A Black Gay Couple's Family

The name is Henry Jean-Pierre. A big and tall black man living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. Life is tough for the average American these days but you should know that even the strong struggle. I'm the Deputy Sheriff in my county and life hasn't been a bed of roses lately. Ordinary American men and women have been pushed to the limit by the Recession. It's turning normal people into criminals. You won't believe the men and women I've had to arrest simply because they broke the law while basically trying to survive.

I live on Ash Street in Brockton's West Side with my partner of twenty years, Lawrence Jameson. He's a tall, slim, dark-skinned black man in his mid-forties. A professor of literature at the University of Massachusetts-Boston. We've raised three wonderful brats together. James, Leander and Rachel.. And they're my biological offspring, too. Begotten from my first marriage to Alison Brown. I met Alison when we were both freshmen at Emerson College. For a long time, we were inseparable. The Haitian athlete and his African-American poet girlfriend. I loved Alison and we got married right after graduation.

For a long time, we were happy. One big happy family living in the city of Brockton. I worked as a corrections officer and Alison was a public school teacher. Then one day I discovered something about myself which I'd been denying for years. I was bisexual. I didn't want to admit it to myself. I know liberalism fills America's hearts and minds right now but things such as male bisexuality weren't accepted back then. People didn't even talk of such matters out loud. Not even in liberal Massachusetts. When I told Alison, she reacted with shock and anger. I don't blame her. I didn't choose to be bisexual, that's what I tried to tell her. Unfortunately, my wife wasn't having it. She took our sons and daughter, and drove off in the pickup. I didn't hear from them for three days. Then one day, I got the one call no man wants to get. Boston Hospital summoned me, to tell me that my wife was hospitalized. She got hurt really bad in an accident. I rushed to her side. Luckily, our sons and daughter were at her mother's house in the South End.

My wife never regained consciousness on her hospital bed. She died. And I was stuck raising two sons and a daughter all by myself. A single father. I tried the best I could. For years, my world revolved around taking care of my family. Until the day I met Lawrence Jameson. I was part of a panel of law enforcement professionals giving a speech at UMass-Boston. Lawrence was a graduate student and one of the people who showed me around. He was a nice guy but I didn't know what to make of him when he handed me his number at the end of the panel discussion.

Lawrence Jameson was an openly gay black student at the University of Massachusetts-Boston. And he was interested in me. He was good-looking, and I was flattered by the attention he gave me, but I had a family to take care of. Single fathers, much like single mothers, don't really have too much time for a social life. Seriously. Most of us don't get out much. Since my wife died, I'd met men and women who showed an interest in me. I simply wouldn't let myself date them. The gay and bisexual men who came calling weren't that interested in a guy with a family. Neither were most of the women, in fact. Lawrence wouldn't give up so easily. He pursued me doggedly. He was smart, charming, and patient. Eventually, he wore down my defenses and I agreed to one date. One date turned into another, and next thing I knew, he was living at the house with me and my sons and daughter. That was twenty years ago.

My sons and daughter liked Lawrence. He was a very kind, patient and loving man. He introduced me to his family. His father, Jeremiah Jameson was a state trooper and his mother, Darlene Jacobs Jameson was a registered nurse. They knew he was gay and they were okay with it. I couldn't believe it. Back in those days, most parents would feel like abject failures if their son or daughter turned out to be gay or bisexual. They simply couldn't deal with it. Especially in the black community. Black gays and black lesbians were seen as abominations by the heterosexual members of the black community. Homosexuals weren't accepted. It just wasn't done.

Lawrence and I joined forces to take care of our family. Gays and lesbians formed their own families even back then, though we faced far more oppression then than we do today. Still, we made it work. The men and women I knew from the field of law enforcement didn't much care for having a bisexual black man as a ranking member of the sheriff's department. Racism and homophobia were thriving in the field of law enforcement. Gay and bisexual cops kept their private lives a secret because they simply wouldn't be accepted by their peers. I know a lesbian cop who fell to friendly fire in Hanover. And there was this gay cop who got set up by some rivals from his police precinct because they didn't like having a gay policeman around. The poor guy died during a shootout where backup simply didn't show up. I knew the risks I faced. However, I wouldn't let them kick me around. I stood up for myself as a bisexual black man working in law enforcement in the United States of America.

And what do you know? After all the haters, the homophobes and the racists I've met, I'm still here. And so is my partner. Our sons James and Leander are sophomores at Suffolk University in downtown Boston. Our daughter Rachel is a senior at Brockton Community High School and she's headed to Northeastern University on a student-athlete scholarship next September. Lawrence and I couldn't be prouder. Our sons and daughter are doing well. They're healthy. Our family is thriving. We officially own our house. No more mortgage, just the utility bills. We're doing okay. Many other families, black and white, hetero or gay, can't say the same. I thank the Lord for His blessings.