Thursday, September 22, 2005

When I checked my old email address today (one I've kept mostly for old contacts, long lost friends etc) I found an email telling me an old friend of mine passed away last month.

How to start. I met her and her wife when I was 20 and had just started dating the evil ex gf. Daddy Liz and her wife. One stone butch lesbian (who I fell ass over tea kettle in instant lust/awe with) and her beautiful sweet hippy wife. They were both 40 and older than my Mom but to say I would've crawled on the floor to lick the soles of eithers feet is an understatement.

At the time they were the kind of lesbians I wanted to grow up and be.

Though my ex knew them both before I did I got very close to Daddy Liz. I lusted after her, flirted with her, made her laugh, made her cry once. She adopted me in a way and taught me things that have in the years between then and now solidified my comfort in my queer identity in a way that nobody else had been able to do.

Daddy Liz was the first person to talk to me about being gender queer. She was the first to acknowledge and understand my own inner butch/femme/dyke/fag/straightish girl self. She helped me understand that regardless of what who says whatever I feel inside I am, that's what I am. Fuck the dumb shit.

She didn't laugh when I wanted to be a hot femme packing a big dick. She never once told me that it wasn't the type of behaviour lesbians engage in. She understood my (then) new understanding of and enjoyment of power struggles and exchange. She taught me how to wear a strap on without chafing. She took me on my first long motorcycle ride. She hugged me and treated me like one of the bois when I needed it. She smacked me around a little and I liked it. She praised and adored just how femme I can be. Laughed when I refused to wash dishes after a party because I'd just had a manicure.

Daddy Liz held me and rocked me when the evil ex dumped me. She let me lay on her floor drunk for 3 days wailing and howling with her dog until I could get up. She didn't laugh when her hippie wife took me along on one of her hippy gatherings and I ran around naked with the flower children and their children.

She had one of her younger studly butch friends court me in a delicate and genteel way when I was hurt and pissed off. She yelled at me when I did stupid things. Spanked me on her 41st birthday. Let me give her a pedicure. Cried when I sat her down in her backyard and spent three hours professing my undying love and respect for her.

In the years since I've thought of her often. Remembered the value of knowing someone who helped me discover, understand and embrace the whole of my sexuality and who I am.

Her wife told me she'd been ill for some time and neither had been able to remember my last name or anything. It wasn't until her brother had gone through Daddy Liz's computer and found some very old emails from me that they decided to take a chance. She said Daddy Liz passed quietly and with her dignity intact. Her wife is going to take their life savings (they were together for over 20 years poly gay and happy) and move to Italy with her sister.

She said they still had the photo of Daddy Liz and I on her Harley. Filthy and exhausted from the trip down the Oregon coast and back. She said if she could find it she'd send it to me. I told her she didn't have to. That I have that picture and all the rest tucked safely in my heart.

Goodbye Daddy Liz.

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