Sinful Lifestyles

    I got a letter from my Uncle Barlow the other day.  He's feeling nervous right now.
    It seems the ladies' genealogical society  has decided to do a biographical history of Barlow County.  They want to interview him.  Trouble is, the chronology of his marriage to Aunt Rose and the birth of their son Willie doesn't bear close examination.
    He isn't ashamed of it or anything.  He loved Aunt Rose dearly until the day she died, and Willie grew up to be a fine man.  The problem is, the genealogical society is pretty much the same group as the ladies auxiliary of the First Barlow Church.  If they get any idea that a man hasn't been walking the straight and narrow, they send a committee to try to save him.The last time they tried to save Uncle Barlow, he had to hide his jug for three weeks.  It made him awfully cranky.
    Here's what Uncle Barlow had to say.
    "Dear Nephew,
    "I declare, I just don't know what I'm going to do with my television set. On the entertainment shows, the commercials take up as much time as the program. I've tried and tried, but it just aggravates me something awful. So  I thought maybe I'd stick to the newscasts, but no matter which one I watch, it feels like they're trying to talk me into something. I mean, can't they just tell me what's happening and leave it at that?  ( I do figure I understand why those anchor people make a lot of money. I'd hate to think what they must spend on hair spray.)
    "Anyhow, I decided I'd stick to watching comedians for a while. At least I know they're clowning on purpose. That's how I stumbled across this fellow the other night who was talking about this gay marriage thing that's getting so much attention nowadays. He said he doesn't have any trouble at all understanding why gay marriage should be prevented. He said if we let gay people go around being gay right out in the open, and getting married just like everybody else, pretty soon everybody will want to be gay. Then there won't be any more babies, and the red Chinese will overrun us.  He said gay marriage isn't a personal issue, it's a geopolitical threat.
    "Of course he was funning, but it did get me to thinking about all those man-on-the-street interviews where somebody gets their serious face on and says it's important for the government to declare that marriage has to be between a man and a woman. Now, I don't want to sound like I'm always faulting the TV people, but I just don't understand why these interviewers never ask the obvious question: Why? Why is it important for the government to say that marriage has to be between a man and a woman?  Who gets hurt if gay people get married?
    "Now, it appears to me that a lot of the folks who are anxious about gay marriage are church folks, so I went over to the First Barlow Church to put the question directly to Pastor Throckmorton.  I said, Preacher, why should gay people not get married? He said, Because gayness is a sinful lifestyle, and gay people should be cured of wanting to choose it.
   "Now, that brought me up short. I had always thought of choosing a lifestyle as being sort of like deciding whether you wanted to live in the city or the country. But sex?  I remember back in my teens, when Wanda Hightower got to jumping around in that little cheerleader skirt, the thoughts that rushed all over me didn't wait to be chosen. No, sir. They just swarmed up strong all on their own.  Many a time I had to keep my coat in my lap for the whole game.
   "So I asked the preacher if he meant that anybody could be gay.  I said, Preacher, could you be gay?
   "Well, I thought his eyeballs were going to pop right out of his head. He turned all red in the face and got so winded he had to sit down.  He commenced to shouting all kinds of no, no, nevers, and I decided it was probably a good time for me just to hush and let him go on.
    "And I got to thinking that maybe I shouldn't have come there anyway, because I never have had much luck understanding those folks over at the First Barlow Church.  They swarm in there on Sundays and talk about loving their neighbors, and then they go around all week acting like they never heard a word of it. I remember once when a couple of the old ladies got the notion that I spent a little too much time with my jug, and darned if they didn't track me down and get all over me about changing my ways. It didn't feel to me like I was being loved. It felt to me like I was being weighed and found wanting.
   "I guess Preacher Throckmorton and them feel like folks should follow some proper rules in life, and I guess that's OK.  But they do seem mighty eager to appoint themselves to choose the rules and do the enforcing.  And I have to say, there's just something unkind in that part of it.
    "That got me to thinking about kindness. And you know who I came up with? Cousin Frank. Actually, I guess, you probably never knew him. He was a lot older. The family used to call him our 'confirmed bachelor.'
    "What should I say next about Cousin Frank? Isn't it funny how we decide to go about explaining somebody to somebody else? Well, I guess I've already said the most important thing. He was a kind man. He was a druggist by trade.  Owned a little drug store and pharmacy here in town. And he was a helper by nature. Always going a step or two out of his way to give some help to folks he didn't necessarily owe it to.
    "Some of it was little things. Like, he'd notice if customers weren't refilling their prescriptions on time. And if they didn't, he'd find just the right way to mention it without being nosy. He might lean over to Doc Martin at the Rotary Club meeting and say something like, I wonder how the Widow Cumbee is doing? She hasn't been in my store in quite a while.  Right away the doc would know she wasn't taking her medicine like she ought, and he'd have the nurse call her up.
   "And some of Cousin Frank's helping was with bigger things. He was always one of the first to volunteer for the Rotary Club service projects. And he'd go over to the home on Sundays just to read to people or chat with them and keep them company.  One of them was the Widow Cumbee's mother in law, old Mother Cumbee. She had Alzheimer's. She liked to sit on Sunday afternoons and stare at one particular tree. Well, Frank would go over there and sit and just hold her hand and stare at that tree himself for hours like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
   "Anyhow, the particular thing about Cousin Frank was, everybody knew he wasn't partial to women, and nobody cared, because nobody thought it made him less the fine person they knew him to be. He was the best man you would ever want to meet.
   "That was what was going through my mind while I sat there and waited for the preacher to calm down to a walk. I could see the conversation wasn't going anywhere, and I just thanked him for his time and shook hands to leave. So we never did get around to talking any more about it, and I never got around to asking him why the government should make laws to suit the rules of his church, or how that might work if somebody else's church could round up more votes than his could, and I never did get a common sense answer to that first question: Why?
    "About the time I got to the door, the preacher shook his finger and warned me that I shouldn't be so cavalier about homosexuality. I had to look up 'cavalier' when I got home, but I had already caught the meaning of the way he said it. It was like he wanted me to be afraid in some way.
    "I thought that was a mighty curious way for a preacher to behave, and so I'm more confused now than I ever was about this whole thing.  Maybe the next time you visit here in Barlow County I could introduce you to Pastor Throckmorton, and you could help me understand how he and his folks could be so hostile about something that doesn't hurt them one speck.
   "But if you ever do meet him, I recommend you don't ask him if it would be possible for him to be gay.  He seems to be mighty touchy about any notion of that sort.

                                                                                                     "Sincerely,
                                                                                                     "Your Uncle Barlow"