Here in New Zealand they have school campouts to kick off the school year and build a sense of community amongst the families in the new class. Basically we all show up at the school grounds around 5:30p or so, set our tents up in a big circle, play for an hour, have a little dinner, read a few stories and then try and sleep. This is by far the best thing ever to happen to a 4.5 and 9 year old. Not so sure about those of us in our 40s.
Anyway, I show up being my usual friendly self and start talking to people. After a while I notice that the people are referring to their “significant other” as “partner.” I test the waters and say things like “my wife Teri” and “Teri, my wife and I” that sort of thing, but all I get back is “my partner this” or “my partner that” each time seemingly more determined to draw the distinction. Hum…
Where I come from “partner” is code for “women in comfortable shoes” or someone “a little light in the loafers”. Not sure why we are so fixated on feet, but whatever. So each time the distinction is drawn I am more and more convinced that we may have unknowingly joined the gay parents Montessori. Not that I have any issues with a gay parents Montessori. Just to be clear, NO issues here, I was raised a liberal New Yorker so pretty much anything goes in my book. Whatever floats your boat, after all, we are from Malibu. In fact, I am thinking now of opening a gay parents Montessori back home, it would make a fortune in LA.
To complicate matters I have no idea who is with who and I really can’t understand half of what they say. Then suddenly it occurs to me that I am there alone with Vince, talking about my wife Teri (which could easily be Terry, with two r’s and a y, like, as in, say, Bradshaw), and I am very conscious of my long hair and the silver hoop in my ear. Holy moly! What in the world is going on? I mean Nelson is known as an “arts” community after all and they even founded the wearable arts movement here, what ever that is. I have to do something. To let all the gay parents know I am not gay and that we didn’t know about the gay parents Montessori thing when we signed up, I contemplate doing a few push-ups, letting out a primal scream and chugging beers from one of those hats with two cans on the side. Luckily the thought passes. So does the momentary lapse of reason.
It is times like these and thoughts like this, no matter how fleeting or momentary they may be, that make travel all the more real and alive. It’s good to be out of the comfort zone and in unfamiliar territory. It forces you to apply a POV in an attempt to make sense and interpret situations only to have it gut checked and countered with another one you never even knew existed. Besides I have found that much of the time my world view is skewed so far from the then current reality that it is best to check it at the door and just be in the moment. That it is always best to…
What? Oh, sorry, I’ve got to go, my “partner” Teri is waiting for me, the rugby match is starting…
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