Photo courtesy of zazzle.com.

It’s a good thing I had just left church Sunday morning when I looked at my Facebook page and saw what my son wrote on my timeline.


I sat in my car, looking down at my Droid, staring at the hateful word typed on my page. Just numb.

It’s funny how God gives you what you need just when you need it. Less than an hour before the minister had preached a sermon based on the feuding twin brothers Jacob and Esau from the Old Testament.

The sermon was about how you can’t change other people. You can only change yourself. How you react. What you say. I inhaled and breathed.

My son is going through some serious problems. In the space of year he has been arrested for marijuana possession during a graduation trip to the beach, got failing grades in his first semester in college, dropped out of college, and lost his job at a fast food restaurant.

If he doesn’t pass the next series of drug tests in weeks ahead he could face a few months in county jail for violating probation. It astounds me how my family could go from “A Different World” to “Oz” in one generation.

My ex-wife coddles him, lies to me about what is going on at home, and refuses to listen to me, or family or friends who say our son is disrespectful and needs tough love or things could get much worse. Instead, she blames my leaving the marriage almost three years ago and my new gay sexuality for my son’s issues.

And he eats it up because he can use “My Dad is a faggot” as a trump card to get out of being responsible and win sympathy.

And nevermind that I have been completely open with him about why I left the marriage and my sexuality and kept the lines of communication open. I also continue to pay the bills to keep him with a roof over his head, a Mac book to do schoolwork, cable television, high definition flat screens, WiFi, food in his belly, not to mention heat and water.

Funny, he wasn’t calling me faggot just weeks ago when I was taking him out to dinner at restaurants on U Street, floating him a $100 bill to buy some clothes, and picking up the monthly tab for his Metro commute.

“You are a good father,” my mother says later that afternoon when I tell her. “You support your kids are always there. Live your life and don’t let that nasty ass grandson of mine make you feel guilty. He is out of line.”

My friend the “Mentor,” who is also a gay father, has gone through this with one of his kids. In fact, his son called him faggot in front of friends a few years ago but they are much closer now.

“Stand your ground,” he advises. “You are the father. Believe me they will come around.”

After I saw “FAGGOT” on my Facebook wall I sat in my car for a few minutes and just thought. I ain’t going to lie, the Devil was talking over my left shoulder.

“Drive over to his house right now, grab him and beat the shit out of him,” Satan whispered in my ear. “Fuck that lanky motherfucker up. Shit, he is calling you faggot but that is some punk ass shit to post on your wall. If he was a real man he would have said it to your face but he knows you can beat him up.”

But I thought about Jesus. I thought about visiting the Martin Luther King Memorial on the Tidal Basin and reading his words that hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.

So I wrote to my son on Facebook: “I know you going through a lot. I will always love you and will be here to support you as you work through your issues. Dad.”

And I went to the gym, worked out like a fiend, ran some errands, went home and had dinner with my partner Morgan, and watched the football playoffs.

I looked at at my Facebook timeline today. My son’s comment to me was erased along with my response. I didn’t do it so he must have removed it.

I hope he got the message. There is still hope.

White Privilege

Gay porn sends the subtle racist message that black men serve the needs and fantasies of whites. Photo courtesy of aebn.net.

When Morgan and I were on the Christmas cruise we attended a meeting of “Friends of Dorothy,” a reception given on cruises so LGBT people can meet and greet.

There were about a dozen people gathered around the bar, mostly male couples. One really nice guy was on the cruise with his parents, sister and brother-in-law and their kids and wanted to briefly escape from the straight relatives and let his hair down among gay folks.

We stood around with drinks and chatted, exchanging tips about what shore excursions to go on and what were the best gay-friendly cruises and vacation packages to book.

Morgan and I were the only African American couple there.

One of the white guys who was part of a couple started flirting with me a bit. And then just out of the blue he said with a glint in his eye, “You know when I have a few drinks I will do just about anything.” And he eyed my crotch .

It was kind of embarassing. The man was very nice and could carry on a good conversation but was not my type. He was an aging twink — at one time he was probably really cute but he dressed too young and acted to coquettishly for his age.

I glanced over at Morgan. He did not look amused either. The white guy and his partner got the message — we weren’t interested in a foursome — and there was an awkward silence.

“I guess we will catch up you guys later on the cruise,” I finally said. “We are going to go try to catch a comedy show now.”

And Morgan and I headed off for the comedy club at the stern of the boat. For the rest of the cruise I saw this couple and even worked out in the gym next to them but they didn’t acknowledge me or even say hello.

Morgan and I talked about it later. About how white gay guys sometimes take it for granted that because they are white they automatically have the right to have sex with us. And get mad and bitchy when we don’t respond.

 Don’t get me wrong. There are many nice white guys and Morgan and I know know interracial couples who are in healthy relationships. But I remember the days when I was trolling Adam4Adam and white guys would hit me up. No matter how out of shape or unattractive they were they assumed my dick was there to fuck their asses silly. Oftentimes they wouldn’t even say hello or ask my name.

Castro (left) and a buddy get ready to nail a white guy. Photo courtesy of itsgonnahurt.com.

“I want some of that black cock.”

“I’m free this afternoon after work. Come over and give me some of that python.”

“I love black dick. When can you come over?”

And check out Craigslist sometimes. There are black guys who prefer white men and advertise for that. But they are outnumbered five-to-one by white men seeking “big black cocks” to come over and use their holes like pussies. Oh, and bring all your black buddies along with you to hit some of this white ass if they want.

This subtle racism, this objectification of black gay men’s bodies, is reflected in porn. How many movies are there where some white twink is gangbanged by black “thugs” or some old white man gets served by a big black dick? Shoot, the horse-hung black porn star Castro, who is also known by the name Supreme, now seems to do no movies other than fucking mostly average looking white dudes on porn Websites such as “It’s Gonna Hurt.”

Meanwhile the rest of black porn is dominated by “thug” movies. Is that all the larger gay society thinks black men are — “thugs” and “Mandingos” put on this earth to fit their narrow definition of what they think a black gay man is?