Memoirs — Shawn Mooney
During his undergraduate years at the U of S in the late 1980s Shawn Mooney emerged as one of Saskatchewan's most active and visible gay rights campaigners. He was involved in many organizations including Gays and Lesbians at the U of S and Perceptions newsmagazine and established and hosted Speaking Out, Saskatoon's first gay community radio program.
1) “The Love I Almost Missed”
2) “Fruitcake of the Year”
The Love I Almost Missed
by Shawn Mooney
Grandma Mooney was seventy years older than me. When I came out to my parents at age twenty, we agreed she did not need to know. My grandmother doted on me; I was her favorite grandchild. While she was as sharp as a tack, we did not think a ninety-year-old could possibly understand homosexuality.
Over the next year and a half, I came out more and more; I began to get involved in gay community organizing in Saskatoon. I wrote queer articles for the university paper, always worried that Grandma might pick up a copy at the public library downtown.
While that never happened, some lady--a friend of Grandmas' for fifty years--confronted her with the rumor flying around my hometown. "I've been hearing the most awful things about Shawn," she said to my Grandma, "Is it really true that he's a homosexual?"
Grandma hotly denied it, and never spoke to the woman again. She said not one word about this upsetting encounter, to me or anyone else in the family. But Grandma did begin asking me about a girlfriend, something she'd never inquired about before; her queries--and my deflection thereof-- made me uncomfortable
Finally, after tormenting herself for a year or so, Grandma asked her daughter about me during her annual winter stay down in California. My aunt, to whom I had come out, confirmed that I was gay. Mom and Dad talked to Grandma on the phone, sent down books on homosexuality for her to read.
Six weeks later, Grandma returned to Saskatoon. I was nervous seeing her for the first time, especially since I'd become a bit of a gay activist about town in her absence. The weekend she got back, a full-page article about me and Mom, about coming out and about parenting a gay son, ran on the front page of the city papers lifestyle section. This was a lot to throw at Grandma.
I'll never forget my first one-on-one visit with her. "So, do you have a special friend?" she asked, smiling at me. In fact, I did: I had just met the love of my life. Squirming, I answered truthfully; the truth was more uncomfortable to speak, at first, than dodging the girlfriend issue had been.
"Well, you bring him around for tea: I want to meet him!"
I did just that; Grandma and Matt adored one another.
Grandma didn't stop there. She wrote to all her octogenarian relatives, my great aunts and uncles: "I've just learned that my grandson Shawn is homosexual. I think this is wonderful, and I suggest you read the following books if you have any problem whatsoever with the idea."
She wrote to Premier Grant Devine, whose homophobic comments and policies had catapulted me into activism: "I'm 92 years old and I've voted Tory all my life. But my grandson is a homosexual, and your hatred is despicable. I'll never vote P.C. again so long as I live."
When Matt and I broke up, Grandma was warm and sympathetic, treating my broken heart just as she would any other. Over the next few years, she met several of my subsequent boyfriends. She was particularly fond of my last lover Mark, who came home from Toronto with me a few times. Grandma was still sharp as a tack, but furious with herself for forgetting folks' names. She could never remember Mark's, so she took to referring to him as "your friend".
When Mark and I broke up later, I didn't have the heart to tell her; at 99, Grandma had a nervous collapse, and she suffered from declining health and severe anxiety attacks for the rest of her life. In her still many lucid moments, she always asked after "my friend," and I always said Mark was doing just great.
The last time I saw Grandma in the old folks' home, aged 100, her panic attacks and confusions were painful to witness. One minute she knew who I was, the next I was a stranger. "Just let me go! Would you please please please just let me go!" she cried out, trance-like. My parents and I did our best to soothe and release her with our words.
I knew I'd never see her again; she knew, too. Grandma came to for the actual goodbye, recognizing and acknowledging me by name. Sobbing, she said "I love you Shawn, and I wish you and your friend all the very best."
There are many good reasons why we choose to remain closeted to our loved ones. But I'm telling this story because sometimes our hiding makes us miss out on the good stuff. Because I think straight folks, too, need the soul-stretch our truth might offer up.
Because I miss her.
