My father and I are in Branson to see my brother and his wife, and to celebrate my father's 86th birthday. They tell us an old friend from New Jersey will be joining us for part of the weekend—a guy named Joe.

They have told me about Joe in the past. He's a great big Italian my brother worked with for a time in New Jersey. They've stayed in touch over the years, seeing each other and respective families a couple of times a year. My father has met Joe also and speaks highly of him.

Maybe I've watched too many Godfather movies, or have preconceived notions of what New Jersey Italians are like. I picture a guy with no neck, a broken nose, and an accent thicker than San Francisco fog. He's GOT to look like someone right out of the Sopranos.

They've told me that Joe is VERY Italian, VERY Catholic, talks fast, and, indeed, has an accent. He's also just a big ol' Teddy bear with a sweet disposition. Turns out they were right. Joe's about 6'1», weighs probably 275 pounds, and seems to be a very nice man. I was right too. He looks like he just stepped off of a Godfather movie set. But he DOES have a neck. At least I think I saw one.

Joe has three children; Tony, 18 years old, Mike, 15 years old, and Michelle, 13 years old. He brought Son Mike with him for the weekend. My brother and I meet Joe and Mike at Waxy O'Shea's for a drink Saturday afternoon. They have Black and Tans. I have a sissy Budweiser.

I like Joe. He's quite friendly, smart, and like they said, just a big ol' Teddy bear of a guy. And Mike is just as cute as he can be. The kid seems to have more on the ball than an average 15 year old.

We solve the world's problems in about 45 minutes and decide to meet at my brother's condo for cocktails at 5:00, dinner at 6:30.

At 5:00 Mike and Joe show up. We have a cocktail or three, then go eat. After dinner, we're back at the condo, sitting on the balcony, gabbing and drinking wine. Mike goes back to the hotel where he and Joe are staying. (Smart kid. Why sit and listen to the old folks when he can watch porn in the hotel room?!)

It gets to be 10:00, and my sis-in-law says, «Sorry folks. It's late for me. I'm turning in!» She goes to bed. It couldn't have been more than 5 minutes later, my brother does the same thing.

Joe, my father and I are left on the balcony. Joe is a big man, but, he's had a LOT to drink. He seems to enjoy talking, and the liquor has loosened his lips a bit. He's relaxed, and whatever inhibitions he may have had left a long time ago.

He's talking a blue streak about family, my brother, Branson, whatever. He cracks another bottle of wine and we have a toast to birthdays. We have a toast to Branson. We have a toast to my brother and sis. We have a toast to my father. We have a toast to New Jersey. We toasted every goddamn thing in the world over the next 30 minutes.

Two bottles of wine later my father says, «Joe, what's your boy Tony up to these days?»

Here's where the evening takes a turn.

Joe's been dominating the conversation, but is suddenly quiet. He kind of lowers his head and pauses for several seconds. He's apparently searching for the right words. He starts to say something, then pauses again. Finally he says, «Well, I don't know how you're going to take this…» Another lengthy pause...«Tony's gay.»

Silence.

«Oh.» says my father, not really knowing what to say.

I've been somewhat quiet for the last several minutes, letting Joe and my father do all the talking. But this is a subject in which I am well versed.

«Oh wow! Cool! How do you feel about that?» I ask.

Joe looks at me, «WHAT?» I can't tell if he's irritated, suspicious, or if his expression is just some sort of New Jersey thing.

I'm thinking, 'OH SHIT. Now I've done it.' This big ol' Teddy bear is going to throw me off of the balcony. «Take THAT, faggot! I got your 'cool' right here!» in a thick New Jersey accent.

The following few minutes went something like this:

Yip: No, I mean…I think that's great! I'm gay too!

Joe: You're gay? No way.

Yip: Oh yeah! I'm gay. I've been with the same man for close to 20 years now.

Joe: Are you serious? You're gay?

Yip: Yeah. (I thought it was fairly obvious.)

Joe: No you're not. Are you sure?

My Father: He is, Joe.

Yip: Joe, I'm serious. I don't mean this to sound the wrong way, and it's really none of my business, but if your son is gay, it's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, that makes him sort of special. I mean, that's how I feel about it anyway.

My Father: I don't see why everybody makes such a big deal about it. So what? If you are, you are.

Joe: I'm NOT ashamed of him! I just worry about him. I want to help him, but I don't know what to do.

Yip: No….I … I know. As long as he knows you love him, he'll be OK.

Joe: But his mother doesn't approve. She doesn't like it. She doesn't accept it. She thinks he's going through a phase or something. She's praying he'll grow out of it. Are you really gay?

Yip: It's good you don't have a problem with it. He needs your support. I'm sorry to hear his mother feels that way. I think gay people share a sort of … kinship … with each other. I'd be proud to meet him some day.

Joe: Yip, I'm going to fly you back home to meet Tony. He needs to talk to somebody. I'm serious. When can you come to New Jersey? I'll pay for it. I'll fly you back. Round trip. When can you come?

Yip: Huh? Um….Joe, he doesn't need to talk to an old man like me, he needs to meet gay people his own age.

Joe: No, really, I'm going to fly you to Jersey. I'm just SO worried about him.

My Father: I worry about all my kids. Even now that they're grown up. I still worry.

Joe: I worry about all of mine too. But especially Tony. I want him to be happy. His mother isn't having any of it. I don't know what to do

Yip: Joe, as long as he knows you love him, as long as he knows YOU SUPPORT him, he'll be OK.

We talk for another hour and another bottle of wine. Joe decides it's time to head back to the hotel. I'm thinking – hoping – I've helped in some small way. I'm wishing I could talk to Tony's mother, but I know it wouldn't do any good. She's a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic who believes all the crap that comes from the Vatican. She and the pope know what's best for Tony.

I crawled into bed that night feeling totally inadequate. There should have been SOMETHING profound I could have said to Joe, to make him say, «Oh yeah! I never thought of that. Everything is going to be fine now!»

Maybe there isn't anything that profound. I don't know. I've never been a straight man whose son has come out to him. I have no idea what Joe is going through. Maybe just hearing another middle-aged man who is (seemingly) sane admit to being gay was enough, but I don't know that, either.

Drifting off to sleep I was thinking about all the Tony's of the world. How damaged so many of them have been by ignorant mothers, church doctrine and bullies. I was thinking how I'd like to put my arms around Tony and tell him he's NOT alone. He IS loved. But that's not for me to do. That's Joe's job. Tony's mother may never do it, but I believe Joe will. I hope so. Then I thanked God my parents were not like Tony's mother.

When I got back to Kansas City, I wrote Joe a thank you note for coming to Branson for my father's birthday. In the note, I gave him Web addresses for PFLAG and Dignity USA. I told him Tony showed amazing courage by coming out to his parents, and that I would be honored to meet this gutsy young man some day.

I tried to reassure him the boy would be OK if he had his father's support, love and respect, and I was sure that he did.

My brother is in contact with Joe often. I hope I hear good news.

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