will appear strange and exotic.  They may not, for
example, be able to understand napping after dinner and getting up at 11:00
p.m.  to go out.  Your sister may inquire why it is important to leave one
button on your fly open at all times.  Your brother may suggest that casual
wear dictates one or two buttons undone on a sport shirt, not five or six. 
Your father may offer to loan you a pair of pajamas.  Remember to react with
forbearance when they say, "Yick!  Black sneakers!" Just keep telling
yourself: It's not their fault.

With any luck your hair will pose no problem, since it probably looks a lot
like your folks used to wear it in the forties end fifties.  They may even
compliment you on your good taste in crew cuts, flat tops or d.a.'s.  A
Mohawk may pose more of a problem, however.  Just tell them, "Well, it was
so cool in the summertime, I just decided to leave it..." As for your
sunlamp tan, tell them you've been bothered by occasional acne.

Understand that your mother will be gearing up for the holiday feast and
that meals in the meantime will be barely edible -- in other words, a lot
like you remember them.  Practice lines like, "My, isn't Birdseye doing
interesting things with frozen vegetables these days:" and "Oh, goodie,
Hamburger Helper again!" Do not under any circumstances refer to tuna
casserole as "fairy pudding," or you will ruin it for your family forever
after.  And by all means encourage their attempts to inch forward into the
present.  If your sister produces cheese and crackers before dinner, praise
her lavishly, even if it's Velveeta on Ritz.

Your brothers and sisters and their friends will be a source of much
interesting information.  They will appear to be discussing who got married,
who's buying a house, who's having a new baby, who's got a job transfer. 
Learn to listen between the lines, and you will quickly discover who's
getting divorced, who's in AA, who had a nervous breakdown, who's in jail,
and whose kids are on drugs.

As bizarre as your family's lifestyle may now seem to you, keep in mind that
you spent your formative years in this environment and somehow survived and
prospered.  Think of yourself as a cultural emissary.  When you go out
shopping with your brother and he admires the designer jeans, fondle the
501's.  Share whatever enthusiasms you can -- such as your sister's for Tom
Selleck, Daniel J. Travanti, or whichever one of Simon and Simon is your
cup of tea.  But remember above all that your time with your immediate
family is only a dry run for that most difficult and demanding of occasions
-- the fullscale, extended-family, holiday dinner.

Come the big event, chances are you will be effectively camouflaged in a
suit or a jacket and tie.  If questioned on the cut of your clothes, tell
them the dry cleaner shrunk them inadvertently.  And when you first see your
assembled family, the whole terrifying array of uncles, aunts, cousins, and
indeterminates, try not to give yourself immediately away by having an
allergic reaction to all that polyester.

Now is when your careful preparation will pay off.  Smoothly entering the
gathering, you will kiss only the women, and when greeting the men you will
remember to slap backs, not caress butts.  You will say, "Hey, how ya
doing?" not "Well, how are you?" You'll tell them, "Jeez, you're lookin'
great!" not "Don't you look *marvelous!"

You will also observe certain heterosexual rituals regarding physical
appearance.  You may compliment your Aunt Harriet on her new dress, but try
not to ask where she picked it up.  You may tell your cousin Danny that he
appears to be in excellent shape, but don't ask him what he does for his
ass.  And when Uncle Mike asks if you lift weights or something, do not fall
on the floor laughing or curl your lip and sneer, "No I had them applied
surgically." Instead, smile shyly, look at the floor, and say, "Aw, shucks,
I just stop by the gym once in a while after work."

This is also the time when you will apply certain principles of heterosexual
speech and gesture.  You will not, for example, talk with your hands, cross
your legs at the knee, or put your hands on your hips for emphasis.  You
will avoid certain terminology in casual conversation, such as: "fabulous:'
"only" used as a superlative, "really" used as an affirmative, "dish" as a
verb, "Mary" in reference to someone not of that name, "honey" with the
accent on the second syllable, "to die" as an adjective, and, last but not
least, "Can we talk?"

Try not to be hypersensitive, however.  If you hear a muttered "Nelly!" keep
in mind that you have a great aunt by that name.  If a cousin invites you to
go out cruising with him after dinner, remember that he's nuts about his '67
Chevy.  And when some mentions AYDS, remember that they're probably dieting.

There are certain family members you will want to reserve special greetings
for.  For instance, with weird Cousin Bruce, who used to speak with a lisp
and play with dolls and whom they wouldn't let you play with when you were
little for fear of his possible influence, be sure to ask him how his wife
and six kids or doing, and if things are really picking up in the
construction industry.  As for dignified, ladylike Aunt Lucy, don't forget
to ask after Miss Fitzsimmons, her roommate and business partner, and to say
you're sorry she couldn't make it again this year, but that it's
understandable that she might have prior commitments.

And as for Cousin Kevin, with the fabulous tits, the Giorgio Armani suit,
and the co-op in a distant city, the two of you should try not to monopolize
the conversation, debating the merits of Placido vs. Luciano or of Davis vs.
Hepburn.  Instead, get off in a corner by yourselves and catch up as much as
you like.  Just don't stay in the corner too long.  Aunts can get very
jealous.

You would do well to practice answers to certain questions inevitable at
family gatherings.  For instance, "So when you gonna get married?" Remember,
*don't* say:
   A.  "When hell freezes over,"
   B.  "As soon as I meet someone who wears all the same sizes I do," or
   C.  "Are people still doing that?"

Instead, *do* say:
   A.  "As soon as I find a girl just like you, Aunt Agatha,"
   B.  "Gosh, if only I could find the time for dating," or
   C.  "Women nowadays are only after one thing!"

Similarly, at some point during a family gathering you will be pulled aside
and told, "Have I got a girl for you!" When this happens, *don't* say:
   A.  "Does she do windows?"
   B.  "You mean a real girl?" or
   C.  "Thanks.  I got over that years ago."

Instead, *do* say:
   A.  "Great! I've been looking for someone to take out sky diving!"
   B.  "Terrific! She can help me do my taxes on my nifty new home
          computer!" or
   C.  "You don't think she minds herpes, do you?"

At some point dinner will be served.  You must keep in mind that this is not
dining as you have come to appreciate it, but rather an atavistic throwback
to your adolescence, when you had to be kept on a 22,000-calorie-a-day diet
lest you fail to achieve your full growth.  Remember that certain comments
will not be viewed with amusement, chief among them: "I'll just have some
quiche and a small salad." When your plate is being heaped with turkey,
stuffing, candied yams, three or four dinner rolls, and you're asked if you
want gravy on your mashed potatoes, do not under any circumstances:
   A.  Gag,
   B.  Say you'll just have hot Crisco instead, or
   C.  Say you just had bypass surgery on your stomach.

Instead, smile sweetly, take the entire heap of food, and taste everything,
keeping in mind that:
   A.  Bowser is waiting under the table,
   B.  You've been seated next to 300-pound Aunt Madge, who picks, and
   C.  You're going to need all your strength.

Remember, too, that you'll be expected to praise the cooking with
appropriate remarks.  These do not include, "Oooh, how novelle!" or "Julia
Child, eat your heart out!" And when it's time for dessert and they hand you
the apple pie with vanilla ice cream, try not to exclaim, "What! No rum
raisin?"

The advantage to finally sitting down to eat is that there is so much food
that conversation is mercifully minimal, at least during firsts and seconds. 
The disadvantage is that, come thirds and fourths, there are so many people
crammed so tightly together that there's no escape from the table talk. 
Keep reminding yourself where you are.  When they talk about opera, it is
soap, not grand; when they mention Sutherland, it is at best Donald, not
Joan or the Queen in "Dancer from the Dance."

One helpful technique is to keep a translation table mentally at hand. 
Thus, when unfamiliar topics are under discussion, you can easily discern
the equivalent topic within your own frame of reference.  The flowing table
may be helpful:

Straight                      Gay   
marriages               relationships
babies                    housepets
buying a home        rehabbing
the tube                  cable
movies                   films
dinner theatre         dinner and theatre
romance novels       beach reading
alcohol                    controlled substances
sports                      dancing

Of course, there are always unforeseen incidents.  At any given moment
during dinner, for example, you may be reaching forward helpfully to pass
the butter, when your mother will suddenly let out a bloodcurdling shriek
and rumble face first into her  cranberry sauce.  The cause of her collapse
will prove to be an unintended glimpse of your brand new tattoo.  (Perhaps
your shirt material was a tad too sheer, or maybe you forgot and wore short
sleeves.) You will suddenly be surrounded by aunts wearing accusatory frowns
and bewildered uncles trying to remember just when you were in the service.

Situations like this require quick reflexes.  You are advised in any case to
have a reedy supply of all-purpose explanations for behaviors that may
strike your family as strange or downright repulsive.  Consider these
possibilities:
   A.  "It's one of those temporary ones, it washes right off,"
   B.  "Everyone in New York is getting them, even my girlfriend," or
   C.  "Gee, I got so drunk with the guys one night..."

If, however, your tattoo consists of an arrow piercing a heart bearing the
name "Ralph," you're on your own.

Once dinner is completed you are, as they say, home free.  Resist the
temptation to clear the entire table at one swoop -- they will be only
momentarily impressed by the skills you acquired as a waiter in a chic
bistro.  And when the men all troop off to the TV room to watch the ball
game, try not to whine or sulk if you're not allowed to stay and help with
the dishes.

Be not afraid.  Go to the TV room and take your rightful place, stretched
out among the men of your clan.  Scratch your belly freely.  Belch at will. 
And fall quickly asleep.  This will prevent anyone from learning that you
have no idea what a field goal or a touchback is.  No need to slip yourself
a quaalude to assure slumber; the conversation will take care of that.  If
at all possible, snore.

Soon the ordeal of the family dinner will be over.  The visit itself will
quickly follow suit.  Before long you will again be comfortably ensconced
within the bosom of your cozy inner city apartment.  Get on the phone
immediately to all your friends, letting them know that you made it back
alive.  Offer to come over to listen to their holiday horror stories, but
warn them that you have at least a few of your own.  Swear to yourself to
get right back to the gym and work off that turkey stuffing.  And
congratulate yourself on another successful expedition into the savage
heartlands of America's primitive interior.  Lewis and Clark couldn't have
done it with any more style.

But before you're out the door, meeting your friends for just a little
drinkie or two, give yourself a small reward.  Something to calm your nerves
and bring you back to yourself.  A nice piece of quiche, maybe.  Or maybe
some rum raisin.  You've earned it.