Page 145 of My Cowboy Freedom
No. That’s not right.
My hymn was the most important thing in the world.
I wasn’t singing it, I was broadcasting the words. I was living and breathing the words. I understood them in a way I’d never understood them before.
Maisy went crazy, barking. She had no idea what to do. Her training never covered letting her charge get hit by his father.
Suddenly, I understood what freedom really was, and I let it flow into myself and through me to my father, and through him.
I caught his hand before it descended, and continued singing. “I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow. And I know He’s watching me.”
My father stared at me, hand in the air, poised to cuff me again, but I knew what he was looking at, and it was the real me. He was seeing beyond the sound bites and the junk science to something pure and authentic and true, and it scared him, but he couldn’t deny it anymore.
He pulled his hand from mine and hit me again, so fucking hard, as if he could knock the gay out of me once and for all.
The door flew open and my mother stood there, frozen with shock. “Elliot, for God’s sake. Stop! What are you doing?”
I stood, shaking, and faced both of them. “I am going home.”
“You are home, darling. This is your home.” My mother’s eyes were streaming tears. It was compelling, but I’d watched her do that on cable television every Sunday morning for years. I couldn’t tell anymore when she was crying for real.
“Son—” My father’s voice was ragged with pain.
“I am going back to the Rocking C. One way or another. I can go in a goddamn body bag if you want. I won’t let you take over my life.”
Mother appealed to my father. “Elliot, say something. He can’t possibly live on his own. It isn’t safe.”
“Does it look like I’m safehereto you?”
She clutched at my father’s arm before he could raise his hand to me again. “We can have our lawyers prepare a conservatorship for you, and—”
“You can sure fucking try,” I said.
“Language,” my father snapped. “Show some respect to your mother or by God, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Hit me again?” He tried throwing my mother off but she clung like a barnacle.
“Ishould hit you, you ungrateful boy.” She practically foamed at the mouth. “When I think of all the advantages we gave you. The work that went into raising you. After everything we’ve done for you, you reject what we stand for—”
“Mother—”
“No. You got struck by lightning.” She was shouting now. “You survived that horror and now you’re challenging the very God who brought you back to us.”
“Cheryl—” My father tried to catch her but she slapped me, hard. That was too much for Maisy. She went berserk, barking and spinning in circles.
“Knock it off. You’re scaring my dog.” Maisy looked like she wanted to crawl under the bed. “Look at yourselves. Look at what you’re willing to do to me to get me to agree with you. All I want is to be left alone.”
My father set my mother aside. “Son—”
“This dog is my family,” I shouted. “Aunt Elena and the folks at the Rocking C are my family. You don’t have to like it, but you have to let me go.”
“We’re your family, Rockne.” My father’s words were tinged with pain. “You’re blood. We love you.”
“You love me? Youhitme. You punish me for my sexual orientation as if it’s something I chose. You’re determined to take everything I care about away from me. My God. If that’s love, I’d rather you hated me.”
“We love you. Of course we love you.”
“Then love who I am, and not who you want me to be. I’m gay. I am not religious. I’ll never be what you want. Love me or just let me go.”
