I often use the one-liner that “I was raised by a pack of rabid televisions.” It’s either not as funny as I think it is or most people just don’t get it. But in any event the truth is I was raised by the television and before the dawn of Glee. You know there didn’t use to be any role models for an impressionable gay youth, such as myself. I once thought I’d found one in Paul Lynde.
I remember watching a lot of television. Mostly comedies, a seemingly endless parade of 1970’s humor was in syndication and anyone could just sit back, relax and take it all in. I Dream of Jeannie, Gomer Pyle, Gidget and finally Bewitched. Suddenly it happened. Something wondrous appeared – and I mean appeared – out of thin air. Right there amongst the martini guzzling, sexism, hyperbole and come to think of it a severe diversity drought, I finally saw Uncle Arthur portrayed by the now late Paul Lynde. He was fabulous and I didn’t even know what fabulous was. Uncle Arthur minced. He was catty. He laughed at his own jokes but you could tell he was funny because of the laugh track. As sure as that sunken living room had shag carpeting, I was certain I was the same as Uncle Arthur. Now I just had to learn how to snap.
I spent a week, which in kid years was the entire summer, trying to figure out how to snap. I struggled and I strained. Is it possible to sprain your hand? I was still pretty young and my motor skills not at all sharp. I couldn’t give up! This was epic. I was going to be somebody. Finally it happened. I snapped. I was as surprised as the stuffed animals on my bed that were egging me on, my cheering section. The sound of my tiny finger snap echoed off the walls of my bedroom.
Nothing.
Anxiously I looked around but there was no pony. I was still in my room. Nothing. Nothing happened. I thought well surely if I could just manage to do it with both hands like Samantha’s sister, something would be released. A puff of smoke. The dog would start talking. Something. I would finally wield power in my otherwise tiny little existence. Nine was a horrifying experience of powerlessness, I wasn’t looking forward to turning ten. I really needed this to happen for me. I wanted to be like Uncle Arthur. Dammit!
Sadly, even after I was finally able to swing my arms wide and snap like Serena, I was still just a mere mortal. There would be no grand entrances or sudden vanishing exits for me. I couldn’t summon other witches to come take me to my real home to be with my kind. We all had that phase, right? The one where you decide that you had to have been adopted. Where your parents or family just seem wrong and the best answer was that you had real parents somewhere else. Well, learning to snap was the anti-climatic end to this short-lived dream of mine. I had to settle for living here with my mortal parents and doing mortal chores all of while entering through mortal doors and pedestrian exits on foot. Shucks.
