It's early Saturday night and the family is safely winging it's way back to Buffalo. I emerged largely unscathed. And as I said halfway through the weekend, if this doesn't drive me to drink I'm officially "cured". It's not that I don't love my family, it's not even that I don't enjoy them. It's just that as an out gay man with HIV the relationships, already complicated, become a potential minefield. And many of my relatives are no less stubborn, opinionated, passive-aggressive and as passionate as I am. It can be a volatile and exhausting mix to deal with. In the past, I would cope with this jumble of emotions by numbing it with alcohol. That is not a viable option these days. And I promised myself I wouldn't "drink at" anyone when I simply couldn't or didn't want to deal with them or the emotions they stirred in me. And I'm no longer beating myself up with alcohol when my worst qualities rear up either. That leaves me, sober, dealing with the family, both in the past and in the now, on a level I hadn't in quite some time.
And it was OK.
I'm still processing.
But I feel pretty good.
I came away with stories and pictures. But before I bore you with sugary sweet anecdotes and shots of my very cute niece and ridiculously adorable twin 2nd cousins, here's a shot of a boy I ran across practicing something in the park that involved taking off his shirt and not an ounce of body fat. And for this, we are all thankful.
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