Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 47

"Even so," George said.

We started marching down the street again and I launched into "Sunny Side of the Street," a song by Billie Holiday that seemed appropriate for the circ.u.mstances.

We crowded over to the sidewalks to let a Ford truck pa.s.s through. The driver rolled down the window.

"Shame on you!" he called out angrily. "f.a.ggots! You're going to h.e.l.l!"

"I used to walk in the shade with my blues on parade," I sang loudly, ignoring him. " I sang loudly, ignoring him. "But now I'm not afraid. This rover crossed over!"

By the time our hour-long protest ended, there were about seventy people on the street, the most that had ever shown up for one of our events.

I knew some of the faces, but many were strangers to me. George, Jasmine, and Lisa were the organizers, knew everyone, and now urged us to remove ourselves to the parking lot at the skating rink since our permit had expired.

"You sing really nice," Jackson said as we made our way through the crowd looking for Bill and Sh.e.l.ly.

"Thanks," I said.

"This was pretty amazing," he added.

"I'm sure it's nothing like the marches in Boston," I said.

"Don't put yourself down," he said earnestly. "You're always doing that and I don't like it. This is really amazing for downtown Tupelo, Mississippi. You guys got b.a.l.l.s, I've got to give you that."

"It's a start," I admitted.

We found Bill and Sh.e.l.ly standing by their truck.

"Thanks for coming," I said. "I didn't know you were, though."

"Mama told me I should come," Bill said, shrugging. "You did good on that guitar."

"Thanks," I said.

"You're going to be on the evening news," Sh.e.l.ly pointed out. Whether the thought scared her or impressed her, I couldn't tell.

"Why don't you come meet some crack wh.o.r.es and my other friends?" I suggested.

Bill laughed.

"All right," he said.

"Sing another song, Uncle Wiley," Eli urged.

"Maybe later," I said.

We spent another hour in the parking lot talking and introducing Bill and Sh.e.l.ly around.

Suddenly the reporter from WTVA was standing there with his video camera, asking me if I wanted to do an interview. Jasmine always handled interviews because she was good at it, knew what to say, had confidence and charm and a lot of energy.

"I don't think so," I said, trying to remember the man's name. I'd seen him often on the news.

"Oh, go on," Jackson said.

"I'm not good at stuff like this," I said.

"I just want to ask a couple of questions," the reporter said, smiling hopefully.

What is it? Noah asked, not understanding the conversation. Noah asked, not understanding the conversation.

I explained they wanted to do an interview.

"Is he your nephew?" the reporter asked.

"He's my son," I said.

"And he's deaf?"

"Yes."

His eyes lit up like a shark smelling blood in the water.

"Do you mind if I ask you about him?"

"Do it," Jackson urged.

I looked at Bill for help, support, something.

"You ought to do it," Bill said.

Turning to the reporter, he said, "Wiley's my brother-and he's a great father. His son Noah turned ten years old this past July. He's a good kid."

"And your name is?" the reporter said, fiddling with his tripod and setting the camera in place.

"I'm not going on the d.a.m.ned television," Bill said. "But you should interview Wiley. He's my brother and we support him all the way."

I felt something catch in my throat when I heard Bill say that. I felt as though I had been waiting my whole life to hear him say that.

"Do it," Jackson urged, bending to whisper in my ear.

Do you want to be on TV? I asked Noah. I asked Noah.

He beamed, displaying his G.o.d-awful teeth.

"It's both of us or neither," I said to the reporter, putting my hands over Noah's chest and holding him close like a talisman.

"Great," he said with a big smile, making a last minute adjustment to his camera, then digging out a large microphone.

"We'll start with a test," he said. "Just state your name and your age, and your son's name and his age, so I can check my levels."

He held the microphone in front of my face.

At this point, many people had gathered around to watch and I was suddenly very nervous. Jackson stood off to the side, offered me a thumbs-up.

"My name is Wiley Cantrell and I'm thirty-two," I said. "And this is my son Noah and he's ten."

The reporter looked at his equipment, smiled rather greasily, then stepped in front of the camera while keeping the three of us in view.

"Why are you here today?" he asked, quickly putting the microphone in front of my lips and looking off to the side while I answered.

"We're here today because we're tired of the AFA comparing us to n.a.z.is and thieves and liars and all the rest of it. We're just human beings. I'm a father and this is my son. I don't want my son to be ashamed of who his father is. We're good people. We're just like everyone else. I don't want the AFA out there telling people every day that gay parents are bad parents. We're not bad parents. We're no better and no worse than other parents. If the AFA wants to go on the air every day and lie about the members of the gay community, well, we have the right to call them out on that. We have the right to tell the truth about ourselves."

"Your son is deaf? Is that correct?"

"Yes," I said. He waited for me to continue. Not knowing what to say, I rambled a bit. "I'm a single father. I've taken care of my son since the day he was born. We've been through a lot together. I couldn't ask for a better son. I love him very much and it hurts me to hear what the AFA says about gay parents. If they really are the American Family Family Alliance, why don't they support me and help me? Why are they always running us down? Hatred is not a family value. Lying about gay families is not Christian. Someone needs to point out to them that they're talking about real people with real lives, and that their words are hurtful to people like me and my son." Alliance, why don't they support me and help me? Why are they always running us down? Hatred is not a family value. Lying about gay families is not Christian. Someone needs to point out to them that they're talking about real people with real lives, and that their words are hurtful to people like me and my son."

"If you could talk to the AFA, what would you tell them?" the reporter asked.

"I'd tell them to stop lying," I said straight off. "If I said some of the things these people say on their radio programs, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap. She taught me to respect other people, not lie about them."

"You don't think their reporting is fair?"

"They're not a news organization. They offer personal opinions, that's all. Why don't they come out here and talk to us? What are they so afraid of? They go on the air every single day telling their listeners all kinds of garbage about gay people. Well, here we are! Why not come out and talk to us and find out what we're really like? Are they scared?"

The reporter smiled.

"What challenges have you had as a gay parent raising a deaf child?" he asked.

"Every day is a challenge when you're a gay parent," I said, sounding more bitter than I intended to. "People look at you and they just a.s.sume you're a child abuser. They don't care about facts. They treat you like you're a joke, like you're not a real parent, like you don't even have a real child. And people feel sorry for your child. They feel sorry. Like your child would be so much better off if you were straight. Like that makes any difference to a child. And when you have a special-needs child like Noah, a child who's deaf, it's just all that much more difficult."

"What about his mother?"

"She died recently," I answered.

"I'm sorry."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"I'd rather not talk about that," I said.

"I understand. So you take care of him by yourself now?"

"I've taken care of him his whole life. I've always been a single father."

"It must have been difficult."

"Yes and no. The point is, we're protesting the AFA because they say they care about families. Well, what about my family? What about my son? What about me? How can you say you want to protect families when you're encouraging parents to reject their gay children, when you're destroying families and driving families apart? The only reason we're here today is because they call themselves the American Family Family Alliance and they say they're Christian. What's so Christian about spreading lies and encouraging parents to reject their gay kids or shame them into a life of silence and suffering? I know what all of this hateful talk does to people because I've suffered from it. I've seen what it's done to my relations.h.i.+ps with my family. When is someone in this town going to stand up to these people and tell them this is not right? When are you guys in the media going to start telling your viewers that the AFA has been listed as a hate group because of their constant antigay bigotry? When are you guys going to strap on a pair and stop being a bunch of p.u.s.s.ies? Every time we have one of these events, some of you guys will go right over there to the AFA and ask for their reaction, but you never ask any of the other religious leaders in this town for a reaction. Why not? The AFA is not the only religious group here. I think if you went down to the All Saints Episcopal Church, you'd get a much different answer than the one the AFA is going to give you. Yet you just keep repeating the same bulls.h.i.+t from the AFA. Why don't you guys do your jobs?" Alliance and they say they're Christian. What's so Christian about spreading lies and encouraging parents to reject their gay kids or shame them into a life of silence and suffering? I know what all of this hateful talk does to people because I've suffered from it. I've seen what it's done to my relations.h.i.+ps with my family. When is someone in this town going to stand up to these people and tell them this is not right? When are you guys in the media going to start telling your viewers that the AFA has been listed as a hate group because of their constant antigay bigotry? When are you guys going to strap on a pair and stop being a bunch of p.u.s.s.ies? Every time we have one of these events, some of you guys will go right over there to the AFA and ask for their reaction, but you never ask any of the other religious leaders in this town for a reaction. Why not? The AFA is not the only religious group here. I think if you went down to the All Saints Episcopal Church, you'd get a much different answer than the one the AFA is going to give you. Yet you just keep repeating the same bulls.h.i.+t from the AFA. Why don't you guys do your jobs?"

"We're trying," the reporter said with a shrug. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

There was a lot I could say, but I shook my head. I felt like I had already said way too much, and would probably regret it.

As the reporter put away his microphone, he said, "By the way, my next stop is All Saints. I'm going to interview the rector there."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

"I appreciate your time. I forgot to ask, though, that song you were singing... 'Someday There Be Freedom.' I've never heard that song before."

"That's because I wrote it."

"You did?"

I nodded.

"That was a great song. Can I get your contact information? I'd like to do another story when I have more time."

I scratched out my cell number and handed it to him.

He hurried off to interview more people.

"Good deal!" Jackson exclaimed, patting me on the back.

"I probably sound like a fool," I said.

"You made a lot of sense," Bill said. "And I heard what you said about your own family."

I took in a hesitant breath, trying to remember exactly how I had worded it.

"And you're right," he added. "We haven't made it easy for you. Are you guys hungry?"

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

"I was thinking maybe the four of us could take the kids out. A double date, I guess."

"Are you going to hit anyone?" Jackson asked.

"No," Bill said with an embarra.s.sed grin.

"As long as Wiley doesn't spend the whole time talking about his p.e.n.i.s, I think it's a great idea," Sh.e.l.ly said.

"Me too," Jackson added with a grin.

"I can't really afford it," I said quietly, not wanting to be a stick in the mud.

"Supper's on me, little bro," Bill said.

"We have to be home in time to see the news," I pointed out.

"We'll make it an early supper," Bill promised.