Last year about this time, a very kind friend of mine, whom I call Michael here, went in costume to "Spirit Week" at his local public high school. Michael is a teacher there, and also a gay Christian married to another gay Christian teacher. (Teachers always seem to come in pairs--both my (presumably straight) grandparents on one side are also retired teachers; oddly enough, they match even more than that--Michael and Rob both teach high school, while my grandparents both taught elementary school).
And there was apparently a Wizard of Oz theme among some of the teachers' costumes, last year. You can probably guess who dressed as Judy Garland, though the assumption might possibly be offensive if it wasn't true. He had pigtails and a basket and a stuffed dog and everything. And yes, the shoes too.
This year, he was Wonder Woman, complete with tiara, bustier, cape, knee-length skirt, and super-high-heeled pumps. He didn't even have to wear the high heels, as he had shoe-covers that looked like her boots and he could have worn anything under them. But he went the extra mile in black patent-leather pumps that apparently fit him, making me wonder if he had them just lying around. (In a few years, I may have to change the pronouns on this article and add some S's.)
He captioned his Facebook photo, "The things I do for the kids." I guess it was educational for them to see Wonder Woman with a beard. (When I mentioned his beard, my mom said, "I thought he divorced her, though...")
He even spoke in some kind of school assembly, trotting out onto the gym floor in his fabulous footwear.
"How could he do that?" I thought, "It's too cold to dress that way!" And indeed, he was posing in a photo with the Joker and a Batman baby, with a background of a rainy, overcast October sky. (I have never understood those who can wear skimpy Halloween costumes, even if I don't think they should be slut-shamed for it. We need a separate costumed holiday in the summer so people don't freeze and I can finally be Mary Marvel.)
The next day, I was gleefully showing my mother the sheer hilarity and fabulousness of it all, when on his Facebook page, I saw that he had just bought his husband a new car for his birthday. As far as I know, the car is literally new--brand new--and they said nothing about having any problems with their old car, which they appear to have traded in.
And I immediately lost a lot of respect for them both. I couldn't help it.
Buying a brand-new car is foolish enough, especially on two teachers' salaries--and the fact that they have seven kids between them. Seven kids--I call them the Gaydy Bunch behind their back. And they weren't buying a bigger car, either.
I lost respect for them. They're just as stupid as the straight people. You expect more from LGBT people, when Suzie Orman is a lesbian. Though even she might drive a recent-model car, with how rich and famous she is. (Oh Suzie, say it isn't so...)
Literally all of extended family on my mother's side, other than my mother and me, are also new-car-crazy. And my big problem with it comes down to this: No car can possibly feel as
good driving it, as the sensation of not having a car payment. There may be some instances where people have to have one, but with established middle-class adults, they've got no excuses to have them for years on end. And at least in my small-town area, no one has the excuse to go into the high four-figure range, or even the five-figure range.
What are these two men teaching their children? What is my family teaching my younger cousins? They are already foolish with money, the youngest, still in college, buying our aunt's "old" car, only a few years old, because she ordered a new custom car--yes, a fucking custom car! His older brother also has asked his mom to buy him a nice new car, when he had a perfectly good car already.
I am twenty-five, and they are both years younger than me. They are headed for a lifetime of unnecessary debt to worry them, in addition to crippling student loans (which I also don't have, more on that in a later post, perhaps).
And their elders don't know any better, either, in spite of having twice or three times as long to learn their lesson. Literally all of them have new cars, and loads of payments and interest. Most are on their second or third new or recent car. I am polite, not to hurt their feelings, but I want to scream--my grandfather is a retired mill-worker, and we used to be so proudly working-class and practical! Or maybe I was the only one who was proud...and practical...
The one whose price I know is my (closeted, I believe) homophobic uncle's--about $12,000--because he bragged that he got a "good deal" on it and how he thought that was from the Lord. While showing it off, he asked me, "AJ, do you want to sit in it?" as if he was being generous and kind. I just went along and put my hands on the wheel to be polite, all the time wondering, "How ever can you drive something that you're afraid of breaking?"
The aesthetic also felt like sitting in an iPod. So much black everywhere--why are all the newer cars so dark inside?
I know he got a loan on it, too, because before this, I saw my grandparents' car (which I later learned he borrowed) at the bank, and ran in to say hello. I looked around, confused, because my grandparents weren't with the teller. "Sorry, I thought my grandparents were in here," I explained to her. "That looks just like their car." (I knew it was, in fact, but didn't want to seem to accuse someone of theft.)
"Oh, it belongs to a member," she smiled. I thanked her and left, and later, it all made sense.
He hadn't had twelve thousand dollars in savings, after all.
And that was only his first expensive car.
All of this is such foolishness. Meanwhile, my mother and I both absolutely love our cars, which are both about the same age as me. I will write about them more in-depth later, because they are just so special to us, for many reasons. And when you're truly happy with your life, why does it matter what gets you places, as long as you get there?
"I just don't understand why I would want to go to work, to pay for...the thing that got me to work," my mother remarked as we shook our heads at Wonder Woman's terrible decision. "And your aunt says that they don't want to mess with mechanics, but what if it crashes? What if there's an accident? There's no guarantees."
"The only car I would ever go into debt for, if I had disposable income, is a vintage car, because they keep their value," I added.
"I just wonder if he's trying to get that man to love him," she said. "'Happy Birthday, my love...'?" she quoted.
I thought of his Halloween costumes--all women--and wondered if he felt he had to bribe him...because his husband, "that man," was gay, and he himself didn't actually want to be a man.
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