My mother does not know I'm writing this. Frances is hardly as Internet-savvy as she'd like to believe. "Lena, can you look this up on Googles?" is a frequent request. So I'm not surprised that 1) she isn't on any 60 And Up Lesbian Dating sites because she'd never figure it out and it doesn't exist and 2) that the perfect match hasn't shown up in her inbox like it did mine this week.
Let me back up a bit. My mom is single. It's like a permanent state of being with her. A status I rarely question because it's an indelible part of her character like the fact that she refuses to shave her pits. I can sum up my mother's dating life in a series of epithets; The Abuser, The Nerd, The Closeted, The Cheater and The Needy One. There's more but you get the picture.
I don't hold back. Since I was 13, Frances has been acutely aware of how I feel about her various intermittent lovers. If anything I've gotten brattier about it, calling her last girl "flighty" and maybe even "not all there." She totally agreed. When they broke up she told me she almost spat out, "You know even my daughter thinks you're an airhead." Yeah, we make a decent team.
Oh, how different and how unintentionaly alike we are.
Thing is, the dynamic duo is now separated by an ocean. When my mom retired to St. Croix in February, I made peace with that fact. Instead of being annoyed or even inspired by her wanderlust, I’m anchored by it. Because knowing that she is somewhere out there living like there’s no end to the sea, helps me to feel safe and not suffocated by the very real prospect of settling into a life so different from the nomadic one I grew up living.
But trust me, it's hard out there for a 60-year-old black lesbian living in the notoriously homophobic Caribbean.
So when someone sent me an email with the subject line, "Gay Mom Seeks Mate," I figured Jesus just got his Fios hookup in heaven.
In a piece for The Huffington Post, author Stephanie Covington Armstrong writes about looking for her second mother, hopefully an even more traditional version of the one she's already got.
Yes, I am ready for my mother to have a girlfriend and possibly a wife. I don't care if that means moving to one of the six states that allows gay marriage. My mother's wedding would be the perfect excuse to visit Hawaii.
Oh my god, you guys, we're practically twin-zies!
Armstrong's "free spirit" mom is "passionate about saving people," "a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about Black people born before 1970" and "fearlessly independent." She'd also, according to Armstrong, rather drive across country alone than fly. This lady sounds just enough like my mom to be compatible, but just different enough (my mom can cook) to be complementary, which is what most sentient beings are looking for.
I couldn't meet a better fit for my mom if I'd Weird Science'd her one dark and stormy night myself. I even put underwear on my head this week! The universe is trying to tell me something. As my mom would say, "to receive abundance all you need do is ask."
So after reading Armstrong's story, which is the story of a lot of children of single lesbian moms I know, I reached out via Twitter just to say that I loved her piece. I'm testing the waters, you see. Opening the channels of communication.
I'm guessing this is what daughters do for their single and ready to mingle dads, right? But hooking up your gay parent is not that easy. How many over 60-year-old single lesbians do you know?
This is why there's no shame in my game. Like any offspring, I want my mom to be happy. I want her life to be full in the second half and ideally that includes having a "partner."
I'm on the prowl, folks. Just the cursory of glances of some of the sites out there for "mature lesbians" online solidified my previously unresearched aversion to them. Not one but two black women over 50 explicitly put warning signs in their profiles; "NO MEN POSING AS WOMEN" and "If you are a MAN posing as WOMEN on this site....Stay away. You little FREAKS..." What in the heezy? No, ma'am. Not for my mom.
Now I'm all the more set on finding someone for Frances the old fashion way, by being nosey and kind of annoying about it. Maybe all the straight author daughters of lesbians should pool our resources. We could start up a Sapphic set-up service. Or not. Either way, like Armstrong I'm taking applications for a step-mom who's hilarious, has a passport, isn't an asshole and doesn't mind me probably writing about her every move.