One Halloween, our mother dressed up my brother Dennis (left, age 3) and me (right) as Carmen Miranda, a Hollywood star noted for her signature fruited turban. Most boys this young dressed as cowboys and pirates, and I can’t imagine that we asked to dress this way. But apparently we cooperated—lipstick and rouge to boot!—and we look happy.
I went through grammar school without a girlfriend, but in high school I did the requisite amount of dating. On dates, I’d often find the waiter more attractive than the girl I was with. By my early twenties, I was going to gay bars in Chicago. My brother came out to me, and it wasn’t long after that our parents learned they had two gay sons.
My brother Dennis had a wonderful life. But he was gone too soon, cut down by AIDS in 1993. At his memorial service, I made reference to this picture, wondering aloud about my mother: “What was she thinking?” The audience, my mother and father included, couldn’t help but laugh.
I don’t think my mother knew in 1948 what the future held for her sons, nor do I think our Carmen Miranda costumes made us gay. But it was still a momentous beginning, don’t you think?