Aunt Fern

I have had the privilege of knowing several generations of family that preceded me. Early marriage and childbearing meant that I knew all of my great-grandparents on my father's side of the family. (One great-grandmother died days before I was born, but by the time cognizance set in, my great-grandpa had remarried.) I knew every great aunt and uncle (my Pappy's siblings). Pappy's oldest sister was Great Aunt Fern. And she was legendary - or infamous - depending on who you ask.

She passed away about 10 years ago, but Aunt Fern is the one who Pappy would say "led him to the Lord". She was a Pentecostal evangelist who preached extensively and had a presence that was imposing, intimidating, or inspiring, depending on your point of view. She was tall. She was large. I never saw her without that jet black wig and enough makeup to cover a small home. She wore enough jewelry to be spotted by a plane flying at 10,000 feet. But she was known for the Tornado Incident.

The Tornado Incident is family legend. Depending on who you ask, it is either a lie of biblical proportions, a delusion worthy of confinement, or evidence of a woman who had tapped into God and defied the forces of nature. I grew up among people who believed the first and second, but I secretly held fast to the third explanation. It was remarkable to me that this woman had performed such a feat. And I didn't doubt that she could.

The story goes that a tornado was heading for Grandma & Pappy's house. This is not a rare occurrence in Kansas. Well, tornados aren't rare. But one hadn't ever headed straight for the family home. As it happened, Aunt Fern was visiting from Arizona. While the family headed for interior closets and crawled into bathtubs waiting for the inevitable, Aunt Fern marched out the front door and into the yard - directly in the path of the oncoming twister. Legend has it that Aunt Fern raised one hand in the direction of the tornado and "commanded it in the Name Of Jesus to turn back and not come near this house." Now, I don't know if someone else's house (without a Tornado Rebuking Aunt), took the hit that was meant for Pappy's house, but his house stands unaffected by tornados to this day.

I don't remember Aunt Fern ever telling that story. But I remember EVERYBODY else telling the story. She came to mind this morning. Not because of the weather, but because of frustration. I've been looking at resentment in my life. I've written that I'm bewildered as to how you stop a feeling or a reaction that seems so instinctual. I've joked about it. But I'm no closer to answers. I could use my Aunt Fern.

Aunt Fern would command resentment to "turn back and not come near this house". That will make sense to people who grew up as I did. I'm not sure it works. It didn't work with being gay. I know that much. Tried that. A lot. Maybe I resent that, too. In the early days when the hints of homosexuality nagged at my brain, I would pray and pray and pray that it not be true. I would rebuke, as I heard Aunt Fern had, but still....the dark-haired god two grades ahead of me was an irresistible focus of my attention and fawning adoration. And I resented that the same parlor trick didn't work on liking boys. Tornados, we could handle. But this was more resilient than tornados, it seemed.

In maturity, I don't resent being gay. I have enjoyed myself to an extent few people allow themselves. I laughed freely and cavorted with abandon. I like being different. There is some solace in being a novelty in a room full of standardized creatures. I enjoy the company of men. It's just that simple. And it's not going away. If it did, I'd be truly bereft. I don't buy for one second these conversion stories of people who, through whatever means, completely alter their gender attraction. Those folks are lying. Period. It doesn't happen. Tornados turn back, seas part, but boys who like boys do not miraculously start liking girls. And thank God. Can you imagine the havoc this would wreak on your little black book? A midlife crisis I can survive. I'm not so sure about a midlife gender-bend.

But resentment....that's a foe worthy of Aunt Fern. I wonder if the neighbors would talk if I walked out to the front yard, put one hand straight out and just did the ol' "I REBUKE RESENTMENT" routine. I'll let you know how that goes.

OK, maybe the back yard.