I don’t want Jeremy to “act straight”

A young coworker of mine posted a link on Facebook today to an interview by an actor who plays a flamboyantly gay character. The actor was told by a straight reporter that,  if he were gay, he’d be offended by how stereotypically gay the character was. The link shows the actor’s response.

I don’t want Jeremy to feel like he has to act straight. I want him to just be himself, whether he’s straight, gay, or somewhere in between. I personally don’t know where he falls. To be fair, I don’t think he does either. He’s rocking the Q for questioning.

And what is “acting straight” anyways? Right now he’s sitting in the living room playing Saint’s Row, a computer video game similar to Grand Theft Auto. Same amount of mayhem but with a less regimented story line (Jeremy talks a lot about his games). He’s running over pedestrians but he’s doing so with the shiniest purple car he could find and his male character is sporting purple hair. Last week, his female character sported purple hair as well.

Jeremy had a bubble bath two nights ago and shaved his legs. Then he put on Axe… and called it perfume.

He also doesn’t notice dirty dishes, even when he’s washing them and they’re sitting directly beside the sink and I’m expecting the health department to condemn his bedroom any day now. Pretty standard for sixteen and, thankfully, his room is slowly improving. I’ve promised we can paint it this spring if he keeps it tidy. He wants to paint it purple.

I sent Jeremy to the grocery store earlier this week with a three item grocery list. He’d begged for additional items at least ten times before he got out the door (I really wish I was exaggerating) and promised he’d call when he got to the store just in case I’d changed my mind. We live less than a five minute walk from the store. We can see it from the living room. So you can imagine how underwhelmed I was to get a call from him less than a minute later.

“Mom? Where did we get my hair dye?” That wasn’t the question I was expecting. I’d braced myself for another argument about his impending demise due to a lack of pizza/iced tea/root beer/cup of soup/canned ravioli/potato chips.

I reminded him of where we got it and he relayed the information to someone else.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked curiously.

“This lady wants to know where I got my hair dye,” he replied. “She’s been looking for something similar.” Jeremy currently has shoulder length purple hair.

We said our goodbyes and, as he was turning off his phone, I heard the lady compliment his hair and tell him how proud she was of him. I am too.

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