Mad Dash To Terminal F

I wanted a glass of wine. That had been the plan all along: get through airport security, find my gate, buy a single serving bottle of Pinot Noir, enjoy.

That didn’t happen. It seems that LaGuardia Airport, unlike JFK, doesn’t have small kiosks near the gates that sell individual bottles of wine along with their sandwich boxes and protein bars. Maybe it has to do with international flights as opposed to domestic. Obviously, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a United Airlines thing. Maybe I just missed it. I convinced myself that as hot as it was in the waiting area, a bottle of wine would’ve probably put me to sleep. I changed my plan to having a glass in flight.

With an on-time departure from NYC to Chicago's O’Hare (connecting on to Paducah, KY), I was finally starting my vacation; my first since July 2017, and boy did I need a break from NYC. I don’t often enjoy the waiting or the traveling. I’m more of a hurry-up-and-get-there kind of person. But one can’t really hurry when he is at the mercy of the airline and the flight time. 

The flight was smooth and actually arrived early into Chicago. I was annoyed (surprise!) by one of the flight attendants so I didn’t bother with that glass of wine. 

Good ol’ Chicago, where winter weather in January threatens to derail my plans every time I travel through it during that month. And this particular day was no exception as the clouds discharged their wintery goodness gracefully and steadily onto the ground.  

I turned off airplane mode on my iPhone as soon as we landed and was immediately greeted by the text:

Your flight to Paducah is cancelled. 

Of course! I should have bothered to have that glass of wine. Hindsight's 20/20.

I didn’t so much process this information as feel my face heat up with anger…then contort with frustration and disappointment. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in Chicago for a night (been there, done that, didn’t have a toothbrush or clean underwear). I had booked this particular flight on a Sunday evening so that I could wake up at my mom and dad’s house on Monday morning, starting the vacation without a travel day. If I was going to have to spend the night in Chicago then I would be on the same flight to Paducah on Monday that I would have been originally been on had I departed from NYC on Monday as I had initially planned. However, the best laid plans are out of our control when Mother Nature decides to get involved. Don’t be fooled. I’m not that zen.

I could see from my updated electronic boarding pass that I had already been rebooked on the next flight into Paducah, which was scheduled for departure the next day after 2pm. I went directly to Customer Service to see if there was an earlier flight. If I had to stay in Chicago, I at least wanted to get out of her as early as possible the next day. The customer service representative told me that the flight on which I had been rebooked was the first flight departing for Paducah the next day. Then he said something interesting. 

“We have a couple of flights to other locations tonight. Are either of them close to you?”

He mentioned a town in Missouri that I hadn’t heard of before and a town in Indiana. I knew the Indiana option was out of the question but when he turned his computer screen around so that I could see the destinations, my heart leapt in excitement. The Missouri town was Cape Girardeau. He didn’t know how to say it, or at least not the way I’d grown up saying it, so it didn't register until I saw the words.  I knew Cape Girardeau was close to where my parents lived. I called my mom immediately.

Mom: “Hi,” she said, her voice colored with disappointment .

Me: “How far is Cape Girardeau from your house?” I asked with no preamble.

Mom: “About an hour and 15 minutes,” she responded with no real change in her voice.

Me: “Can you pick me up there?”

Mom: “Yes.” The color now tinged with excitement.

Me: “I might be able to get on a flight tonight to Cape. I’ll call you back.”

The flight was already boarding and was scheduled for departure in 30 minutes. You know that joke book title: Fifty Yards To The Outhouse by Willy Makit and Betty Won’t? Well, my joke book title that night was Mad Dash To Terminal F written by Will Power and D. Termination.  

I ran. I ran like Rhoda Morgenstern running through the streets of New York City on her wedding day back in 1974 on an episode of the sitcom, Rhoda. I had a carryon bag in my right hand and I was holding my winter scarf in my left. I didn’t start out holding that scarf, but it’s so long, and kept getting tangled between my legs, that I had a vision of Carrie Bradshaw on the Sex and the City episode where Carrie slips on water that has dripped from a wet umbrella and goes splat! right in the middle of Dior in Paris. I couldn’t have that! Falling and embarrassing myself was not an option.

So, carry on bag filled with laptop and magazines in the right hand (praying the handle didn’t break ‘cause that shit was heavy) and scarf pulled across my body held tightly in the left, I flew past the people strolling along to their gates--or toward that glass of wine I so wanted. I was a vision leaving a gray and blue streak in my wake. 

I was running like my life depended on it. I’m in fairly good shape and yet still I was gasping. I made a right then a left then another right. I was looking for the escalator. Found it. Took it down. Ran past all the people letting themselves be glacially-paced along on the moving sidewalk. People looked over their shoulders as I approached. Peripherally, I could see them watching me as I passed. I stepped on to the up the escalator on the other side of that long space, taking a moment to catch my breath before starting to climb its moving stairs because they weren't moving fast enough. To the right then the left then hugging the curve connecting me to another terminal. All the while looking at the overhead signage for Terminal F. Was I getting closer? It didn’t feel that way. 

I was a man on a mission; determined to make it from Terminal C to Terminal F with breath-catching time to spare. 

As I approached the gate the customer service representative had told me the flight to Cape Girardeau would be departing from I noticed it said Quincy, IL instead of Cape Girardeau, MO. Two lovely women confirmed that this was indeed the flight to Cape but that it made a small layover in Quincy first. I couldn’t have cared less about the layover. I was just glad to be in that line.

I could barely breath. Gasping for air, trying slow my heart rate, I called my mom and told her I was going to be on the flight, providing her with the pertinent flight information. I was euphoric even as I panted. I had made it to the gate with a moment (though not breath-catching) to spare before scanning my boarding pass. The gate attendant marveled that I was in “good shape” as she hadn't thought I would make it from C to F. I showed her, wheezing and coughing, trying to keep composed.

All of those who had been on the receiving end of my disgruntled-passenger-with-a-cancelled-flight texts received the following from me…

I ran from terminal C to terminal F. I made a flight that goes to Quincy IL then on to Cape Girardeau MO. Hope my luggage gets on board. I’m a sweaty mess but I’m on the plane.

…as I sat, sounding asthmatic, buckled-in to my seat on the airplane. Relief was beginning to calm my anxiety. We hadn't taken off but we were supposed to. I was still apprehensive.  Then I realized the plane I was sitting on was the same size as the one that flies to Paducah. The same size plane for the flight that had been cancelled because of "weather" before I had even had a chance to connect to it. The same size plane that was about to take off, in the same weather, toward Cape Girardeau. And it did take off and land and take off and land again. In the weather. I still don’t (and may never) understand why the plane heading toward Paducah couldn't fly in the weather, but I digress.

My gasping cum wheezing had turned into a cough. As my heart rate slowed back to normal my breath kept catching in the back of my throat. I felt as if I had dislodged something. I felt like an undiagnosed upper respiratory problem had chosen that moment to present itself. I could not stop coughing. I was seated on the aisle in the 11th out of 13 rows and we were just sitting on the tarmac while the plane was being de-iced. I had to have some water. I unbuckled the seat belt and made my way to the front of the plane.

“I am so sorry" I began, speaking to the flight attendant who eyes widened in shock at my standing in front of her, "but I just ran from terminal C to terminal F and I can’t seem to stop coughing. May I have some water?”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes remaining wide with shock, her voice stern as she continued, “but you need to sit back down.”

I get it. The doors were already closed. Okay. But were weren’t moving. We didn’t even have an estimated time for departure at that moment. But I sat back down, assuaging her fear that (even though the plane was sitting still except for rocking of the high-pressure wash of the de-icing fluid), I wouldn’t be knocked down by the “turbulence.” She brought me a glass of water. The cough persisted.

There would be no beverage service other than water on the first leg of that flight due to its short duration. No wine for me. There would be no beverage service at all on the second leg of the even shorter flight. One should always take advantage of his opportunities for wine when he has them because as Cinderella says in the musical Into The Woods, "Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor." 

I finally made it to Cape Girardeau after midnight and found the welcoming arms and smiles of family members waiting for me, happy at my arrival...at last.

It took until Tuesday evening for my luggage to arrive. And it took until Wednesday evening for me to finally get that glass of wine I had so desired at the beginning of this scenario…before it turned into the adventure it became. 

The cough lingered for about three days.

Impolite Society: I'm Offended, He's Offended, They're Offended, We're Offended

The summer before my senior year of high school (way back in 1988) my friends and I adopted the catch phrase, “I’m offended.” It was used as a response to a shocking or outrageous statement. You can equate it on par with "Well I never." There was usually a dramatic intake of breath, a look of shock on the face, and then with the perfect inflection “I’m offended” was uttered. Today the response might be “Rude” or “Seriously." 

I recently watched a segment on CBS Sunday Morning about Larry Flynt. During the piece the following quote by Former Chief Justice William Rehnquist filled my TV screen and strongly resonated with me: “The fact that society may find speech offensive is not a sufficient reason for suppressing it.”

Seeing that quote reminded me of the aforementioned phrase from high school and that got me to thinking. Are we too easily offended today? When a person has a differing opinion from our own and chooses to say so publicly are we (meaning all people) taking it so personally that we can’t refrain from lashing out and chastising the offender through our status updates, tweets and the comment boxes attached to every article that keeps the pot of controversy boiling for days after? I’m guilty of this. I lash out in haste with those updates and tweets rallying my like-minded friends and followers into “likes” and retweets, but what good does it really do? 

We offend each other. We say dumb things. We often don’t think before we speak or post or tweet. We aren’t concerned that our words might hurt people and we seem unaware that those words might carry repercussions. We’ve lost our manners in an effort to get what we want. Everyone else be damned.

A friend of mine keeps reminding me that the more vocal anti-gay people are with their publicly made anti-gay remarks the more gay-friendly people and those questioning their own beliefs on the situation are going to catch on to the ignorance behind the remarks. He’s right. I’ve seen it in myself. What used to be an angry outburst with an increase in blood pressure has turned into an eye roll and a head shake. 

I struggle with differing opinions. I struggle with feeling as though I can’t be friends with people whose opinions differ from mine. I’m learning that’s not true. I don’t have to get upset. I don’t have to cut off communication. I don’t even have to try and sway them to believe as I do. All I really have to do is respectfully disagree with what they think.

When Duck Dynasty patriarch, Phil Robertson made his anti-gay comments my Facebook and Twitter feeds became a messy banquet of Duck Dynasty comments both pro and con. Then A&E made their decision to suspend Mr. Robertson, and the backlash exploded like a frozen duck put in a deep fryer. I struggled. I hated what the man said but felt that his suspension was unnecessary. I felt as if A&E, the cable channel that carries Duck Dynasty, should have made a statement that the man and his opinions do not reflect those of the network and be done with it. His suspension outraged his supporters and gave this man and his opinion much longer in the spotlight that it deserved. 

Believe me when I tell you I understand the fight for equality, civil rights, human rights (however you choose to categorize it) that we in the gay community are fighting for. I do. What I question the most is this: Are we—the gay community and our supporters—appearing weak by fighting every battle of words that is waged against us? Are we trying to live in such a politically correct society that we’re attempting to create a sterile environment where no one is allowed to have their own beliefs, let alone speak them publicly? These are legitimate questions. Those who choose to publicly make anti-gay statements aren’t stupid. Everyone knows the internet exists. Nothing stays buried or hidden for long. There’s always a backlash. 

That leads me to Juan Pablo Galavis and his recent anti-gay comments. I don’t care about The Bachelor or Mr. Galavis, but he’s entitled to his opinion. Maybe he’s homophobic? He can even have gay friends and be homophobic. What I really hate is the apology that gets made after the fact. We’ve seen it too many times. Some publicist advises a very public mea culpa. I don’t ever believe the apology. I have  no warm fuzzy feeling now that Mr. Galavis has reached out to GLAAD in an effort to make amends. I tend to believe the offending statement is the real truth. It’s kind of like being really honest when you’re drunk. The alcohol gives you the courage to say what you really want to say. The next day if you’re lucky enough to remember what you said you might be excited that you finally said it or embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, that the words came out of your mouth. From my own experience, more often than not, those words have been the truth.

I don’t want an apology from people who make anti-gay statements and then say they’re sorry. The apology to me is fake, pretend. What I want is to stop taking the negative, anti-gay comments so personally. In 1949 Oscar Hammerstein II wrote the lyric “You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear” for the song “You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught” from the musical South Pacific. That sentiment was true before it became a lyric in a song and it remains true today. Racists still exist. Homophobia continues to be taught. Haters hate. People are going to be people, and there will always be disagreements. 

When I say we should try not to be offended by every anti-gay statement, know that I’m looking in the mirror. I know I take it personally. The point is I don’t have to. And you don’t have to either. We all have to try to not let the anti-gay haters get us down.

Maybe it’s time to make “I’m offended” the humorous, snappy comeback to all those anti-gay remark makers. After all, a little humor goes a long way. Like the obnoxious sound of a duck call or the stench of a decaying rose. Too much? Too sarcastic? No offense intended. Humor is subjective. I’ll keep working on it.

It's All About Spin

This piece appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

Here we are in the 21st Century. The year 2013. A time when gay people and those who support us--our desire for equality and human rights--get blamed for many things: birds falling from the sky in Arkansas, Hurricane Sandy, North Korea’s threats against the U.S. Imagine my surprise when I discovered this ever growing power the gays have over the universe dates back to biblical times when my gay brethren of old caused the Great Flood back in the days of Noah.

I learned this interesting bit of information from Matt Barber, conservative co-host of the radio program “Faith and Freedom,” in a video from said program on the website Right Wing Watch. Not only did Mr. Barber present me with the information that homosexuals entering into marriage caused the Great Flood. He also stated, “Tolerance, in the twisted way that the left uses it, in acceptance of all form [sic] of sexual deviant behavior as the norm--as normal, natural, good--it’s a cancer that brings down societies.”

Can I get a “Wow” and an “Oh my goodness?” Who knew we gays had so much power? I’m not sure whether to tell my monkeys to “Fly!” Or ask the mirror “Who’s the fairest of them all?”

As a child from the South, raised in the Baptist faith, I am very aware of the Biblical stories. Never once have I heard homosexuality connected to Noah’s flood. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, always! That's a given. It seems to be the go-to major event for those citing homosexuals as the reason for an epic destruction. But Noah’s flood? That was news to me. Sometimes I feel that certain modern day Christians blame anything “wicked” from Biblical times on homosexuals. As if it’s not possible there was any other wickedness in the world of that day. 

I went home and grabbed my New International Student Bible, copyright 1992. It’s quite the departure from the King James Version of my youth. I immediately found the story of Noah’s flood and started to read. I combed every word of Genesis chapters 6-9. And you know what? I didn’t find anything resembling a homosexual act causing the flood. Then I decided to read the chapters preceding the flood. Again, no homosexual acts. I was confused at this leap by Mr. Barber, to say the least. So, I did a little research.

I discovered the website Delusion Resistance. The mention of Extraterrestrials and UFOs connected to the End of Days should have been enough to turn me away, but I found something interesting. Among the site’s many articles was one by David Ben Yakov under the heading "The Days of Noah." This find led me to the New Testament version of the Great Flood story told in Luke, chapter 17, verses 26-27. After reading it it hit me: it’s all about spin. I’ll explain. Here’s the Biblical excerpt from Mr. Ben Yakov's article:

“And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man. They did eat, they drank, they married wives, they were given in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark, and the flood came, and destroyed them all.”

It was unclear to me which version of Biblical text Mr. Ben Yakov was using, but according to the article, per the custom of that day women were given in marriage to men. Therefore, according to Mr. Ben Yakov’s interpretation of the text, "they" must refer to men. The conclusion is then drawn that because "they" equals men, the words "they were given in marriage" must mean men were given to men.

In my Bible’s translation, the word "they" is replaced by "people." It's interesting how different it sounds when you change the noun. Here’s the text from my Bible: 

“Just as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating, drinking, marrying and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all.”

What I see in the above passage is people (men and women) living their lives, doing what people do. That gays caused the flood seems to be all about interpretation and spin. Any of us can find the right translation and the right scriptural passage to make our point. What would be nice is if we stopped having to prove our point and could learn from the mistakes of old and live in the world of the present. 

I don’t practice any organized religion at this point in my life, choosing to focus on a spiritual relationship with God that is all my own. I am, however, proud of my roots, and proud of the courage I’ve discovered to question instead of merely follow. I don’t want to be a sheep who follows blindly. I want to understand why I believe something. I want my life to consist of more than who’s wrong and who’s right. 

I was put on this earth a gay man. There is no interpretation or spin needed for that. It is my truth. In this world full of naysayers who believe like Mr. Barber, I’m doing my best to live my authentic life. However, I’m smart enough to know that as long as people keep spouting their interpretations of the Bible, there are those who will believe them no questions asked.

So for now, I would like “The Power” by Snap! to be on constant loop reminding me that we gays have the power to make things happen. How’s that for spin?