Out in the Mountains -.-~. ~ V ' - - By Patricia J. I am my mother’s only daughter. That fact both burdens and blesses our relation- ship. “Only” means special — no other — her only chance for the relationship she once envisioned, where she could be as close to her daughter and her daughter’s children as her mother had been to her. We have each spent years ignoring or denying the failure of that dream to come true, avoiding the obvious — that I am not following in her footsteps nor fulfilling her dream. From the time I could choose for myself most of my choices have been dif- ferent from hers; from the clothes I liked and the ways I spent my time to the people I loved. One Christmas when I was in my 20’s, she gave me a new winter coat which I wore to the midnight service, all the time feeling, This isn't me, I'll never wear it, it isn't what I need. It made me feel like a stranger to myself and later I told her I didn’t want to keep it. How not to hurt her and still be myself? ‘£6 DESKTOP PUBLISHING GRAPHIC DESIGN TRAINING & SUPPORT Ifirll service I seifse/vice I mac‘-pc'file c'0m'ersi0ns I image and text scanning I laser printing I quality‘photocopies Ifiu‘ services I great looking resumes I color slide presentarirms I mac‘ training workshops I professional,fiiendly .se/vice 187 St. Paul St. Burlington VT 802.863.1884 After years of navigating around that question Iknow now it’s not possible. Most of the time her path and mine crossed only as we passed each other going in different directions. After a religiously Catholic childhood, I moved on, just as she chose to take on Catholicism after years of saying it wasn’t something she could believe. That was only one of many such passings. Strangely, most of these differences are more typical than unique of mother- daughter relationships. What each of us feels but can’t say is that there is something else, something almost tangible in its pres- ence which permeates our relationship. Only in recent years have my mother and I begun to talk about my being lesbian, my “lifestyle” as she calls it. During the fifteen years since she has known, we’ve talked half a dozen times with that as the topic and always with each of us acting as though we were defending our own terri- tory. Her comments, usually spurred by something in the press, felt initially like eruptions and more recently like armed attacks: “Certainly you wouldn’tever think of having a marriage ceremony!” “They don’t even let those people stay in the serv- ice.” “Do you know that this is against the law in some states?!” Anger I had never seen before con- firmed the anger I had sensed for years. Was there any common ground for us? Any place to meet and not be at war? Any place possible while there was still time? Her A Different Life: Mothers‘ and Daughters attacks penetrated to a tender place in me that felt more connected to us as mother and daughter than to the differences in our life- styles. In the painfully sharp clarity of our differences I found myself searching to remember when, if ever, we had shared common ground. Was there anything of her in me that really was me too? I remembered her introducing me to books with trips to the library and bookmo- bile, years of dance lessons when she sat reassuringly and proudly on the sidelines — some of whatl love and treasure mostl met through her. That Christmas of the winter coat, she had bought a second one just in case, half-knowing we might not choose the same, and it was just whatl needed. Her concerns for other people taught me much about how to care. But what could that do for us now when I was tempted to retreat? ’ At a distance from her I could ac- knowledge that the wounds from her-at- tacks were not healing rapidly — that our battle was not a simple thing I could forget. I could feel its consequences, but could she? I would only find out by asking. When I did, we had to acknowledge that differ- ences can distance and destroy, that there are losses and sadness for each of us. But that acknowledgement became a kind of common ground where we’d never stood before, a painfully tender place where we each got to hear that it matters — this one and only relationship of mother and daughter. Family Adventure Weekend Planned Planning for the Second Gay and Les- bian Families Adventure Weekend is al- ready underway. The Adventure Weekend is scheduled for August 16-18, 1991, at Moonstorm Farm in Central Vermont. The weekend serves as an affirming experience for gay and lesbian families, especially those with small children. The coordinators strive to create a safe environ- ment which accepts diversity, supports personal and family growth, and allows participants to network with others who are in similar circumstances. Participants can expect to take part in a number of helpful workshops, commu- nity games, and a picnic meal. Moonstorm Farm offers a wonderful environment in which to play, explore, socialize, or relax. Plenty of room exists for those wishing to camp out for the weekend. If you would like to lead a workshop during the weekend, spaces are still avail- able on a first-come, first-served basis. A lot of help is needed to make this year’ s Weekend a success, and your input is encouraged. To be a part of the planning team or to receive information about regis- tration, call Moonstorm Farm at (802) 229- 0109 or write to Adventure Weekend - Moonstorm Farm, RFD #1 Box 5260, Worcester, Vermont 05682. 12