Sit down little boy, sit down little girl,

Sit down there on your stool

All this glitter and that faggot twirl

Is why you’re bullied at school.

Sit up straight, unnatural child

Don’t wallow there so glum

I hate that you’re my grandchild

You’re asking for it, are you dumb?

So what do you think caused it?

Was it something you decided?

I don’t understand why you don’t just quit

God help you, you’re misguided.

Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve

Didn’t you read the bible?

Two men together can’t conceive

And a mother and father is vital.

No, never again will we kiss,

I can’t believe you’re gay

I’ve raised you, my son, better than this

You’ve been led astray.

Hey, I’m not homophobic dude,

I have gay friends don’t you know?

But, look, I don’t mean to be rude

Can you keep your distance?…no homo.

Can you guys just stop flaunting?

Can you keep it out of my face?

Think of the children that you’re haunting

There’s a fuckin’ time and place.

Is it just to make the victim wrong?

And let accusers have their say?

While someone who feels they don't belong

Thinks, ‘Why am I this way?’

"Is that a bit of lipstick on your collar, bro?" I couldn't help but snicker. Obviously he'd made a stop in town before arriving at Mom's for dinner. Someone's pink lips had managed to stain the underside of his chin, as well. My squeaky clean, thirty-four year old jock of a brother made a booty call on Thanksgiving day and the evidence was all over the collar of his baby blue polo. This was wonderful.

"Oh shit." Brian grabbed Mom's folded white cloth napkin that she reserved only for formal dinners and toppled his water glass trying to soak it. He didn't seem to notice cold drenching his khakis; he was too busy scrubbing his neck raw in an attempt to erase the evidence of his sluttiness.

Jess's eyes turned to wide green saucers and her eyebrows molded to her blonde hairline simultaneously. "Get it off before she notices, Brian!" She whispered harshly, shrieking through her teeth into his ear. Why the hell did she care? She should be taunting him with me.

What was I kidding? She was only younger than him by eighteen months, and they'd always been partners in crime.  They may as well have been twins.

Being the youngest of three children by twelve years should have been a religious experience according to textbooks. I should have been spoiled rotten, doted on, and swelled with the vocabulary of a literary genius by the time I was three years old. Not only did that fate escape me, here I was a total fucking mess and disappointment to my entire Stepford family.

The thought of my adult brother trying to hide his pre-dinner romp from our Martha Steward clone of a mother made my toes curl.  

"Don't smudge the napkins, Brian," I was now being sarcastic, "she'll burn you at the stake and eat your liver for dessert."

"Shut up, Dee!"  I'm pretty sure the look on Jess's face as she whipped the smile from mine with her demand was a mixture of hatred and fear.  She knew as well as I did that imperfection didn't sit well on Mother's stomach.  

"Here they come," Brian spoke so quickly I had to double take.  He shoved the dripping wet napkin into the puddle that was now his lap.  

Mom was stunning, which was a given due to her zero tolerance for ugliness, and the smell of Tide and Elizabeth Arden burned my nostrils as the wind gingerly floated towards us through her catwalk calves.  Her below-the-knee, pressed pink A-line dress and large brunette coils were her Thanksgiving staple, and somehow she managed to keep four-inch heels from sinking into the grass below her.  It always took me a few moments to adjust to her cleanliness.

My fanatic evangelist Nana and demented Pop-Pop followed slowly behind her, paying no mind to her self-deluded extravagance.

"Oh Brian, honey," Mom's sweet Alabama swag was so thick I almost gagged, "you've spilt your water!  Lemme getcha a disposable napkin, baby."

Brian inconspicuously tucked the "special occasion" napkin further into his crotch. 

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Mom," he was so bad at being nervous, "sorry about that."

"Oh, that's all right, Darlin'," as usual, she couldn't manage to end a sentence without a pet name meant to highlight her Southern charm and stamp her role as head of household, "I'll be right back."

The air loosened with her departure from the back yard through the sliding glass doors of her white kitchen, and Brian let out a deep sigh of relief.  

Nana and Pop-Pop had managed to make it to the table we had set up under the old Magnolia tree.  That was where we always ate our Thanksgiving dinner if the weather would allow.  She pulled a chair for him and set his walker aside.

"Now Melvin, I hope you remembered to empty yourself before we left the house," she was referring to his colostomy bag.  No one ever said "colostomy bag" aloud because this might imply that my grandfather was wearing a plastic sac full of his own shit under his pants, which, of course, was exactly the case.

"Goddammit, Janet, I don't need you remindin' me of everythin' to do, you know.  I'm not a child, for god's sake!"  I loved my crazy Pop-Pop.  He was the best part of Thanksgiving dinner each year and the only person sitting around the table who didn't filter every word that came out of his mouth.

We all drew silence with the sound of the sliding doors opening to let Mom make her second debut into the backyard.  This time, Mom's eighty pound Goldendoodle, Gregory, came bounding through behind her, completely ignoring our party, and straight to back fence to hike his leg. Another very annoying fact about my mother is that she insisted on giving animals human names - and very pretentious ones at that.

Everyone stopped to watch her glide in our direction, not because we enjoyed the view, just because we were accustomed to her silent expectations.

"Here ya go, baby boy," she handed my brother a handful of paper napkins imprinted with little turkeys sporting cartoon human eyes, muskets, and over-sized Pilgrim top hats.  Whoever dreamed up that little gem must have had a few cannibalistic tendencies.

"Okay, everyone," Mother announced in her customary hostess voice, "lets all stand and bow our heads for the family prayer so we can get this show on the road!"  

This was my Nana's invention.  Being the Christian she was, she thought it best we all gave praise individually, working in a circle around the table as we held hands, blessing our food before we were allowed to touch it.  I'm positive no one but her and mother enjoyed this part, but I had a plan today.  This was my chance to drop my bomb as comically as possible.  I'd already been what Southern families refer to as the "black sheep" for the majority of my life, so I felt it was only characteristic and appropriate to disrupt my family's facade and shatter their illusions while saying thanks to our good Lord in heaven.

Nana generally started the prayer, Pop-Pop finished it with an Amen, which made me last in line this year and would work out perfectly.  He was sitting directly to my left, and would remain that way through the show.  He always ignored Nana's request that he stand.  There was a good chance he was either a closet atheist or convinced he was going to hell regardless, so he was not too keen to put forth any extra effort.  

We stood and gathered hands, everyone dutifully sealing their eyelids shut and lowering their chins to their chests.  Nana began.

"Our dear Lord and Savior in Heaven, Jesus Christ, I ask that you gather with us today on this most blessed of occasions.  I ask that you stand before this meal and grace it with your light and everlasting love so that we may dine here with you in your eternal gift of salvation."

Jess's turn went smoothly, "Thank you Lord for bringing us all together today, and thank you for this beautiful meal Mother has prepared for us.  I ask that you bring peace to our family."

Now Brian with his usual idiocy, "God, thanks for the turkey and the stuffing and especially the sweet potato pie.  Thank you for blessing me with such a great family, and I ask that you continue to make our lives so awesome."

I had to grind my teeth through Mom's honey-sweet show, "Dear Lord in Heaven, we are so thankful to your presence here with us on this fine Thanksgiving day.  Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a beautiful afternoon to enjoy our dinner together.  Thank you for gracing our family with an abundance of not only material wealth but love and joy, as we are wicked sinners who do not deserve such things.  I ask that you allow my darling Charles, my dear husband and father to our three perfect children, to be with us in spirit today.  Father, I also ask that we feel Charles' love and kindness with us as we celebrate you and our most devoted family and nourish our bodies with the feast before us.   Please, Lord, I ask that you continue to work through me to do your will, and show my child, um, children your way and light."

I had almost decided to back out, but that last little dig seared my intention.  Still, as I gathered my guts, the silence continued on for what felt like a year, and my mother intervened my procrastination.

"Dee," her voice still directed toward the ground, "Delilah, honey, aren't you going to join us?"

I didn't answer her, as I knew this question was more of a demand than a request. I simply just started spilling.

"Dear baby Jesus," my grandfather firmly pinched my knee and let out an amused snort, "thank you so much for Mom making dinner, and, uh, thank you so much for everyone who showed up to eat it. I have a special request today, which I hope you'll grant me since I never ask you for anything. Ever."  I stopped for a millisecond to catch a breath. "Today I ask that you allow my family to accept everything I'm about to tell them, and I hope that you allow them the strength and grace to treat me kindly and help me out a little here."

Everyone was now silent other than my grandfather's heavy breathing beside me and the sound of Gregory under the table licking his testicles.

"So the thing is, Jesus, I'm gay.  Like really gay.  I'm sorry I never told anyone.  But that's not all.  Three days ago my girlfriend kicked me out because I accidentally caught the sofa on fire - again.  I accidentally caught the sofa on fire because I fell asleep with a cigarette in my mouth - again, and I fell asleep like that because I was a little drunk - well, I was really drunk because I have a tiny alcohol dependency problem.  I also lost my job because I was late - again.  Cass burned all of my things except for my vinyl record collection, which was only safe because it was in my car, so I have nothing - no clothes, no birth certificate, no curtains, nothing - and I need to live here with Mom indefinitely until I can get my shit together.  Please let her not kick me out.  I also have a warrant out for my arrest because I have three unpaid traffic tickets, and ask that you allow Mother to be generous enough to help me pay those so I don't go to jail."

The air was palpable. I could feel eyes searing into me although mine were still closed tightly and my face turned to the ground.  My cheeks were undoubtedly now the same color of Mom's crimson front door.

Cue Pop-Pop, "Amen."  

Still no sound.  I decided to open my eyes and face the wrath of the Cleaver family standing before me, their hands still wrapped around one another in a circle of unity.  I had just severed their tie to perfection.  I had just tainted their golden and holy goblet of Christ's water-wine, and they probably all hated my guts.  

My mother seemed unable to blink or shut her mouth.  She was just - staring at me.  My brother and sister's eyes were fixed on her, waiting for the volcanic eruption that was sure to come.

"She burned your birth certificate?"  Mom was shocked, but this was not the response I was expecting.

"What?  I mean, yeah, but," I needed to finish this sentence, but Jess chimed in.

"What! Why would you give it to her? Why would you do that, Mother! You know how she is!  How the hell are we gonna get another one!"

Jess was being incredibly dramatic considering this was my birth certificate we were discussing, none of which made any sense to me at all. Had they not heard anything else I said?

"Don't you dare start with me, Jessica Lynn," Mom was turning bright red and blotchy with anger now, "this wouldn't be an issue at all if it weren't for you two." 

I leaned toward my mother, not because I couldn't hear from my position, but because I wanted to make sure I was at an optimum distance to witness her reaming my siblings - this was something I'd never, ever been privy to be part of, and I wanted to soak in every second.

I would have preferred to remain sucked into their odd battle of the birth certificate, but what I would soon learn was to my misfortune, Pop-Pop decided that moment would be a good time to introduce some of his unwanted wisdom.

"Oh, Dee, we already all know you're a bean flicker," he actually laughed as he was saying these words to me, "you know, I had my own fair share of homo encounters in the Navy, and I gotta tell ya, Dee, it ain't as unusual as ya think. So get off your damn high horse."

And oh my god, he even continued, "from a man's point of view, the back door is a lot more obligin' to his sensibilities, if ya know what I mean. Once ya go up the rear, you don't never-"

"Melvin Wayne Roberts!" Nana intercepted his lesson with his full name, which was a certain indication of trouble. My mind was beginning to fold into itself with the thought of my grandpa mounting a blue-eyed sailor on the poop deck. But then, she insisted on vomiting more horrendous details of their past.

"You horrible old coot! You promised you'd never tell anyone! I can't believe this - after all these years of covering up for you, and you just blurt it out in front of the children! At Thanksgiving! You gonna tell 'em about your little boy nurse, too? Like you can do a thing anyway with that floppy old pecker. Oh you! Just let it all out, you ignorant, wrinkly old Nancy boy, just tell 'em and get it over with!"

Pop-Pop was howling with laughter at this point, and I'm quite certain the look on my face was egging him on nicely. I'm not sure if it was defined horror or a mixture of intrigue and 'please don't say these things to me,' but he found it hilarious.

The feeling of warm turkey gravy splattering my right temple gave me a legitimate reason to excuse myself from Nana and Pop-Pop's two-man circus, but it only dragged me into the one on the other side of the table. Apparently, I was more of a contributor to this one than I was previously aware.

Jessica and Mom must have wrapped up their initial cat fight by means of gravy boat because the same mess that was filling my ear hole was dripping from Jess's long blonde hair.  She sat slumped and defeated, in tears, watching Mother and Brian go at it nose-to-nose.

I'd never once seen Brian challenge Mom for any reason.  They'd always been like peas and carrots, those two, which was even a bit unnerving at times.  I questioned on many occasions whether or not he had some kind of Oedipus complex or something.

But not on this day, oh no.  I wished I could turn the action down to slow motion and watch the spit fly from face to face.  They were really going at it.

"How can you refuse to take any responsibility, Mother?"  Brian was actually - crying - and this unfortunately pulled the humor down a few notches, but not completely.  "You knew!  You can't say you didn't.  You refused to do anything until it was going to taint your little white picked fence, and you can't deny that, Mother!"

Mom's lips were curled completely back, and I swear she was drooling.

"Brian, how dare you say that!  I got rid of him, didn't I?  You think that was easy?  What did you expect me to do?  Did you want the entire neighborhood to find out?  They would have thought we were - "

At this moment, my attention was diverted by a violent thumping coming from my grandparents' end of the table.  This actually turned out to be a violent humping of my grandmother's left leg by Gregory, which Nana didn't even seem to notice due to the tantrum she was still absorbed in.  

Nana wasn't just sobbing, she was whaling and praying at the same time.  My grandfather, however, did take note of Gregory, which nearly made him slide right out of his chair in a fit of laughter.

"Take a look at him, will ya," his voice had become so high pitched from lack of air, I could barely understand him, "he's really goin' at it!  Ha ha!  He fancies you, Janet, you outta take him home and maybe you can get a little sumthin' sumthin', too!  Maybe that'll loosen ya up a little - take ya back to Jesus!  Hallelujah, hallelujah!  Amen! Ha ha ha!"

"Oh dear Lord," Nana was on the verge of speaking in tongues, "Please, Jesus, release this man of his evil!"  She leaned in an nearly licked his tongue with her venomous request.  "He is possessed by the Devil and it has demented his mind!"

Pop-Pop was now raving mad, and his chair began to buckle under pressure of his belly's momentum.  He started waving his hands in the air, still bellowing in a fit of laughter, "Arrrgh, ooooh, I'm possessed!  Ha ha!"

Red faced and tears streaming down his cheeks, he looked straight at me and stated much more plainly that I'd like to have heard, "You know, she calls me demented?  She must have forgotten the only reason I married her was because she was knocked up with your mother!  Ha ha!  I'd never even touched that nasty ole snatch!  Didn't want her little church friends to find out, now did she? Ha ha ha - "

His maniacal chuckles were abruptly cut off by an ear-cracking slap to his jaw.  Nana screeched at a decibel that must have been high enough to scare Gregory away, because he ceased the raping of her leg, "You son of a bitch!"

It took me a moment, but once I was able to wrap my head around the fact that my purist grandmother just called her husband a son of a bitch, it sunk in.  Oh dear baby Jesus, he wasn't my mother's father!

My jaw dropped open, as to be expected in this type of situation, and my eyes diverted straight to my mother, who luckily was paying no attention to my grandparents and managed to steer clear of having her warped history revealed to her.  

No, she was too busy picking up handfuls of stuffing and throwing them at my brother's face while simultaneously avoiding his cannon fire of cranberry sauce, which had now added a magenta hue to her perfectly pink attire.

"And do you think I didn't notice it," the fear of what was about to come out of her mouth was not enough to cause me to cover my ears, "huh?  You think I didn't see that balm all over your collar?"

I managed a sigh of relief after that one.  Surely this couldn't have been as bad as whatever was so bad before, all of which I was still completely clueless to.

"Stop it, Mom," Jess was trying to calm her down, but Mom's top had already blown "stop, please!"

"Oh no I won't!" Mom's words were electric, and I could feel the current from where I was.  "I told you two to keep your filthy hands away from each other in my house!"

What?  Wait, what was I hearing?  Even Gregory realized that now was the time to pay attention.  He sat at a safe distance and studied Mother, intently waiting for the cue to run for his life, while the rest of us went completely silent.  Or perhaps we were in shock.

"Isn't one incestuous little freak enough for you two, or would you like another?"  

Just then, her left arm shot out as if it had a lever attached to fire it, and a perfectly manicured pointer finger aimed straight for my face.  Her words were still blasting away at my brother and sister, but it was obvious she was referring to me.

"She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me!"

I shot out of my chair, nearly tipping the table with the weight of my fists pounding into it.  I felt I had the right to speak now.

"Holy fucking what?  What do you mean?  What did you just say!  Somebody tell me what the hell is going on here, or I'm going to shove that turkey up your dysfunctional fucking asses!"

Everyone stopped.  Jess and Brian's heads both sunk into their shoulders as if they were searching for some lost dignity deep inside their souls, and Mother slowly turned her entire body towards me, looking straight into my eyes.  

For the first time in my life, my mother was offering me what appeared to be some amount of remorse.  I could tell she was searching for the appropriate words to say, which must have been difficult for a person who had never had to find these type before, much less express them.

"Dee, honey," she spoke softly to me, her eyes beginning to tremble, "I think it's time we tell you the truth about who you are."

I remained still, quiet.  There was nothing for me to say until she was finished.

"Your father - well, Jess and Brian's father - he was a sick man," I knew what she had to say was not going to revolve around health problems, "he had a little hobby.  Please, honey, I didn't know until -"

"Tell her, Mother," Brian spoke softly, not angry any longer, "she deserves to know."

"Well," Mom continued, "I didn't know about it until - until we found out you were coming.  Delilah..."

"What, Mom!  Tell me!"  I don't remember if I whispered or screamed, but what followed was enough to put anyone in a nuthouse.

"Dee, the ashes buried to left of that sycamore tree," she glanced over the spot almost center in the backyard, under the old sycamore tree that had been there for at least one hundred years.  The swing Brian hung from the branch above was creaking with the breeze, "those are the ashes of a child molester, not a saint, and not your father.  When I figured out what was happening, we staged his death.  We had to get rid of him.  The world couldn't know.  We closed the garage door while he was passed out drunk in the front seat of the car, Dee.  It wasn't an accident like I said, like I always told you.  I sent Jess away until you were born.  Delilah, sweetheart, Jess and Brian are your real parents.  Not me and Dad."

The world around me began to spin as the reality of the words she just spoke set in.  I had to force myself to breathe, and dizziness took over.  There is nausea, which we've all experienced, but then there's the kind of vomit-inducing feeling that takes over when you find out your brother and sister are your parents.  

My knees buckled and I hit the ground.  I didn't know what to say or even how to blink.  I was frozen for what seemed to be a year.  The yard was quiet, no one was praying, my grandfather was not laughing.

After a while, my brain began to function again.  I noticed that the wind was blowing just hard enough to move the tulips blooming around the sycamore tree.  I stood up, brushed the dirt from the backside of my trousers, and spoke.

"May I please be excused, Mom - uh."  Right then it hit me.  

I had spent my whole life feeling as if I were the failure in this family.  I was the person they all had to be ashamed of.  I had planned my coming out for weeks, and having the added self-destruction of alcoholism causing the rest of my life to fall apart in the interim didn't make it any easier.

I was so afraid to let them down.  This was eating me from the inside out for years, and I was so afraid to have a heart to heart with them, that I'd chosen to do it in a way that would make me look like an even bigger village idiot.

But now, I stand here, my mother my grandmother, my grandfather not my mother's father, my grandmother covering up a secret conception by marrying a gay man who also needed a cover up, and my brother and sister not only my biological mother and father, but still apparently had the hots for one another and were making out before Thanksgiving dinner.  To top it off, my father - or grandfather, rather - was a freaking pedophile, and my mother murdered him.

I couldn't hold it back.  Laughter erupted from my throat so hard that I'm pretty sure it damaged my vocal chords.  With my diaphragm aching, and what I'm sure was urine leaking into my underwear, I had to say it.

"You know what?  All this time!  All this time I thought I was the freak!  Ha ha ha!  I'm the most normal person standing at this table!  You people are a bunch of whackos!"

I wasn't sure what would happen for the rest of my life, but the only thing I could think to do was grab Pop-Pop.  I gathered his walker, took his hand and pulled him up.  He was not only the only person here apparently not related to me in anyway, but he was the only person I liked, and definitely the only one I had anything in common with.

"Come on Pops,"  I declared loud enough for everyone behind me to hear, "let's get outta here.  We'll come back when they clean themselves up."

I glanced behind me for one last look, only to catch the sight of Gregory taking a steaming dump on the mound of dirt below the swing hanging from the Sycamore tree.  I had to smile.  I liked that dog.

"Well, don't hold your breath, girl," Pop-Pop snorted, "did you catch all that?  Those people are a hot fuckin' mess."