I’m a Noodle!

Years ago a close friend asked me what it was like for me to come out of the closet. Not one of our more typical topics of conversation for breakfast, but I figured, “What the heck? I’m game.” Actually, I was quite honored that he trusted and valued our friendship enough to even ask me; until then, no one had even attempted to broach the subject.

I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remembered talking about the fact that it certainly had nothing to do with any closets for me. To me closets have always been a source of comfort – kind of a safety zone. I remember during the Bay Area’s 1989 earthquake, I actually went to my closet a number of times during the numerous aftershocks that took place – thought my behavior was a little stranger than normal – until my therapist assured me that a lot of people were exhibiting a lot of different behaviors during this disaster.

Boy was I relieved! I was already wrestling with the vague awareness that I was different. I certainly didn’t want to be certifiable nuts on top of that.

No siree, Bob! We had enough wackos in the family.

My closet had always been a safe zone from the craziness of my childhood, so my therapist felt my sitting in it after the quake was totally appropriate. And I was paying her the bucks to validate my saneness, so I figured she had to be right.

Coming out for me, however, felt anything but safe. I felt alone and afraid; like I was driving down a long black tunnel with no lights and I didn’t see any “light at the end of the tunnel”; until more and more celebrities started their coming out process and I saw that I wasn’t alone in this tunnel of uncertainty – there were other “blind drivers” with me – and they were important people.

My initial disclosures that I made to family and close friends were mostly smooth sailing. The first friend I told actually laughed and was relieved that I wasn’t just diagnosed with some terminal illness. I was so nervous coming out to her during breakfast, that I choked on my tea a number of times and had a hard time swallowing my blue germ pancakes. When I finally did confide in her, I coughed out my blueberries and tea onto my plate and quickly uttered, “I’m gay, alright? I’m gay! I don’t know why the hell I’m gay, but I am!”

And then in case she felt I was hitting on her while I was spitting out my blueberries and tea, I quickly blurted out, “And no, you’re not my type, so don’t worry.”

For the first few seconds, I wasn’t sure she totally got what I said because she just quietly stared at me with what appeared to be a look of confusion, and then suddenly she howled with laughter and said, “For Pete’s sake, Lucie, you were so squirrely, I thought you were gonna tell me you had cancer or something! My boyfriend, Ralph, thought you were gay. Guess it was just me and you who didn’t know, eh?”

And then we both started laughing and I settled down and enjoyed what was left of my spit-out breakfast.

Coming out to Paula, at 35 years old, was a “piece of cake” compared to telling some of my other friends and family members. The fact is, there are still a number of family members that don’t really talk too much about it. They know the Princess is my special live-in friend, and most of the time, we leave it that way. I continue to correct them when they introduce us as “friends”, and they continue to do it. It’s one of those dances that will probably continue until they die, and it’s ok because it’s really not my problem; it’s theirs.

I realize that there are people that hate the Princess and me simply because we love each other. I also realize that many of these same people hate others because of their preconceived notion of what they think these people’s “differences” represent.

I get that.

We’re afraid of what we don’t understand.

As a young, innocent white woman from upstate New York, teaching a challenging group of predominately black kids in inner city Oakland years ago, I was afraid.

It was my kick-ass, Italian, New York attitude, that saved my butt many-a-time during those first few months teaching in Oakland. When I think back to those early morning walks with my kids through the drug-infested neighborhood of our school, I seriously believe I had an angelic guardian “Goombah” watching over me. To this day, I can’t explain it, but as soon as the gang-bangers saw my kid-lings and I headed toward them, all drug deals came to a screeching halt, and we were greeted with smiles and enthusiastic “Good mornings!” as we strolled by them, like nobody’s business.

Parading with my kids through the drug-infested streets of inner-city Oakland was much easier for me, than coming out to my family, friends and co-workers. Much easier. At least I knew who the bad guys were in Oakland. Coming out to my family members and friends was harder. Much harder.

Some days I felt like I was blindly driving down a tunnel, defiantly participating in a game of bumper cars with other reluctant drivers; until I was so banged up that I decided a “pit stop” was necessary and declared a moratorium on everything dealing with my sexuality because I was so emotionally beat-up that I couldn’t “drive” any more. It was brutally exhausting and it shouldn’t have been.

I never understood why my loving another woman was any big deal. I was still the same person. I was still a good teacher, a good friend, a good sister, a good Aunt, a good daughter……

Why did people care who I loved?

Because somehow their God cared and judged me?

My God doesn’t judge me. My God loves and accepts me. Why would he have made me the way he made me?

Contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t choose this life-style.

I am an intelligent, kind, reasonably evolved woman.

I am not crazy.

(And, sorry, but I think you’d have to be a “little crazy” to choose this life-style.)

I think my Mom summed it up pretty well when I came out to her before dinner one night and I asked her, “So, what da ya think about having a gay kid, Ma?”

She looked at me like only she can when you’ve asked her a stupid question, and said, “Cazzo! You’re my daughter! You’ll always be my daughter. Now what do you want for dinner? Rigatoni’s or spaghetti’s?”

Yep.

I think that’s as important an issue my sexuality should be for everyone.

As far as I’m concerned, we’re all pasta and I’m a noodle. And who cares?

Have a great day, People, and I’ll catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes!

 

Published by

Lucie

I'm a retired special ed teacher, born in upstate NY, who spent most of my adult life in the SF/Bay Area and moved to the Olympic Peninsula of WA in June of 2017. At the encouragement of family and friends, who followed my silliness on my FB page, I started this blog a few years ago. I try to keep my topics as humorous as possible (because I believe "LIFE" is pretty serious these days), but will, on occasion write about more solemn subjects. I sincerely appreciate all who take the time and effort to read and make comments and am truly humbled when people actually "like" what I write. I do not participate in the "Wordpress awards" because I feel "awarded" when individuals actually read me and comment, but sincerely appreciate all of you who have considered me "award worthy" and thank you from the bottom of my heart. Hugs, Lucie

30 thoughts on “I’m a Noodle!”

    1. You’re too funny! (Actually, I could probably use a “shot or two of whisky” these days, but I’m not a “whisky woman”. More of a “margarita kind of momma”!) Hope you and the family are doing well, my friend. Lucie :>)

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  2. I chuckled when I read what you said to your friend when you told her. That is exactly what my friend said to me many years ago when he told me — “Don’t worry, you’re not my type!”. This was coming from a guy who was my college roomie, who endured years of me lounging around our dorm room in my boxers. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not! We were roommates at a BIBLE college and my friend told me this as he was leaving the Christian ministry, a decision he decided was necessary before coming out. I admire that you have not let gay affect your relationship with God. Unfortunately, Bob decided that because he is gay, there must not be a God. There are tears in my eyes as I type this to you, mainly because that alone stabs at my soul after more than 20 years.

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    1. Aw…I’m sorry that’s how your friend feels, Steve about there not being a God, but I also understand him…the hatred and prejudice that is thrown at us sometimes makes one wonder….anyways I hope Bob ritual path eventually finds his spi

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  3. I am impressed by your courage. The marching of kids past street-corner thugs and facing the honest truth about your own most personal secrets makes my acts of courage look like a kitten chasing grasshoppers. Thank you for your candid humor and humble heroic deeds.

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  4. YOU’RE GAY? That’s nice, now whatcha got that explains the rest of your crazy life? Don’t remember the big “coming out”, just hope I didn’t miss a party! Maybe I don’t remember because in most ways, I don’t care. Just a shame life would ever have to be more hard because of ones sexuality. That would be the only aspect I would care about. We’ve been friends for so many years, I will always be glad your boots came a walking my way! Keep the blogs coming. Love to you and the princess!

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    1. I’ve been happy since you met me, Silly!!😆 I know we’ve gotta have a party to celebrate, hun?? I’m glad my “boots came walking your way, too!” Many thanks for taking the time to stop by and comment! Hope you enjoyed the read. Enjoy your time in FL!!!😎

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    1. Aw..thanks, Little Buddy! You know how I value your input….how do u like the photo? It didn’t go where I wanted it, but I got it in there!!! 🙂

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  6. Hey you big ol’ noodle you, ya Ma is a legend and Lucie Your a bloody legend too, but now that I know I am a type of Pasta, and by bloody oath I love Italian food, then in answer to ya Ma’s question, Rigatoni’s or Spaghetti’s, I would pick Rigatoni’s. I do love me noodles too though, so ya big ol’ noodle you this is another rippa story, and like our ol’ mate Forrest Gump said,
    ” lifes like a box of choc-o-lates, ye never know what ye gonna git ”
    Pasta, Noodles like our ol’ mate Shawn commented, both made from flour, both Yummy!!
    We all have to come out of our closets at some point or we would be like the Irishman,
    They found his skeleton 100 years later in a secret closet in an old building in Dublin, Ireland they were knocking down, he was finally identified as Patrick O’malley, he was the 1869 Hide and Seek Champion of the world
    From way across the oceans, your a rippa funny noodle Lucie, I can’t wait to read your stories, I live with a bugger of a chronic pain in my abdomen of all places, surgeons stuffed up while operating on me, anyways laughter is the best medicine and you share it by the bucket loads, I thank you for that ol’ mate
    Big Aussie hugs headin’ your way
    From
    Annie in Australia 🌞 🌴 🌊

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    1. Annie, you are a blessing and sweetheart of a woman and I am sooooo sorry that you’re in pain, Luv….so, so sorry. I am so very honored and humbled that you read me and take the time to comment. I know/feel that you and I would be good buddies if you lived here…sending you healing hugs and much love, Annie Girl! ❤

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      1. Thanks for healing hugs Lucie, much appreciated. I would love to live round the corner from you, gosh we could have some fun. I look forward to your stories, I love them, you popped a photo in your last post, I wondered who is in the photo? I haven’t seen a photo of you, I think I have my dopey dial all over my blogsite. I have an appointment to see a surgeon this week, looks like I might have to have further surgery, if so I do hope I come out the other side eventually pain free. Life would be better, still lovin’ it but pain free there would be no stoppin’ me Ol mate.
        Love and hugs from
        Annie in Australia 🌞 🌴 🌊

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      2. Hey Annie, I went on your site to try to get your email to email you and I can’t find an about page with any info. Also, I tried commenting on one of your pieces and couldn’t figure out how to comment….is it me or your site? Write to me at my email address: lifeinluciesshoes@gmail.com

        Ps In the picture, I’m the brunette. The Princess is the redhead. We were in our 40s back then and we’re on a trip down to Monterey when that picture was taken

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      3. I will save your email Lucie, and I’ll have another crack at tweaking my site…do you think it’s perhaps because I am still running on a free site Lucie and I may need to upgrade. I’m guessing the free sites would have limitations on a lot of the functions. Gee Wizz mate I am a rookie at all this ‘tecnalogical’ stuff, need to pick my game up me thinks and maybe start paying wordpress for this amazing opportunity they have given me to find budiful peoples like you on the other side of the world. I will give you this email annebg22@gmail.com and try to add an email into my site…that’s a fabulous photo of you and The Princess, I have tried to enlarge your gravatar photo ( if that’s what it’s called?), Is that you and your Ma?..I love you and your life Lucie, your shoes are full of wonderful stories.
        Big Ol hugs heading your way from
        Annie in Australia 🌞 🌴 🌊

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    1. The 1000 dollar question!!! Talking about childhood stuff involves talking about certain elephants and disclosing familial stuff that I have no problem with, but other people may….I have a story that I wrote that needs a little tweaking, but I may post that one in the near future. Stay tuned! 😉 Thanks for dropping by! Hope you enjoyed it….

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    1. Many thanks, Ruth, for stopping by and honoring me with your comment and “read”. I so appreciate it when people tell me how my writing affects them. Many thanks! 🙂

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  9. i love your story and i think everyone has some part of themselves that they may hide behind and that is hard to bring out of their closet if they are honest. i’m so glad that you didn’t have any negative reactions, only some passive aggressive head in the sand actions, but i’m happy for you that you don’t have to hold it in. i’m glad you are happy and have found your princess and that you love each other. it’s what everyone seeks i think, someone who truly loves and accepts them for who they are, and who gives the same back. i think it is all fear that keeps people from accepting those who are not like themselves, not a reflection on those they oppose, but really on themselves.

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    1. I think you’re right, Beth…we all have a part of ourselves that we hide and fear definitely hinders a lot of us from going forward in life and finding our true, authentic selves. Thank you for understanding and your heartfelt comment…. ❤

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  10. I love that you are a noodle and I am pasta but we are all made from
    Flour! It so like you to get it down to the what is really important,
    Love and food in that order! Thanks for being the best Lucie ever.

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