On Pomposity

I went back to my Old Stomping Grounds (as opposed to Ye Olde Stomping Grounds--they are different) over the last few days. I went to the same conference I went to two years ago and hung out with some of the same friends and met a few new people. It was nice, but I was still sick. Being gone while sick--even if it is a place that is almost home--is rough.

I stayed with an old friend, KW. KW is my gay husband. He's my mom's gay son in law. We've known each other for years. He knows me better than almost anyone. He is near and dear to me, and I love him with every fiber of my being. I met some of his friends and colleagues while there and one of them asked me what he was like as a student, since KW met as students at my Old Stomping Grounds more than twenty years ago. What did I say? That he was a pompous asshole. A skinny pompous asshole.

Was he really as asshole? Not really. Was he pompous? Yes. Was he skinny? Very. Too skinny. I went on to say that a mutual friend of ours never understood how KW and I could be so close given his pomposity and my general lack of tolerance for bullshit. I told our friend that I often called KW on his bullshit. But what I didn't say, and what I didn't explain to KW's friends and colleagues--and I wish I would have--is that underneath all of that pomposity, KW was kind, sweet, gentle, caring, and someone I trusted with my life. I did and I do.

We argue like an old married couple--some of it for show and some of it for real. We banter. We have similar mannerisms--at one point, a friend of his was laughing at us because KW and I were talking to each other, both leaning back in our chairs, with our arms cross in front of us. KW likes to see how exasperated he can make me. But in the end, he always takes care of me. He is always there for me. He will always listen. And he always knows the right thing to say.

During my last year of grad school I needed some time away, so I called up KW and asked if I could visit. Our spring breaks were at the same time, so I flew to Missouri. We spent a long weekend sequestered away in his little house, just the two of us, enjoying each other's company, watching movies, eating food, and talking. It was much needed.

That's usually what I do when I go to KW's. This time, however, I was sick. How I felt changed every hour or so. At some moments, I needed to lie down. Or I asked for a neck rub because I was sore. Or I needed water/coffee/orange juice. And sometimes I needed nothing. But there were those moments where all I needed was for someone to ask, "What do you need?" And he made sure I got it.

KW has lost the pomposity. A lot of that is the bravado of being 18 and thinking you know everything when deep down you know you are clueless and scared shitless. What has surfaced is a man of great integrity who still knows just what to say, asks all the right questions, makes me question myself when I need to, and supports me when I am unsure. And I am so very glad he is my friend.

On a side note, I got there about 9:00 Thursday night. We met at a local grocery store so we could pick up some food for dinner. After cooking, eating and cleaning, we were talking and catching up. I had to get to bed: I was exhausted, I was sick, and I had to give a presentation the next day. But it took close to two hours for me to get to bed because one of us would say, "Oh, have you seen this?" Or, "did I tell you about that?" At one point I finally said, "We need to see each other more often--every two years isn't enough."

It isn't.