I
was standing at the ticket counter of the movie theater and couldn’t believe my
ears. They were telling me that Theater of Blood, with the
great Vincent Price, was rated “R” and they were not letting me in without a
parent. I was a horror-movie obsessed boy of 12, and was inconsolable. “I won’t
look at any sexy stuff,” I remember pleading, “I just came for the gore!”
With
visions of decapitations fading like an old blood stain, I made the long walk
back home and exposed my broken heart to Mother, who made one of the grandest
gestures of my childhood: she took me back for the late show. On a school night.
It
wouldn’t be the last time she had my back. Over the years she proved a
trustworthy ally, and this was never more true than in the 1980’s, when gay men
often lost their mothers — hell, their entire families — when an AIDS
diagnosis was revealed.
Mom
never abandoned me or my gay older brother, Dick (is there no gayer name
than Dick King? Did my parents consult the Falcon Video Book of Baby
Names?). I tested positive in 1985, and Mom immediately went to work
educating herself on HIV.
My
brother was spared HIV infection but suffered its cruelty nevertheless: his
lover of 13 years, Emil,died of AIDS
in the early, scorched-earth years of the epidemic.
In
this video, I sat Mom down to find out things I’ve never asked before. What did
she really feel when she found out I was positive? Did she believe I would die?
Do mothers have a right to know? What advice would she offer other families? We
also talk about the loss of Emil and the repercussions from it we still feel
today.
Mom
is no expert. She isn’t an AIDS researcher and she doesn’t march on Washington.
She just loves her kids and tries to understand what is happening in their lives
and how she can help. If your mother is like mine, we have a lot to celebrate
(or remember) this Mother’s Day weekend.
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