My dad is the only person in the entire world who can make me go from completely calm to fuming mad with a single sentence.  Normally I’m a tranquil person with a great deal of patience, so I hate that he can cut right through my temper and provoke me to behave this way.  In small doses I can usually endure him without losing my composure.  But when we spend more than a few hours together, it’s practically a guarantee that we will lapse into a shouting match, perhaps more than once.  It’s not something I particularly enjoy.

Still I’m his only child and whether we get along or not, time is ticking.  I get the impression that he wants to share with me some of the things in life that he loves while he still can.  Travel is a big part of that.

My dad was born in Spain, my mom in Germany, however she grew up in South Africa.  They met in South Africa because of my dad’s travels, and travelled together throughout Africa, the Middle East, Europe, and South America before eventually settling down in Canada.  That’s where I was born.

I grew up in a household where our walls were decorated with African tribal masks, Masai spears and shaman staffs, hand-made baskets and tapestries, and photos of amazing sights both natural and manmade from around the world.  In my parent’s basement is a large map of the world with the routes that they travelled plotted out, and I’m no stranger to the many photo albums and slide shows from these trips.

Guests to our home found this all very fascinating.  A few friends of the family were even lured into travelling with him once or twice.  Aside from family holidays, I myself didn’t feel the urge to go out and see the world on my own.  Perhaps this was because I already have a decent idea of what’s out there thanks to them...or perhaps it’s the fact that travelling with my dad is never as fun as the photos make it seem.  Most of those friends of the family that travelled with him don’t talk to us any more, probably for the same reason.  My mom already knows what to expect, and so doesn’t bother going anywhere with him anymore; she takes her holidays separately, to spend time with family in Germany.

Despite knowing this full well, this past January my dad somehow convinced me in a moment of weakness to go on a trip with him to Cuba.  Cuba is one of his favorite places to visit, and he spends at least a month there every year.  While he is cynical about the stubbornness of the Cuban government in the face of the hardships of the Cuban people, he confesses that he loves going there for the simplicity of the Cuban lifestyle, and the friendliness and generosity of the Cuban people despite having very little to work with.  Though he described this to me many times, my dad wanted me to see this with my own eyes.

On one hand I was glad to escape the bitter cold in Calgary, however, I felt depressed being there without Steve.  You see, I’m not "out" to my dad, so try as he might, he just can’t provide the sort of experience I need to truly enjoy myself, nor can I even ask for it.  Having promised to cover my flight and expenses for the trip (I had to pass everything by him and get him to pay for it) meant that I had to depend on him heavily - I didn’t have the sort of independence I needed to forge out on my own.  So really, I was like a bird with clipped wings.

The language barrier was also a hindrance to my freedom.  While I’ve studied Spanish on and off all of my life, and can understand it quite well, I still can’t speak it fluently enough to hold my own in a social setting.  Having trouble finding the right words to begin with, I couldn’t verbalize the sort of nuanced and witty expressions that I use in English to hint at my mood and character, nor could I read people the same way as I can in English by how they choose their words.  I felt like I had the social maneuverability of a 2-tonne boulder.

While my dad was happy to introduce me to his many friends and acquaintances his age, it was little motivation for me to practice my Spanish.  Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to talk about with these people, even in English.  A few nights my dad would leave me watching a DVD on the laptop while he went out drinking with his friends, like I was a little kid or something.  I was starving for contact with other guys my own age, even just to hang out with.

Instead, my dad put me through the humiliating experience of trying to introduce me to a local girl my age, whose mother was an acquaintance of his.  Instead I sympathized with her male cousin who lived with them - he seemed to do an awful lot for the family and yet they treated him as if he were invisible.  I wanted to reach out to him but my rusty Spanish and weakened confidence made it difficult for me to work up the courage when opportunities presented themselves.  I suppose my dad interpreted me being amenable to visiting them as a sign of interest in the girl, when really I was hoping for more opportunity to make friends with the cousin.  As a result, we spent a good deal of time with them.  She seemed perfectly nice so I remained polite with her, even through the awkwardness of having to dance with her one evening.  If there was any doubt in my mind that I’m not attracted to women, this reaffirmed my preference for men.  My dad must have noticed me rejecting her advances because he later told me not to discount her as a potential girlfriend just because she lives in Cuba.  My response was brief but hostile, shutting the topic down from any further discussion.

In the town that we were staying, we rented the small basement suite of a house for a measly $10 a day.  We had transported a bike with us from Calgary, and my dad retrieved a second one that he was storing with a local resident, so that we each had our own.  I really enjoyed some of the excursions we made by bike down abandoned roads along the beach, or up into the hills to some of the little towns.  I even went on a few bike rides on my own.  We made a few excursions to the capital city Havana, where my dad informed me my grandmother on his side of the family had lived part of her life.  We also visited some of the tourist beaches nearby.

Aside from that I quickly got bored of lying about on the beach, and wondered what happened to the promises my dad had made of renting a vehicle and seeing other parts of Cuba; or even, the promise that he would stay in the upstairs suite of the house so that I could have the downstairs suite to myself.  I realized there were many promises he had made to get me there, and to try to keep me happy, that simply evaporated the moment that money – even just a tiny bit – became an object.

This is the big problem with going on holiday with my dad.  He seems to enjoy subjecting himself and others to adverse conditions any time he travels somewhere, so that he comes across as a hero for the little compromises that he makes.  It’s basically "boot camp" as my mom describes it.  Hotels and restaurant are a resentful last resort, and things like tours and museums aren’t even on his radar.  Surprisingly he does go for souvenirs, but no matter how little they cost he will still haggle the store merchants out of as much profit as they will grudgingly allow.  He maintains this silly belief that merchants are insulted if you pay the ticket price for their wares – they like to barter.  He’s told me this several times, but I’m pretty sure in a country like Cuba where nearly everyone is fighting to survive, they’d like to make the money they need to feed their families.  So this seeming taking advantage of already disadvantaged people really upset me, and made me dread going souvenir shopping with my dad around.

I wasn’t too sorry to leave at the end of the 2 weeks.  As he was staying for a while longer, my dad saw me onto the bus that took me back to the airport, where I then caught my flight home.  Cuba is a country of great natural beauty, and its people stay resilient and manage to keep going despite the multitude of obstacles put in their way by their own government.  I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the experience – my dad did succeed in instilling an appreciation for the country in me.  I hope to return one of these days to visit, but next time it will be on my own terms.

When my dad announced his plans for a trip to Baja California later in the year, I was ready to pass.  But the information that two of my cousins from Spain would be flying out to Mexico to join him made the trip a lot more tempting - I haven’t had contact with my cousins in over a decade.  I said "maybe".  I may as well have said yes.

But I’ll save this story for next month.

As mentioned in our article last month, Cowboys Casino went forward with hosting a gay night last month, which included the first drag show to ever be performed at any incarnation of the well known venue.  April Storm, Farah Moan, Argentina and Selma Body performed to a strong turnout of the LGBT community, mixed with some very excited straight women, and a handful of straight men who seemed confused but still respectful.  From what we saw, the staff of the establishment was very gracious and seemed to be having just as much good clean fun with members of the same sex as they might have with members of the opposite sex on an average night.  We saw a lot of positive buzz about it on Facebook and Twitter, including a post from someone in the LGBT community overhearing people talking excitedly about it on the C-train.  It gave me hope that the straight bar scene isn’t necessarily as scary as some gays make it out to be, so long as we’re willing to claim a part of it for ourselves.

Halloween wasn’t as crazy for us as it has been in past years.  There was a time when we had to make the rounds to 11 bars and several other ancillary events in Calgary, or split ourselves up between Calgary and Edmonton.  With only two media-friendly LGBT bars left to cover in Calgary, and three in Edmonton, we decided both of us would just stay put here in Calgary.  I got to wear my sexy security guard uniform out in public for the first time, and Steve even dressed up for once, as a monk.  We still took photos, but on the most part it was a fun and stress-free night out at the Backlot and the Texas Lounge.

November is our anniversary month, and this year GayCalgary Magazine is turning 9!  I suppose it’s fair to say the more anniversaries we have, the less of a big deal it seems.  Perhaps I will feel differently next year for our milestone 10th anniversary, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

It’s a tradition for us to print the letters of congratulation we receive from politicians, community groups, and businesses on our anniversary, which you will see placed in quarter page ad spots throughout this edition.  We continue to appreciate the support and encouragement that we receive in the form of these letters, and verbally from people in the community throughout the year.

Another longstanding tradition is our presence at the Calgary Taboo show, where we had launched the very first edition of our magazine – it will be our 10th year there.  So if you make it out to the show, stop by to say hi and get your photo taken with a Drag Queen for charity.  Likewise at the Edmonton Taboo show this year, where we’re giving the Edmonton Court full control of their fundraising efforts, and Steve and I will mostly be playing a support role.

Unfortunately we have some bad news for fans of our monthly Bitter Girl cartoon.  The strip has been discontinued, and this month is the last installment.  At this time we aren’t planning to look for a replacement comic strip.