You never married . . . why?
Good question — Meet my family
When you hit my age and you’ve never married the mind of others wander. Why? They wonder. She is such an attractive, smart woman she must be gay. After all, she wears pants all the time and loves Ellen DeGeneres and Lilly Tomlin and we know what they are.
I remember speaking to my famous cousin, Howie, a founding member of the group Jay and the Americans. Remember, “Come a Little Bit Closer”, “Cara Mia” and “This Magic Moment”? I had an incredible crush on him growing up. We were on the phone catching up recently when he said “You’re a lesbian, right?”
I hate to disappoint all. I am NOT. And no, I didn’t even venture down that road. I took the straight and narrow. Only men. The kinkiest thing that I did was end up in bed with my boyfriend and his brother. That weirded me out enough.
Never even experimented with a woman. I know what you’re thinking. Why not? Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be alone at this age, about to qualify for Medicare.
I just can’t. I don’t feel it. And I don’t wanna feel it. Oh, you think I am a repressed lesbian. Maybe I am. Think what you want — whatever makes you happy.
So let’s get back to the question and for just one-minute try to imagine I’m heterosexual even it’s a bigger turn on to imagine otherwise. Why did I never get married?
I liked boys from the get-go. And never had a problem finding a boyfriend. I had a cute figure and was pretty enough to attract a decent guy. Things always started off hot and heavy and then the time would come when they would meet my family. It wasn’t quite like bringing them to meet the Adams family who were not the run of the mill folks but quite cordial. Cordial is a word that would not be used to describe my family.
I remember when I brought home Marty. I was sure he was going to be my husband. We had a banter going and could finish each other sentences. He was smart, funny, ambitious and attractive. He happened to be Jewish, which was quite appealing as we both understood each other’s neuroses, indigenous to the tribe.
When we walked into my parent’s home my brother was in the living room making out with his wife — this was the second of three wives. He scored a woman nearly twenty years younger. Spotting us, he looked at Marty as if fresh meat had walked in. There were no niceties exchanged before my brother announced what he likes to do his wife sexually during that special time of the month. That was just the beginning. Marty took that pretty good and didn’t appear fazed.
Then mom’s toilet overran and it was flooding the bathroom. She asked Marty if he could help her. He rolled up his sleeves and got on his knees mopping the bathroom.
My brother wasn’t done with him. He was eager for a reaction so he took the cigar he was puffing on and held it over Marty’s arm bringing it close to his skin. It was hovering one sixteenth of an inch away as he threatened to put it out on him. Marty did not flinch. I was impressed. When the entire family went to the restaurant I made sure that we would sit at the other end of the table from this brother. Eager to get Marty’s attention he started throwing balls of food at him crossing in front of everyone in between. Did I mention this brother is a surgeon? Wonder what course he took to learn these moves. This was the disco days and both my brothers convinced Marty to dance. They managed to sandwich him in between them, each hitting him with their hips, to the music, of course. Marty and I didn’t last more than a few additional months.
One day Mom and Dad were parking their car outside my hip Village apartment building. Mom was giving Dad orders. He was pretty fed up and started cursing at her in a rather loud voice. My neighbor walked by and thought, “Who are they? George Constanza’s parents.” Then he spotted me and said “No, they’re Gayle Kirschenbaum’s.”
Wolfgang was my German boyfriend. Not a bit of Jew in him. He lived outside of Berlin. We met through a mutual artist friend. Wolfgang repped artists and ran a gallery. Although, we met in America he was committed to making this long distance relationship work and we traveled back and forth between the states and Europe every three weeks.
Then the Jewish holidays were upon us and I was headed to Florida to have another fun time with the Kirschenbaums. Wolfgang joined me. This was the first time he was meeting them. When we walked in the door, Mom greeted us and I made an introduction. She looked right in Wolfgang’s eyes and said, “Your family probably made lampshades out of my family.” After meeting mom he got fed to the rest of my family and my doctor brother had a feast. Wolfgang did not hold up too well.
When I was introduced to Jeff, a bright handsome journalist who lived and worked in China for several years, I was sure that opportunity had knocked again and I was grateful. We would get married, travel the world and live and work abroad. We started our relationship off in New York, where I was living and then continued in China where he knew many people and spoke the language and went onto England where he was from. Mom and Dad had only heard about Jeff but had yet to meet him. They were up from Florida visiting New York at the same time Jeff and I were there. We had a double date — dinner and theater. At the restaurant after mom had a couple drinks — she loves her wine and other intoxicating beverages, she shared that the only man she had been with was Dad. Knowing my guy was neither, Jewish or American she turned to him and commented, “I heard they don’t circumcise boys in Europe.” Waiting for a response from the now stone-face Jeff, who was a proper Englishman, who taught me a lot about protocol in Europe and China and got pissed when I didn’t follow it. I remember when we were in Beijing a man gave me his business card. I took it with one hand, only to get a lesson that it was an insult to the man and I should take it with two hands. Mom then asked Jeff what the condition of his penis was. I was sure her next question was “Can I see it?” I quickly changed the topic, as we needed to get to the theater.
Jeff and I lasted five more months.
Looks like love might be entering my life again. It will be time soon to introduce him to my family. Just thinking about it makes me want to find the Vicodin from my last surgery.
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To learn about journey to forgive my family… particularly my mother, watch my deeply personal documentary LOOK AT US NOW, MOTHER! It’s been featured widely in the media including New York Times and was on Netflix and now on Amazon and other platforms.
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