Celebrating Gay Sons and Motherhood

I always wanted a gay son.

I did. I love that relationship between gay

sons and their mothers. I wanna be the picket sign-holding mom

who would beat the shit out of somebody for her kid.

I mean, let's just admit it, gay sons are the best, right?

Right.

I have photographs of my son in high heels, in

full drag. He knows every word to every musical

ever written. His fairy godfather, Aaron

Walton, is here with us tonight. I mean, truly, I thought

I had this fucking thing locked up.

But no, no. He's the only straight

guy in his entire musical theater company.

So when Marsha called me about 10 years

ago from her closet, I kid you not, she was in her closet,

to tell me that her son had come out to her as gay,

all I said was, "Oh my God, you are so fucking lucky!"

Whoo.

And about a week later, I was at Marsha's house for dinner when an

Amazon package was delivered for her son, and

inside, I'm not kidding you, was a pair of

thigh-high red patent leather boots.

Like, kinky boots. And I thought, "Oh, come

on. Now she is just showing off," right?