Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son: A Memoir

280 Pages·2006·0.64 MB·English

by  Kevin Jennings

Mama’s Boy, Preacher’s Son

Mama’s Boy, Preacher’s Son
A Memoir
kevin jennings
Beacon Press
Boston
Beacon Press
25 Beacon Street
Boston, Massachusetts 02108-2892
www.beacon.org
Beacon Press books
are published under the auspices of
the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations.
© 2006 by Kevin Jennings
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
09 08 07 06 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book is printed on acid-free paper that meets the uncoated paper ANSI/NISO
specifications for permanence as revised in 1992.
Text design by Patricia Duque Campos
Composition by Wilsted & Taylor Publishing Services
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jennings, Kevin
Mama’s boy, preacher’s son : a memoir / Kevin Jennings.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-8070-7146-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)
1. Jennings, Kevin. 2. Gay men—United States—Biography.
3. Gay teachers—United States—Biography. 4. Gay students—United States.
5. Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network—History. I. Title.
HQ75.8.J46A3 2006
306.76'62092—dc22 2006001275
For Claudette,
who has always been family
One person’s truth, if told well, does not leave anyone out.
paul monette
Contents
prologue ix
chapter 1
Deathbeds Are Waiting 1
chapter 2
Happy Birthday to Me 13
chapter 3
The Road to Salvation, Part One 21
chapter 4
The Road to Salvation, Part Two 43
chapter 5
Tests of Allegiance 63
chapter 6
Getting Out 87
chapter 7
Harvard Boy 105
chapter 8
Going Back In 131
chapter 9
Out for Good 153
chapter 10
Getting Organized 179
chapter 11
Making History 195
chapter 12
Going National 211
chapter 13
Going Home 231
chapter 14
Alpha and Omega 247
epilogue 259
acknowledgments 265
Prologue
The first thing I remember is the oxygen tent.
It’s 1966. We’re living in North Carolina, where my dad has
chased a job in construction. I’m three and a half (halves are im-
portant when you’re three) and in a hospital in Roanoke Rapids
because I have whooping cough, a disease that nobody gets—
nobody, that is, who isn’t poor, so poor that you don’t get vacci-
nated, so poor that you don’t have health insurance, so poor that
you don’t go to the hospital until your fever breaks 102 degrees
and your mom thinks she’d better take you now because, if it goes
any higher, you might be brain damaged for life. We’re that poor.
The oxygen tent is made of plastic and is large enough that my
entire three-and-a-half-year-old body fits comfortably within it. I
can sit up without hitting the top, stretch out my legs without hit-
ting the wall at my feet, and spread my arms out without touching
the sides. I love tents: my cousins and I make them when playing
indoors in my family’s trailer, draping blankets and sheets to cre-
ate hiding places, using flashlights to illuminate them from within,
delighting in the idea that we are invisible to the outside world.
ix