“Oh, would you look at that! I’ve never seen that before!”
I grinned at the tiny woman sitting in front of me, proudly displaying my t-shirt.
“I made it myself,” I said. “Would you sign it for me?”
“Sign your shirt!” she exclaimed, delighted. “Oh, I feel like a rock star!”
The photo on my t-shirt was of her, laughing broadly, wearing a hat with a giant sunflower. Below, I’d included a quote of hers I loved: “I laugh much, much more than I cry.” She giggled as she grasped a pink Sharpie between her talon-like acrylic nails.
She signed, “Love, Tammy Faye.”
I was at Outwrite bookstore, for Tammy Faye’s signing of her perkily-titled book “I Will Survive… and You Will Too!”. The place was packed like I’d rarely seen, and when she faced her admirers, she was overwhelmed. She thanked the room for the love we showed her. The crowd was mostly gay, which was hardly surprising. Tammy Faye was fabulous and warm-hearted. You know you’re a gay icon when Bernadette Peters plays you in your life story. She sang, she spoke of her life with wonder and gratitude, and had us eating out of the palm of her outrageously manicured hand.
“You did such a good job on that shirt! I need that picture! It’s beautiful!” she said. Everything she said was an exclamation, a glorious idea dawning on her that must be shared.
She had her husband give me an address, and the next day I mailed her a copy on glossy paper. She sent me a note of thanks a month later, apologizing profusely for how long it had taken to thank me for my gift, but she’d been promoting her book. She also told me she was certain I was “A blessing to many, many people.”
I grinned at the tiny woman sitting in front of me, proudly displaying my t-shirt.
“I made it myself,” I said. “Would you sign it for me?”
“Sign your shirt!” she exclaimed, delighted. “Oh, I feel like a rock star!”
The photo on my t-shirt was of her, laughing broadly, wearing a hat with a giant sunflower. Below, I’d included a quote of hers I loved: “I laugh much, much more than I cry.” She giggled as she grasped a pink Sharpie between her talon-like acrylic nails.
She signed, “Love, Tammy Faye.”
I was at Outwrite bookstore, for Tammy Faye’s signing of her perkily-titled book “I Will Survive… and You Will Too!”. The place was packed like I’d rarely seen, and when she faced her admirers, she was overwhelmed. She thanked the room for the love we showed her. The crowd was mostly gay, which was hardly surprising. Tammy Faye was fabulous and warm-hearted. You know you’re a gay icon when Bernadette Peters plays you in your life story. She sang, she spoke of her life with wonder and gratitude, and had us eating out of the palm of her outrageously manicured hand.
“You did such a good job on that shirt! I need that picture! It’s beautiful!” she said. Everything she said was an exclamation, a glorious idea dawning on her that must be shared.
She had her husband give me an address, and the next day I mailed her a copy on glossy paper. She sent me a note of thanks a month later, apologizing profusely for how long it had taken to thank me for my gift, but she’d been promoting her book. She also told me she was certain I was “A blessing to many, many people.”
Coming from someone like her, I considered that high praise indeed.
I saw the interview on Larry King last week and knew we wouldn’t have her for much longer. The image of Tammy Faye was heartbreaking. She had, as always, made an effort, despite the cancer that had left her weighing just 65 pounds. Her ever-present wig and makeup were firmly in place, as she was facing her public, and wanted to look her best. Speaking was a tremendous challenge, and she was in obvious agony. Yet when King asked her how she was doing (which, by the way, is an absurd question to ask someone on hospice care with terminal cancer), she gave a half-smile and responded, “Oh, pretty good, Larry, considering.”
That’s how she faced every challenge in life: The eternal optimist, willing to look past whatever horrors she faced, and see a bright future before her. Her unwavering faith carried her through having it all and then losing it, watching two husbands go to prison, battles with her own drug dependencies, and enduring years of being a public punchline. But she used every single one of those challenges as a new opportunity to reach out to others. She invited people suffering from AIDS complications on her PTL talk show during a time when Ronald Reagan would not utter the word. She never used her faith as a weapon against others, instead utilizing it as a tool to build understanding between communities. She saw goodness and hope in everyone, even Jerry Falwell, who had orchestrated her family’s downfall and publicly derided her in the name of God.
Tammy Faye was, sadly, a rare creature: A nationally-respected and recognized Christian who genuinely wanted to heal and unite us all. She was a woman who respected people with beliefs or lives different from her own, did not judge, and was standing at the ready to embrace anyone in need.
In that interview with Larry King, on what would turn out to be the last night of her life, Tammy Faye thanked the gay community for coming to her rescue when she had lost everything, and sent her love. My hope is that we will honor this remarkable woman by following the example of her bravery: To seek out what is good and true in life, to find room in our hearts to accept those who would deride us, and to find the substance beneath our own style.
I saw the interview on Larry King last week and knew we wouldn’t have her for much longer. The image of Tammy Faye was heartbreaking. She had, as always, made an effort, despite the cancer that had left her weighing just 65 pounds. Her ever-present wig and makeup were firmly in place, as she was facing her public, and wanted to look her best. Speaking was a tremendous challenge, and she was in obvious agony. Yet when King asked her how she was doing (which, by the way, is an absurd question to ask someone on hospice care with terminal cancer), she gave a half-smile and responded, “Oh, pretty good, Larry, considering.”
That’s how she faced every challenge in life: The eternal optimist, willing to look past whatever horrors she faced, and see a bright future before her. Her unwavering faith carried her through having it all and then losing it, watching two husbands go to prison, battles with her own drug dependencies, and enduring years of being a public punchline. But she used every single one of those challenges as a new opportunity to reach out to others. She invited people suffering from AIDS complications on her PTL talk show during a time when Ronald Reagan would not utter the word. She never used her faith as a weapon against others, instead utilizing it as a tool to build understanding between communities. She saw goodness and hope in everyone, even Jerry Falwell, who had orchestrated her family’s downfall and publicly derided her in the name of God.
Tammy Faye was, sadly, a rare creature: A nationally-respected and recognized Christian who genuinely wanted to heal and unite us all. She was a woman who respected people with beliefs or lives different from her own, did not judge, and was standing at the ready to embrace anyone in need.
In that interview with Larry King, on what would turn out to be the last night of her life, Tammy Faye thanked the gay community for coming to her rescue when she had lost everything, and sent her love. My hope is that we will honor this remarkable woman by following the example of her bravery: To seek out what is good and true in life, to find room in our hearts to accept those who would deride us, and to find the substance beneath our own style.
