Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey (11 page)

It was also a relief, I told her, to read that homosexuality is not a mental or physical disease, shortcoming, or deviance. Five years earlier, in 1973, the board of trustees of the American Psychiatric Association had voted to remove homosexuality from its list of mental disorders, asserting that being gay or lesbian is normal and healthy.

When I conveyed this information to Helen twenty years ago, it was relatively new. Today, very few medical or psychological experts would disagree. This is not to say that some misguided psychiatrists and psychologists, because of their personal religious beliefs, may not approach therapy from a standpoint of trying to “change,” “cure,” or “fix” a gay man or woman. And because of society’s negative messages, some men and women struggling with their sexual orientation may attempt to fit into the role society says they must play. However, this rarely works, especially over a long period of time. We love whom we love. We are who we are.

Just as was true two decades ago, there are still those who argue that there is something wrong with being homosexual, that it is an aberration from the norm—the norm being heterosexuality, of course. I have since learned that this is only a social value judgment. For a gay or lesbian person, the norm is being attracted to, and having romantic feelings for, another person of the same sex. Gays and lesbians may have lots of friends of the opposite sex but feel nothing at all romantically toward them. That doesn’t make homosexuals wrong and heterosexuals right.

Helen remembered our conversation more specifically than I did, reminding me not long ago how grateful I was for those books. So, to anyone struggling to come to terms with the news about a gay family member, I highly recommend taking this important step—whether you choose your local library, a bookstore, or an Internet search. There is nothing blissful about ignorance.

During the year that followed Ellen’s coming out to me, the secret was gradually shared with other family members. Before long, as in so many families, it was known but unspoken. So far as we knew, everyone in our family was comfortable with the knowledge that Ellen is gay. Vance, of course, loved his sister and was not in the least bothered. In fact, they later joked about wanting to date the same girls. Audrey, like Helen, was terrific, as were their kids; and Noni, who loved her granddaughter and only wanted her to be happy, continued to be surprisingly comfortable, even with Ellen’s girlfriends.

The person who really seemed to have trouble with Ellen’s news was Elliott. Because of their ignorance, he and his wife asked her to move out, saying she would be a bad influence on her young stepsisters. When she called to tell me about it, I could hear the terrible hurt in her voice.

“El,” I said, trying hard to convince her that she wasn’t being rejected by her father, “your Dad loves you.”

“I know,” she said, but she couldn’t help adding, “That’s why he’s kicking me out of the house.” She went on to say, though, that he was taking out a loan to help her get started in her own apartment. It was a very painful time for Ellen. To her credit, however, she did not reject her father in return.

In interviews years later, Elliott would reflect upon his reaction as one of ignorance, saying he was ashamed for having done that to her. For El and her dad, it wasn’t too late. But for some parents who reject their kids and later feel remorseful, it is.

On a recent Mother’s Day HRC trip to New Orleans, I heard such a story from one gay man. “When I came out,” he said, “my brothers and sisters refused to let me have any contact with Mom.” He went on to describe how his siblings put their elderly mother in a nursing home in a different state and then divided her house and belongings among themselves. They told their mother she was not to speak to him because he was gay and would abandon her—that he couldn’t care for her because of his “persuasion.”

In fact, the siblings and their children never came to see her again—no birthdays, no Mother’s Days, nothing. He said that for the first year, she would hang up on him when he called. After about a year, she finally called him, and then they began to communicate. Just before she died, she told a nurse to tell her son, “I love him and I’m sorry.”

Heartbreaking. Then I heard the opposite kind of story—a story of understanding and acceptance. This was from a woman in Wisconsin, a mother of six whose seventeen-year-old son just came out to them. She said, “I’m so glad he still has a year at home so we can make him know what a great person he is.”

That mother has a lesson for us all: don’t waste precious time. I wish I had realized that sooner. Unfortunately, although I was combating my ignorance, it took me a while to get beyond my fears.

The books and articles I was reading gave me concrete knowledge with which I was able to emerge from my denial. This was reality, a truth that I wasn’t going to pretend away. I began to understand that there was nothing wrong with being gay; but still, why did Ellen have to be that way? In other words, whose fault was it?

Well, if Ellen is being exactly who she is supposed to be, how can it be anybody’s fault? She has also achieved major success in Hollywood. Is that my fault, or her dad’s?

In talking to El at this time, I may well have asked the question that parents often ask next: Why do you think this happened? From my vantage point now, I know that this is a ludicrous question. Being gay or lesbian isn’t something that happens, like an accident. As Ellen later said, it’s as much a part of her as the color of her eyes or her skin.

I may have asked a follow-up question: Was it caused by any of the experiences you’ve had? This is the same sort of futile effort to find a cause for something that just
is.
Our experiences throughout life shape our character, but they don’t make us straight or gay. Just like heterosexuals, all the gay people in this world were brought up under different conditions, some optimal, some dysfunctional.

Thank goodness, I got beyond the need to find myself or someone else or some cause to be at fault. Still, though, I had other questions, like the dreadfully old-fashioned question: “But who’ll take care of you if you don’t get married?”

“You,” Ellen teased, letting me know that she wasn’t worried about needing a man for that reason, so why should I be?

I’m happy to say that this question is now outdated. Women are such an established presence in the workplace that there is no longer any need to have a “good provider.”

“And what about children?” I asked, voicing another fear—that being gay meant she would be childless. This too is an old-fashioned notion. At that time, having children wasn’t a priority for El. These days, she has many options. I have met numerous gay and lesbian couples who are having or adopting children. In all these cases, the children are beautifully cared for and the parents have put a lot of thought and care into making this momentous decision.

I still had to ask one more time, “Maybe you just haven’t met the right young man?”

“Didn’t we have this conversation before?” Ellen retorted. But shortly thereafter, she obviously decided to give the heterosexual world one last chance and started dating Jeff. When she described him to me, over the phone, she said he was a very nice-looking young man, friendly and talented. My hopes soared. He sounded like everything a young woman could want—it would seem.

“Ellen,” I suggested during a phone call, “why don’t you invite Jeff to spend Christmas day with us in Pass Christian? We’d all love to meet him.”

“That’s a nice idea,” she said and arranged for him to come with us to Helen’s.

He was just as she’d described him, even nicer-looking, and very articulate. I enjoyed talking to him on the drive over from New Orleans. In my mind, I was starting to visualize Ellen’s picture in the engagement section all over again.

The family was very impressed with Jeff. He brought his guitar, and during the day he played and sang some very humorous songs that had us all laughing.

At one point, I glanced at El. She was laughing along with us. But as a woman, I could sense that she wasn’t smitten. They were really only friends. I faced up to the truth that I was the one who wished it could be more than that. I wanted her life to be easier and felt it could be if she were “like everyone else.” But she wasn’t. In time, I would come to appreciate and admire her for not being like everyone else and for her strength, courage, and honesty in being exactly who she is supposed to be.

The right young man wasn’t going to “save” Ellen. She didn’t need saving. What a breakthrough that realization was for me! And so that Christmas day of 1978 marked a turning point in my journey to acceptance. From then on, my world began to open up and expand as I started meeting El’s wonderful, loving circle of friends. I was touched by their camaraderie and their support for each other.

A friend named Liz became a family favorite. Often, when I’d been in town visiting. El brought Liz—or Ms. Lizard as Ellen called her—to Mother’s house. Liz was “in” with Noni right away because at that time she was working for Pan American! Ellen brought Liz to the Halloween street dances that Mother and her neighbors had every year. Everyone contributed by bringing food and drinks and there was always a DJ and lots of dancing in the street.

On a trip back to New Orleans recently, I saw Liz and she reminded me of Grandma, one of Noni’s friends, a cute little Cajun lady in her nineties.

“Man,” Liz said, “she could cut a mean rug.”

We remembered the year that she and Ellen arrived just as Grandma was “gettin’ down with the music.” Ellen loved it and rushed out to join her in the wildest dance of the night—to a highly appreciative audience.

As I opened my mind and my heart to El’s friends, and then, as time went on, I met her special girlfriends, I beheld only good and only love. Ellen was happy and was on the road to achieving her goals in life. What more could I ask for? I loved my daughter as much as I ever had—maybe more, because she needed my love more.

El had once said that I probably would never completely understand. I’m happy to say she was wrong about that. I’m even happier that she was willing to give me time—to learn, to reason, to see. That’s all I needed.

I know some of you reading this may be just beginning your own process and you may feel troubled and resistant, even angry and frustrated. You, like parents with whom I have talked, may be wondering how long it’s going to take—what exactly will put you over the top to feeling okay. I can only tell you, from my own experience, that in this gradual, painstaking way I finally arrived at a new place—a place of complete acceptance where I could celebrate Ellen for who she is.

It was a new day. The clouds of confusion and ignorance had passed. I saw that those three words, “Mom, I’m gay,” which had once seemed such a burden, were just the opposite.

As I now know, when El came out at age twenty, she gave me the greatest gift I have ever received—her total honesty. The seeds were planted then for the person I could be and wanted to be—independent, strong, honest. I wasn’t there yet. Over the next few years, as Ellen began stepping into the world of stand-up, I would very slowly be taking steps to learn how to stand up on my own.

For that reason, and many more to come, I consider my daughter my best teacher and my best friend.

PART II

1978-1997

5

The Importance of Being Honest

L
OS
A
NGELES
, A
PRIL
30, 1997

I
T WAS JUST AFTER
7:30
P.M
. that Wednesday night when a limousine delivered us to the Creative Artists Agency building in Beverly Hills, where a party, already under way, was celebrating the television star Ellen DeGeneres; her eponymous TV series, which was now in its fourth season; and the airing of what was being called—with a code name—the very special, very controversial “Puppy Episode.”

As we pulled up in front of CAA, I looked out at the large white modern building with its curving lines, and thought to myself that, for many in the entertainment industry, this agency—with its roster of famous, powerful clients—represented the height of show business success.

Ellen had definitely come a long way from Atlanta, Texas. And so had I, for that matter.

I stepped out of the limo first, followed by a radiant-looking Ellen, and her beloved, the likewise radiant Anne Heche. Photographers snapped away and reporters pelted Ellen with questions. Remarkably composed, she smiled for the cameras, made a few humorous remarks, and then, Anne at her side, made her way into the lobby. Nearly bursting with excitement, pride, and nerves, I followed quickly behind the two of them, feeling rather like a mother of the bride.

Indeed, the event that was to take place in under less than an hour was not so different from a wedding or any other important life passage that parents have occasion to witness in their children’s lives. No, Ellen’s character, Ellen Morgan, was not getting a new puppy. What was about to happen was the coming out of both the TV character Ellen Morgan and the real person Ellen DeGeneres, to millions of viewers around the world. It was certainly like a wedding in the sense that it was a cause for celebration—not only for all of us at that party at CAA and all of us who are a part of Ellen’s immediate and extended family, but for millions of gay men and women and their families all across America, for whom this was a historic night.

In fact, once I joined the party in the large, airy, modern space, where champagne flowed and waiters circulated with trays of delicious hors d’oeuvres, the big buzz was about the “Ellen parties” taking place all over the country. These were like gatherings for the Super Bowl or the Oscars, it seemed, or for something even bigger.

“Can you believe it, Mom?” said Vance as I met him in the crowded lobby and gave him an exuberant hug.

It was enough to make any mother weep for joy. But then again, no matter how positive our anticipation was, there was no way to predict the reaction to the show itself. I hoped and prayed that viewers would feel the way I had felt a month earlier when I sat at rehearsals and watched the episode being shot: delighted, thrilled, entertained, touched, moved, proud. At the same time, I knew that what Ellen had made the terribly hard decision to do was not without severe risk. Already, controversy was bubbling. Could America really accept that the lead of a mainstream situation comedy, a regular girl next door, was gay?

For almost a year, plans had been in motion. Everything about the episode was supposed to be top secret. In the summer of 1996, after Ellen made the decision, she had the writers over to her house and told them about it. They were immediately very excited, knowing it would be a history-making event. One of the writers, however, had some trepidation—that was Vance, who was on the writing staff that year. If Ellen hadn’t been his sister, he might not have worried. But as a protective older brother, he couldn’t dismiss the negative possibilities.

And the negativity started right away with leaks to the press which could have derailed the whole episode. We will never know who leaked the story. Certainly no one we knew has admitted it. The first fallout I felt was over a planned trip for Ellen and me to Disney World for the grand opening of a film called
Ellen’s Energy Exhibit
, with Bill Nye, the science guy; it was set to be a permanent part of Epcot. Disney, which owns ABC,
Ellen
s network, was flying us out. Never having been there, I was looking forward to seeing the park and the energy exhibit. But when news of the coming out episode was leaked, the powers that be at Disney decided it might be better if Ellen didn’t show up. We were disinvited.

That was bad enough, but then something horrifying happened. On the last day of shooting the episode, no sooner had the show ended than the assistant director got a call telling her to clear everyone out of the building. Disney security officers were soon on the set, escorting everyone out in an orderly way. There had been a bomb threat.

Safety was our top concern, but there were other serious consequences to consider. These included warnings by knowledgeable people in the industry that coming out of the closet would ruin or significantly harm Ellen’s career, not to mention the damage it might do her private life and even unrepeatable worst-case scenarios. Of course, we didn’t know that Ellen would become even more famous afterward and her love life would blossom as the most fulfilling and happy that it’s ever been—and we would all share in her journey and would soon see our lives transformed for the better in ways we hadn’t even dreamed of.

Yes, there would be a backlash. It was a risk that went with the decision—that the network and the studio would back down, withdraw their support, and eventually cancel the series. But even if that had been a certainty beforehand, it wouldn’t have changed Ellen’s decision. Nor would it have changed my feelings about her decision.

Ellen didn’t make her choice on the basis of what she had to lose and what she had to gain. For her, it was a decision based on the importance of being honest, so that she wouldn’t have to lie anymore about who she was and whom she loved. Of course, she could have kept up her pretense of normality, creating a straight persona for the public to see while being openly gay and accepted within her own private circle of family and friends. But I don’t think Ellen had forgotten that twenty-year-old girl in Pass Christian, Mississippi, who cried and reached out to her mother for understanding. And she knew that there were other young women and men out there going through similar experiences of self-discovery. When Ellen saw that she, as a mainstream, accepted positive image of success, was in a position to make a difference for those kids and for other gays and lesbians in all walks of life, she knew it was worth all the risks.

Amid everything we did and did not know, I doubt that any of us knew how monumental this event was going to be. I didn’t know—at least not when I took my seat close to the front in the auditorium, which by 8:25
P.M.
had filled to overflowing as we gathered together to watch the show. I will never forget how, just before the lights dimmed, I turned around to see Ellen and Anne sitting together in the middle of a row near the back of the auditorium. The self-assured grace on both their faces was so beautiful that I couldn’t help whipping out my camera and snapping a picture of the two of them. In that moment, with all the fears and what-if’s running through my head, the magnitude of what was going on finally struck me. And it hit me that my daughter—who never wanted to be an activist, whose only true desire in life was to make people laugh—was the bravest person I knew. She was laying herself on the line, risking all for the truth.

B
EFORE
I
TELL
you how this exciting saga unfolds, I should probably backtrack and recount exactly how we got to this great moment.

Fortunately, rather than having to rely on memory alone, I’ve been able to document the years through a wealth of family correspondence. Even though I’ve let lots of material things go, I have always held on to personal and sentimental items such as correspondence or gifts that were made for me. At the end of one note Ellen sent me during the very early years of her career, she wrote, “Please keep these letters. It’s the only form of diary or log that I’m keeping so I can look back—so either you or I can write a book someday.”

Me and my curls—age two.

Still life with Ellen, her ever-present baby doll, and loving dad.

Like mother, like daughter. I liked my doll a lot, too.

High school picture of Betty Jane Pfeffer—a glamour-girl wannabe.

Three sisters in 1948: Betty, Helen, and Audrey—still three girls next door.