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With me, your name disappears.

Modifié le : 2016/09/11

I wrote the fol­low­ing text more than two years ago. It was a request for a ‘forum-of-ideas’ to be cre­at­ed on the Inter­net. I was paid to write it. The theme : fam­i­ly. The angle asked : my vision of it as a homo­sex­u­al. I was allowed 800 words (in French).

The text was nev­er pub­lished for the rea­son that the forum nev­er opened its doors. Let me put it in con­text. My father had just had surgery, I was going back to the intense revi­sion of Les Mailles san­guines. I think I can now pub­lish this text here. If one day (which will prob­a­bly be in the week of four Thurs­days), the forum comes to life, I do not believe that the pub­li­ca­tion here of the text will have a neg­a­tive con­se­quence. I con­sid­er, for my part, that I have ful­filled my com­mit­ments and, due to non-pub­li­ca­tion, that I am enti­tled to take back my beads. I reread that last night, and it made me smile.

The ring­ing of the phone makes me star­tle. The dis­play reas­sures me, the call is not com­ing from the hos­pi­tal where my father is hav­ing surgery. At the end of the call, I was asked to write, as a homo­sex­u­al, a text on the fam­i­ly. Eight hun­dred words, top of the time. I accept, then hang up.

The phone rings imme­di­ate­ly. My sis­ter tells me that the oper­a­tion my father under­went was suc­cess­ful. I relax, release the fears that I had firm­ly gagged in my thoughts. When they become use­less, they van­ish like ghosts. My ven­er­a­ble father, the one who still calls me “his lit­tle boy” , will live a long time to come.

Right now, my life is syn­chro­nized around the theme of fam­i­ly. The oper­a­tion, the writ­ing of my nov­el Les Mailles san­guines, the decline of a friend’s father, and then this impromp­tu com­mis­sion. Ideas go, like these acci­dents, in all direc­tions. Eight hun­dred words for a sub­ject so vast, a life, like mine, like the oth­ers, so frag­ment­ed. I can only pile up a few observations.

Let us begin by stat­ing that fam­i­ly dynam­ics are dri­ven by the sole pur­pose of allow­ing the child to devel­op. Peri­od. With many vari­a­tions, the orga­ni­za­tion is essen­tial­ly the same. Human spawn­ers cre­ate clans. Strength comes from unity.

When homo­sex­u­al desire was born in me at a very ear­ly age, I was con­front­ed with sev­er­al prob­lems, the most frus­trat­ing of which was undoubt­ed­ly the issue of infer­til­i­ty. I am a human being, my exis­tence moves in an ocean elec­tri­fied by my genet­ics. Whether I have all my teeth or bite with­out them, I try to do more or less like the oth­ers : transmit.

How­ev­er unfor­tu­nate, the ori­en­ta­tion I accept to live puts sticks in my legs right away, and future fam­i­ly encoun­ters will invari­ably be tinged with the same intrigu­ing ques­tions from my rel­a­tives. What are you wait­ing for to make us chil­dren ? You’re hand­some, you’re thin, and you don’t have a girl­friend ? My grand­moth­er, in her great patience, final­ly stopped ask­ing me ques­tions. I pre­ferred to avoid her in this way, feel­ing strange­ly guilty in front of her as if I had promised her eter­ni­ty that would not nec­es­sar­i­ly come from me. It also took me a long time before I agreed to dis­close my homo­sex­u­al­i­ty to my par­ents. I wait­ed until I was in a rela­tion­ship. And happy.

Let’s add to the insult that I’m the only boy in the fam­i­ly. With me, the name of this one is sym­bol­i­cal­ly extin­guished. If it were only chro­mo­some trans­mis­sions, I would only have to pop­u­late the sperm banks. But in the enor­mous pot of human evo­lu­tion, the name is a mine­strone that does not only con­tain blood. It is sea­soned with mem­o­ries, cul­ture, emo­tions. A pure meta­phys­i­cal DNA, the fam­i­ly, is defined in its dura­tion and con­ti­nu­ity. Not start­ing a fam­i­ly is like stop­ping the vari­ant of his­to­ry that we are. This is some­times a good thing when the DNA is flawed, often regret­table when the strain seemed so promising.

I wish I had chil­dren, and the chil­dren give it back to me. Babies fall asleep right away with me… I whis­per to them, and they’re drugged for the night. I have homo­sex­u­al friends who pride them­selves on being fathers or moth­ers. They see year after year their lit­tle piece of cab­bage grows up. These peo­ple are con­tin­u­ing the dance. I envy them sometimes.
For homo­sex­u­als, hav­ing chil­dren is an acci­dent or a tor­tu­ous jour­ney. The homo­sex­u­al will have been able to live straight long enough to have raised a fam­i­ly, or he will make pacts with a sur­ro­gate moth­er or a father. There are more of them than we think will­ing to help the species. I am the first to want to give pri­or­i­ty to the emer­gence of the sacro­sanct fam­i­ly. Our gov­ern­ments can nev­er do enough. I also believe that fam­i­ly bio­di­ver­si­ty must be rein­vent­ed or allowed to flour­ish. Homo­sex­u­als knock on the door of orphan­ages. It is high time they were allowed to be full par­ents. Some of them will fail, most will be no worse or worse than the so-called tra­di­tion­al par­ents who have pre­pared the human species as we observe it. I am just bet­ting that the more peo­ple there are to start fam­i­lies (i.e., emer­gency homes), the more like­ly it is that we will be able to offer hap­pi­ness and a future to our children.

On my side, it is too late. I’ve done big and lit­tle things in my life. I have been pub­lished five times. I can thus tell myself that, in the absence of hav­ing trans­mit­ted the fam­i­ly code, I was able to leave a trace in the world of words. My books are my “babies.”

Sev­en hun­dred and nine­ty-eight words already. Damn it, I haven’t said any­thing yet. Stop. I am a non-history.

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