Richard Cook is a successful TV producer who recently relocated to New York to start a new job. Each week find out how he’s coping with his new life in the Big Apple and whether or not he’ll meet the man of dreams….
A week after moving to New York it was Thanksgiving, A time when families across America unite to eat Turkey and supposedly give thanks to the colonial forefathers who stole land from the natives. I was lucky enough to be invited to join a friend upstate who was to ‘holiday’ with a Massachusetts family. The night before the big day a few of us met in a local bar and I listened as they shared nerves about what was to come; the family fights, the over cooked food, the drunken arguments and what surprised me, ‘the likelihood’ of someone coming out.
It seems that Thanksgiving is not only a time to share pumpkin pie, but also a time to drop that bombshell of bombshell’s and tell all of your family you’re a raging homosexual.
One of our group told me he had announced his homosexuality in such a way and so thrilled was his mother, that same year she promptly set up a helpline for other mothers who didn’t know how to cope with such news’. The popularity of the hotline thrilled his mom so much so that every time the phone rang each Thanksgiving she would jump up and declare ‘There goes another one’.
Last week the New York Times ran an article headlined ‘How to Come Out at Thanksgiving’ in which their top tip was to wait until after the food had been eaten – it would seem no one wants the gay thing rammed down their throat mid way through butternut squash.
After the food was devoured I began to wonder if someone round the table was about to announce they were gay and if so, who?
The article went on to suggest an opportunity may arise whilst playing charades, which conjures up images of some poor terrified gay nervously miming out the words ‘I. Am. Gay’, as his confused family shout out words like ‘teapot’, ‘bent over’, ‘ass pointing’.
Needless to say, the big day arrived and we ventured an hour in to the stunning countryside of Massachusetts where I was welcomed in to the arms of a family of nine people who had cooked food to fill fifty, drank enough booze to drown a pig and talked about everything from politics (‘How many people are actually in ISIS’) to the UK (‘Do you guys have running water?’).
After the food was devoured I began to wonder if someone round the table was about to announce they were gay and if so, who? Secretly I was hoping it would be the man sitting to my left, a handsome rugged thirty-something dude with shy kind eyes that for me were trying to say ‘I’m the sensitive one in the family’. I’d slightly become obsessed with him throughout the meal, picking up on bits of his conversation, he was single, slightly lost in his career and unsure as to where to live, even considering moving back to be closer to his family.
The final ‘thanks’ landed to the hot man on my left, I could hardly contain my excitement…
As we all took it in turns to say what we gave thanks for, I held my breath, waiting for the moment of truth. The final ‘thanks’ landed to the hot man on my left, I could hardly contain my excitement… ‘I’d just like to say’, he piped up rather gingerly before pausing to draw in breath ‘I’d like to give thanks to my twelve gauge shotgun and the deer I killed with it this morning’.
Ah well, my friend’s mother’s hotline would remain silent for a little bit longer I guess.