The Wedding: A Family's Coming Out Story (15 page)

“Ummm, well....” I didn’t want to get in the
middle of a disagreement so soon in the process. But I agreed wholeheartedly
with Roslyn. “You’re right... I mean, I think that’s a good point. So we should
all talk about that together.”

After one more hotel appointment, we made our
way to Eaton’s. As we rode the elevator up to the ninth floor, Roslyn waxed
nostalgic.

“You know, I used to come up here as a little
girl. It was always such a treat. We’d dress up in our best and behave very
grown-up.”

We
surveyed the room together. “It’s still so gorgeous,” Roslyn observed.
“Nothing’s changed here. It’s amazing.”

While we waited for the manager to meet with us,
we sat down for a snack at one of the dozens of tables spread out over the
enormous multi-tiered floor.

“Hmmm,” Roslyn pondered her meal. “
Nothing
has changed here. It’s pretty much the same thing they served forty years ago.
We’ll ask if they allow an outside caterer to work in their kitchen.”

“Bonjour, good afternoon.” We all turned,
slightly startled, and behind Roslyn stood an affable thirty-something man in a
navy blue suit. “I’m Mr. St. Pierre, you are Mrs. Merlin?”

“Yes... Mrs.
Merling
, and this is my son
Andrew, and his partner Doug.”

“O.K., would you like to sit down at a bigger
table, up there?”

He motioned to the next level up, to the right,
where larger rounded tables were positioned at wide intervals.

ANDREW   
“The room looks like a
grand ocean liner, sort of,” Doug ventured. “Like the Titanic.” The tone of my
laugh made it clear that wasn’t the most optimistic comparison he might have
made.

“Yes, it is designed to remind you of the great
ships,” said Mr. St. Pierre.

And it does. The lowest, and central, portion of
the restaurant stretches about thirty yards. Ringing the room at both ends are
two curved and elevated areas. And at the center of each of these is a fountain
which flows from the wall into a dazzling fixture of iridescent metal and
glass, providing illuminated streams which bookend the glorious space. Directly
in front of each fountain is a large marble platform, which flows down to a
wide staircase leading down a half dozen steps onto the main floor. And on
either side of the foot of each staircase is an enormous alabaster  torchère,
standing over eight feet tall and three feet wide, adding a final touch of
surreal elegance.

            Once
we were seated on one of the upper landings, my mother dove right in. “The ceremony
we’re thinking of holding here would be a wedding, or a commitment ceremony,
for my son and his partner. Is that a problem for you?

            “No,
not at all. It’s unusual, of course. But no problem at all.”

            And
when he told us the price, we tried, collectively, not to betray our elation.

DOUG   
Andrew
had been right. The rate was impossibly reasonable. The price for that room,
even if it existed in New York, would be astronomical. Suddenly the concept of
holding our reception here seemed not only blissfully preordained, but
eminently sensible.

            A
number of other details were hashed out, and Roslyn suggested we all meet again
after she talked to Sheldon. Mr. St. Pierre went back to work as the three of
us took to measuring the room and brainstorming the logistics. Dozens of
blue-haired ladies were enjoying a quiet afternoon lunch. And heaven knows what
they thought we were up to, wending out way between tables, examining every
detail, from sightlines to acoustics.

            “The
room is huge. I think you could hold both the ceremony and the reception here,”
Roslyn suggested.

            I
looked to Andrew for a response. He mulled it over for a moment.

            “Yeah.
We could do that.”

            From
that moment, there was no doubt that our wedding would be here, in this room,
in Montreal.

            As
I absorbed this reality, I wondered if it was the romance of the room that
changed his mind – or was he just getting more comfortable with this entire
concept as this process continued?

ANDREW   
Above and beyond all my
other reasons for wanting to separate the wedding and the reception, there was
always one particular concern. I was abundantly aware that this entire event
was a significant stretch for my parents. I thought they would be much more
comfortable having the ceremony held before a separate, intimate, gathering.
Here was my mother, though, getting into the spirit of this with Doug and me.
And lo and behold, she suggested that we hold the ceremony and the reception
together. If she thought it was a good idea, maybe we should do it that way
after all.

            And
the room was an inspiring vision, the perfect place.

SHELDON   
I knew they had found a
place they liked in Montreal. It seemed the rest of our community knew it too.
And you already know from the previous chapter what the community was saying. Despite
the negative reaction, Roslyn was discussing the upcoming event as a fait
accompli. I was becoming even more the odd man out, with three of them on one
side, me on the other.

            So
when Roslyn suggested we all meet with a Rabbi, I said,
Why not?
In a
little less than a year now,
something
was going to happen, and my aim
was to try and reduce the scope of it. I had hope that this might be an
opportunity for all of us to be heard.

ANDREW   
Even though I’ve never
been as religious as my father, I agreed to the meeting, hoping that this might
help him reconcile the tremendous discomfort he was expressing about the
wedding. I went into it feeling hopeful that we could make some movement in the
right direction, and deflate some of the tension that had been mounting from
week to week.

SHELDON   
On the day of the
meeting I had no great expectations. We filed into his study and once we were
all seated, Rabbi Berman said he already knew, more or less, what had brought
us together for this talk. Once he’d heard Roslyn, Andrew, and Doug give a
little background into the ceremony and celebration they envisioned, he looked
to me and said, “Go ahead and give me your position.”

            I
told him, “Look, I’m going to be there. If this is the way they feel about it,
if it has a religious context, it’s all right. But if I had my choice, as a
compromise, to take my feelings into account as well as theirs, and still give
them essentially what they want, why can’t we, for example, have the ceremony
in a rabbi’s study, like this? That occurs very often, in second marriages for
instance, when both people have children.”

            Rabbi
Berman listened attentively. Roslyn, Andrew, and Doug all remained silent. So I
continued. Perhaps, this time, they were really hearing. “If you want me to give
my idea, why not have the ceremony with the immediate family and maybe a best
man, or what have you, one of two close friends perhaps, then come back to our
house and have a party with say, fifty, sixty, even seventy people. The house
can accommodate that many people. And that’s enough. We don’t have to take ads
in the newspaper. When they talk about a video, a photographer, a band, well…
to my mind it’s all indicative of their desire to make this much bigger than
I’m comfortable with.”

            And
I brought up the same question I’d asked of both Andrew and Doug many times
since last January. “Tell me one other person that you know who has gone
through what you’re talking about.” And, as always, they had no reply.

            “I
shouldn’t be the innovator,” I insisted. “Also, I’d like to know more about the
ceremony as they see it, in some detail. Doug has talked about wanting to have
his friend Geri speak during the ceremony -”

            “Geri’s
one of my two closest friends,” Doug interjected, “and she gave me the honor of
asking me to speak during her wedding. I want to do the same for her.”

            “I
understand that, and perhaps that’s not unusual outside of Canada, but here –
well, I’ve never heard of it. And furthermore, I want to make sure this doesn’t
become some kind of platform. This shouldn’t be about politics, and I need to
know that this won’t be treated as some kind of endorsement for gay marriage
per se. This is about our family, and that’s it.”

            After
a long while silent, Roslyn shot out, “What have we got to be ashamed of? If
we’re proud of our children, we do it openly, we don’t have to keep it on a
small scale, that’s like hiding it, keeping it in the closet.”

            I’d
heard this line of defense before.

            And
she added, “Either we have it the way we want, or what’s the purpose of going
through the whole thing?”

            Doug
tried another tack, no more helpful. “OK, so we recognize that you’ll be very
troubled that day, but why don’t you pretend that one of your children is
marrying someone of another faith. Imagine what that would feel like. You’d be
uncomfortable, but you’d get over it.” I didn’t think that comparison
recognized the magnitude of what we were experiencing.

            Through
all of this discussion, Rabbi Berman didn’t say a thing. After almost an hour,
he finally spoke for two, maybe three minutes. And I thought his answer was a
great answer.

            “I’m
just a Rabbi, not a psychologist,” he qualified immediately. “So I can’t give
you a psychological answer. The best I can do is try and translate this into
religious terms. The Bible says a person should revere their mother and father.
Therefore, relating it to the context that we’re discussing now, you should
talk this over separately, together – however you like – and try to see each
other’s positions. Hopefully, on one hand, you get what you want, and on the
other hand, you’re sensitive and sympathetic to the position of the other. See
if you can come to some kind of compromise that satisfies everybody.”

DOUG   
The
Rabbi closed with this thought. “And when it’s all said and done, in accordance
with Jewish tradition, the parents will confer and reach a final agreement.
Sheldon and Roslyn must concur, and then present the children with a united
front.”

           
United
Front?
What was this, a meeting of NATO?

            “And
the children should respect their wishes. At least that’s how you would handle
this situation if you used biblical scripture as a model. And, as I said, the
Torah is my frame of reference here. I’m not a psychologist.”

            We
had all listened respectfully, and when he finished speaking, I was numb. Why
had I, a largely irreligious Jew, ascended to this meeting? If I’d ever given a
moment’s thought to how this would play out, it should have been no surprise.
After all, we were meeting in a synagogue, not a gay and lesbian community
center, or even a therapist’s office. Organized religion has always left me
ambivalent at best and bitter at moments like this. I tried to remember that
millions find life-saving support through ecclesiastical charity, yet my paltry
disappointment reminded me that the good Lord can also taketh away – in the
name of a book whose rules I interpret as fiction stuffed with mystic metaphor.

            As
Andrew and I marched from the synagogue to the car, we crunched dried and crumbling
leaves beneath our feet. Breaking from our usual pattern, I was far ahead of
him, forcing the pace. I wouldn’t dare speak until steel and glass could stand
between me and the serene Montreal morning. When we reached the car, I glanced
back at the bland cement exterior of the synagogue. No sign yet of Sheldon and
Roslyn – they must be chatting in the hall with the Rabbi.

            The
street was nearly silent when we stood on opposing sides of the car, and I
heard the jab of Andrew’s key in the driver’s door. I threw myself into the
passenger seat as Andrew turned over the engine.

            “Great,”
I hissed, “Just great.”

            “What
are you talking about?”

            “Did
you hear what happened back there?”

            “Yes!
What’s your problem?”

            Andrew
made the familiar turns first onto Sherbrooke St., then Decarie Boulevard, and
finally to the Laurentian Autoroute, which was to take us out to the country
for an afternoon hike. But the discord during the ride would be bumpier than
any terrain we’d negotiate by foot that day. I managed to spoil the scenic
drive with an ugly scene of my own. Regurgitating the meeting in the Rabbi’s
study, I acted out each moment for Andrew with a masochistic theatricality.
Then I wrapped up the recitation with my interpretation of Sheldon’s take on
the talk.

            “And
when we walked out of the room together, did you see how your father sailed out
of that room? With a bounce in his step and song in his heart.”

            “Yeah,
and…?”