I Met My Gay Brother When I Was 18

It was the cusp of the AIDS epidemic, and he’d slept with over 500 men

The phone rang near midnight, which could only be bad news. I waited anxiously in my bedroom. I heard my dad speak for a few minutes and then the sound of the receiver hitting the base. Dad let out a mourning wail that pierced the night.

We had always known that Dad had a son we’d never met. Dad’s first wife left him after an altercation. She took their infant son and vanished. We honored our step-brother each year on his birthday, although Dad had not heard from his ex-wife and had no idea where she and their child had gone.

Dad’s ex-wife changed Chuck’s last name to her maiden name, Pig. He was a chubby kid and was tormented by kids calling him Chuckie Pig throughout his childhood. When he was 18, he legally returned his last name to Vickers.

When Chuck called that night, he was twenty years old. The call went like this:

“Hi. Are you Charles Vickers?”

“Yes.”

“I’m your son, Chuck. My mother is Fay. Do you want to talk to me?”

This is the point when my dad lost his shit. I heard him crying and assumed there had been a death in the family. It was quite the opposite. Chuck asked Dad to send the money to cover the cost of coming to meet us, which he did immediately.

It was an awkward yet joyful reunion. Chuck moved in with us. I was eighteen. What we didn’t know was that Chuck would change everything.

I grew up in a conservative Evangelical family. Mama taught Sunday School for many years, and I had several uncles and cousins in the ministry. Dad had grown up in the Primitive Baptist Church, which was indeed primitive. Everybody smoked, but drinking, dancing, and anything other than a hetero-missionary position was just the worst thing in the world.

Chuck was gay. Even more, he was somewhat of a gay celebrity. He bragged that he’d slept with over 500 men. He was a singer who toured with a group called Up With People and was a member of the band Heartsong. Chuck drank heavily and partied with gusto.

Dad was horrified but primarily didn’t discuss it. I was a very closeted male-to-female (MTF) trans person who was attracted to women but still trying to figure out if my secret feminine identity included an attraction to men. Most of my guy friends in middle school and high school were gay, and my first girlfriend turned out to be a lesbian, so there was much to consider.

Soon after Chuck arrived, he told my parents we were going out. As he got in the car, he told me to take him to a gay bar. I replied that I had no idea where one was. He said, “Well, then take me to the Greyhound station. Gay men ride a circuit, like rodeo stars, and there will be a gay bar near there.” He was right.

There’s no way my religious beliefs would have allowed me to go to a gay club, but my brother got me there. I started going regularly to a disco club called Hojons, which had drag shows and great music. This was the eighties, and all my favorite songs are from that era.

When Hojons closed for the night, I’d sometimes go over to a gay bar called “The City Jail,” which had actually been a jail long before. The cells were made into private areas where couples drank and played.

I’d take my brother to these places, but he always went home with someone new, so I was alone. Just being in the bars soothed my soul even though I never did anything with men other than dance and the occasional kiss.

Chuck was such a pied piper of partying that my parents started drinking on the daily. My mom started going to the gay bars with us. Her drinking and behavior became very problematic, and my parents separated for two years.

Chuck eventually moved to Toronto and lived with a marvelous rich man. I visited once because the Metropolitan Community Church (aka “the gay church”) was having an international celebration, and Chuck was the featured singer. I met Rev. Troy Perry and had lunch with him and others from the leadership team.

Back in the States, I stuffed my authentic self away and got married because I thought that’s what I had to do as a Christian. Big mistake. Big.

Chuck went on to be the music director of the River City MCC and then the First MCC in Kansas. In 1994, I learned he was dying of AIDS-related pneumonia. The death was slow and horrid. He succumbed on May 25th, which was followed by a fight between his long-term lover (Phil Griffin), who had clear instructions that Chuck wanted to be buried after a service at MCC, and Chuck’s mother, who wanted to cremate Chuck and hold services at her church, without mention of how he died or his being gay.

At the time, Kansas law gave no respect to a surviving gay lover. Chuck had cut off contact with his mom and didn’t even want her at a memorial service, but she was next of kin, and she almost won. The funeral home said they could only cremate with consent from both parents. My Dad and I told the funeral home that Chuck’s lover was correct. Dad would not agree to the cremation. The proper burial happened.

I can’t fathom why Chuck’s mom wanted him cremated against his will.

Chuck had not done a will. It is essential for LGBTQ folks to do wills and advance care directives, especially if their parents reject them.

My cousin maintained an annual Vickers Family Cookbook with a genealogy and family history. In the year following Chuck’s death, she included him and noted he had died of AIDS. My father felt personally attacked and demanded that she reprint the cookbook showing only that Chuck died of pneumonia.

I did not transition socially until both of my parents died, but my God, I wish Chuck could see me now.

I’m a former pastor, attorney, and mediator who is also a trans woman. I’ve had a fantastic life and look forward to telling you many more poignant and amazing stories. Please follow me and consider buying me a sugar-free beverage by clicking here. Thank you.