stories about my family

the miracle of pie

when i was about two years old, or somewhere between two and three, the whole maniacal herd of us—my parents and i, my father's parents, his two younger brothers, his sister, and maybe one or two dates—went out to dinner. no one can remember what time of year it was or why we were out, and no one can remember where we were, but the food was good enough and everyone was happy. i was still small enough to be in a high chair and was sitting at the head of the table, from which point i could see everyone and everything, and one of the things i saw was that someone had gotten a piece of pie for dessert.

very politely and peaceably, as that was the sort of child i was, i turned to my mother and said, "mommy, i'd like some pie." and mommy said, "no, you don't need pie." and i said, "no, but i would like some." and she said, "no, you had enough, we'll have dessert another day." and i said, "tim has pie." and she said, "you're not tim."

i, apparently, thought that was a ridiculous and offensive dismissal of my wants and needs, and i slapped my tiny palm down onto the tray of the high chair and shouted, "if one person has pie then everyone should be able to have some, and i'm a person and i have my rights!"

the table, and the tables around us, got very quiet. tim, my youngest uncle, who, incidentally, shares my birthday, was only about eighteen at the time and had no interest in firm parenting. he did, however, have an interest in my burgeoning sense of social justice and my seemingly inborn antipathy to the rabid capitalism and self-centeredness that was preparing to sweep the nation, so before anyone could laugh at me and permanently sully my love of fairness, he said, "you're right, joon. i'll share it with you."

and a pinko was born. now i substitute things like "health care" and "access to higher education" and "the right to get married and live happily" for "pie," but the tiny palm slaps down with just as much force and optimistic adamancy. my uncle, a god among men, got married and moved his family down to georgia and managed to raise two kids who are pretty sure they represent 25 percent of the state's pro–gay rights constituency, and i couldn't love them more or have more hope invested in them if they were my own. the four of us on our best day can't get my grandfather to stop feeling "sad about the queers," but we sure as hell make sure everyone in the room gets dessert.