Connie - of course it is okay to react to it that way. It worked out, sort of. I mean, it's all good with my dad and me. I wouldn't say we exactly have an open discourse about the subject or anything (he's 61, was raised Roman Catholic in the 50's, and taught high school for 37 years--closeted does not even begin to describe), but he's much more open than he used to be.

Let me tell you, there is one hell of a book in the story of my relationship with my dad (and of his with my mom, who asked for a divorce just 11 years ago, 19 years into their marriage), but it's one I can't ever write.

Posting here scares the hell out of me because it has been so instilled in me (by my mother of all people) that it is not my secret to share, but--this is at least somewhat anonymous.

Kristin, you aren't alone among my friends who learned, as adults, that one parent was in fact gay.

You know what's neat? Not one person I know had any problem with it, at all.

And that's a lovely drabble.

That is a beautiful drabble, Krisitin.

Uh-oh.

I think I may have just done something dumb.

I've just written the first third of the prologue for a book I wasn't planning to write for another two years.

Damn it.

Can't help it. Laughing now.

I laugh because I love, Deb. Is this the standalone you were talking about last week? Tell me it isn't yet another book. Besides the standalone, the Child Ballad one you're finishing, and the one after that, I mean.

Well Deb, I can't help it. I'm with Bev with the laughing.

Teppy, just so you know, because of the drabble community and the couple or three I've done, I wrote two poems yesterday. I haven't written anything beyond an LJ or posting-board post or a letter for nearly two years.

That's *fantastic*!!!

At some point I may actually get around to this week's drabble. (I can't believe it's only Wednesday -- it feels like it's already been 10 days since Monday.)

Is this the standalone you were talking about last week?

Yes. Damn.

I don't have time for this. Besides, it needs some scientific research done.

Deb, I'd be glad to help with the research.

Kristin, Greg's mom and dad divorced after Greg's dad came out of the closet, after 35 years of marriage, 4 years ago. Now he has a live-in boyfriend from India and is livin' la vida loca. He's about 66 or 67, I think.

I've been having trouble with this theme. This is as close as I could get, three memories.

The smell of him in the morning is different than at any other time of day. I shiver as I face the window; cotton sheets shifting with my skin.

I recoil from my customer in surprise. I am too sharp and then too charming, and he tells me, half-joking, that he is afraid of me.

My stomach turns over and I look after a brash young man with too-short dark hair and a cocky swagger. Beer is seeping through the boy's skin with his sweat.

Like light, I realize, I am afraid of beer and nakedness in the wrong bed.

I wrote this totally impromptu listening to "Stealing Babies" by Our Lady Peace. It didn't really turn out like I expected, but they never do. Here's my memory drabble.

-------------------

All it takes are those opening chords, the way they bounce up and down and back and forth like a seesaw on a merry-go-round. The vocals kick in, and you can hear his voice telling you it will be all right. Not that he sounds anything like Raine Maida. He actually sounds like a puppy/kitten hybrid, a growl masked within a purr.

It feels as if the vocals and music are at cross-purposes, following their own trajectories with no respect for the other. But they come together so well.

The end of the song devolves into dissonance, as everything does.