I LOVE talking to kids.
In the families I’ve visited while waiting for the COVID-19 numbers in the Philippines to go down, I’ve dealt with teenagers, toddlers, and school kids from ages 2 to 20.
Some of them know me long enough to know that they can trust me.
Some of them trust me immediately.
Some take a few hours, some take a few days.
***
Of the 12 kids I’ve met so far, only five are my real nephews and nieces — children of my brother, and sister.
But all 12 call me Uncle Peetah.
Or, at least, that’s what their parents want them to call me.
As for myself, I really don’t care whether they call me P, or Peter, or Master-and-commander.
***
I’ve been to some well-adjusted families.
I’ve been to some toxic families.
I’ve been to some sad families.
And some families are just plain crazy, or happy, or fun.
That’s why I think that what I thought was my “dysfunctional family” isn’t really that dysfunctional.
Or, I can just say that all families, every family — big or small — has a certain degree of dysfunction.
***
My favorites are families with homophobic fathers.
And in a way, those with homophobic mothers.
Imagine a family with devoutly religious mothers who think that homosexuals are an abomination in the eyes of God.
I can’t understand how they can stand me.
I mean, I’m their favorite gay!
They welcome me in their house.
We eat together at the meal table.
They cook feasts for me!
***
Often, I would call out their homophobic remarks.
And they seldom apologize.
Instead, they would just say, “Oh, but you are different!”
And they would confess that I am their favorite gay.
Or, at least, the one gay that they respect the most, if at all.
And I just laugh at these parents.
Sometimes, I laugh at their back.
Because they have kids that are also homophobic.
Who would torture me with questions.
“Are you a girl? Why is your hair so long?”
“You are gay, aren’t you?”
***
And sometimes, these homophobic parents have confused teenagers.
As in, sexually confused.
And I would take these teenagers on walks, hikes, runs, one-on-one stuff; and they would blurt out some confessions that sometimes are just too heavy for me to bear secretly.
***
What do you say when a teenager son/daughter of a friend tells you out of the blue —
“Uncle Peetah, I am gay!”
***
First thing I do is embrace them tightly.
Like it’s the world’s last embrace.
A tight embrace until it feels awkward.
Because until they begin to disengage or push me away, they haven’t been embraced enough in their lifetime.
And God knows, they need to be embraced if they go real on you, and not to their homophobic parents.
***
Then, I look them in the eye, and tell them, “You are special, and I will love you whatever you are.”
And I make sure they hear me, so I often ask them to repeat to me what they heard me say.
And I make them smile.
I assure them that they can always call me 24/7 when their father starts beating them.
Or when their mother kicks them out of the house.
***
And I quiz them.
I play the devil’s advocate.
Are you sure of what you are saying?
Isn’t it a little too early for you to be labeling yourself with the LGBTQIA+ tag?
What if (like a prevailing thought in the past century) this is just a phase of your adolescence?
And I hate them a little for their audacity and pride.
They scoff at me and say, “A phase? Haha!”
***
And I asked a 15-year old, how do you know you are gay?
Have you had sex with another boy/girl?
“I choose not to answer that!”
What the f*ck?
***
The same thing happened to the teenager who said he/she is a bisexual.
How many girlfriends had you? Boyfriends?
Have you had sex with any or both or all of them?
“I’d rather not answer that!”
I mean, again, What the f*ck?
***
Am I to assume that these teenagers are f*ckers?
Am I to assume that they are innocent?
But they are too intelligent to be naive.
And me pressing on some answers make me a little creepy.
And I am not a creep!
I am not ever going to be the creepy uncle.
I’m just the uncle who sees them, who understands, who accepts.
Who loves them for who they are.
***
There is a reason why I am loved and welcomed in many homes.
Often, I entertain the parents; if I don’t solve their sex life problems.
But becoming more frequent now, is the fact that I understand their kids.
And when kids tell me their secrets, I get the honorary key to their homes.
“Mom, can Uncle Peetah stay a few more days?”
“Dad, can we have Uncle Peetah again sooner than later?”/PN
