PICTURED ABOVE, ME AND MY SPECIAL PANSY, MY LIFE PARTNER, SETH.

PHOTO BY JANELLE ROUTHIER.

“Ugh. Okay, I’m ready. Let’s see what it says today. Am I gonna hate it?”

“Well, to hate it you’d have to understand it first. It’s another one of their ‘clever’ messages,”

my co-worker Jenny said, while making air quotes with her fingers.

“Ah. Well at least that’s better their usual homophobic bullshit.”

Oh, no, I’m pretty sure it’s still homophobic bullshit,” she laughed, “just in a fun and playful way. You’ll love it! Just look out the window already.

“Fun and playful and homophobic. I can’t wait.”

Our family’s plant nursery, COVINGTON'S, shares a property line with a Church of Christ. Right out front and on the very edge of this shared line—almost looking as if it sprouts up out of the Covington’s parking lot— this Church has an old-fashioned letter board sign. It is nearly impossible for any employee or customer of Covington’s not to see this sign when they drive through the entrance of our nursery. This would not be a problem whatsoever if the sign said lighthearted, innocuous things like “Jesus Loves You” or “Have a Blessed Day!”

But sadly, that is not the case. This is quite frequently a hateful sign, and it oscillates back and forth between angry, confusing, or both.

I had started parking in the back so I wouldn’t have to pass by it each morning on the way in to work. Being told by a sign that you’re an abomination who’s going to hell is not a fun way to start your workday. But homophobic in a fun and playful way? How bad could that be? I walked to the front window and looked out across our parking lot.

“Hold on, Jenny. You’re right, I think they’re trying to be clever, but I’m not sure I find it playful, exactly...? I mean, are they calling the LGBT people liars?

“Hard to tell. I told you, it’s so clever, none of us understand it.”

“Ugh. I think I prefer the straightforward ones. No pun intended. But seriously, I hate it.”

“Ryan, show tolerance! Don’t judge something just because you don’t understand it!”

We both laugh at the irony. But it was true, I really did hate this sign, and it was also true that the sign wasn’t always so “playful” as it was today.

You may or may not know this, but historically, the nursery and landscaping business has not been a very open minded or welcoming industry for homosexuals. If you are picturing in your mind a stereotypical gay man, fussing over a vase full of flowers, stop— that is a florist, not a nurseryman. I don’t know what happens, but as long as the flowers are either dead or fake (or even just brought inside) they fall into the realm of the ladies and the gays; but alive and in the dirt, they fall decidedly in the realm of the heterosexual nurseryman. Something similar happens with all house projects in general, actually, where so long as the remodeling is happening to the interior, gays and women are all over it, but the second it’s an exterior remodel, we’re back in the world of the uber masculine construction worker. Covington’s nursery was certainly not a toxic place, but one nursery doesn’t define an entire industry; you still have to deal with all the “good ol' boys” that make up the brunt of your clientele.

Traditionally, the nursery and landscaping business has always been comprised of a very BLUE-COLLAR workforce and was much more closely related to that of house builders and construction workers than it was to florists. There was even a time in the not too distant past when it was all but notorious for its male chauvinism and toxic masculinity. If you want to argue with me about this, and say this was never really the case, don’t waste your breath. If there’s two things I have had an entire lifetime of firsthand experiences with, it’s being gay and being in the nursery and landscaping business. The cliche of women being catcalled and harassed, as they walk past the horny male workers of a stereotypical job site— that became a cliche for a very good reason.

Fortunately, not only have things changed a great deal since I was a kid, just in the world at large, but I am proud to say that for as long as I can remember, Covington’s has always been different. We have always been progressive, diverse, and welcoming to all walks of life. I wish I could say I had a hand in this, but honestly, I can take very little credit. Long before I came out as gay, my parents already had several longtime gay and lesbian employees, and by the time I returned as an adult to work retail, our staff was so diverse I felt like the only things missing were Little People and a drag queen brunch.

Our family nursery was, and still is, a great and cheerful environment to both work and to shop, no matter what personal or political beliefs you might hold. Covington’s is just a very welcoming place. Even if the nursery industry on the whole can sometimes still be a little backwards and bigoted, we like to think of Covington’s as like a beautiful oasis of tolerance and hope.

Which brings us back to the Church of Christ and its confrontational sign. The letter board's message was quite frequently the exact opposite of welcoming. This was especially unfortunate, considering it was situated at the main entrance to our parking lot.

I’d say about 90% of the time, the sign was focused on homosexuality, but occasionally it would take a small break from that, to yell about other, equally controversial and polarizing topics, like abortion. What another great way for employees and customers to start their day at Covington’s!

Nice! But was it really their “choice” if taking the pregnancy to term was the only option available to these mothers? Let’s all heatedly talk about this while you try to shop for pansies and pumpkins, shall we?

I wouldn’t exactly call it “playful,” but I will admit that during the first few months I worked retail, the signs messages started out characteristically more…droll. But as the summer got hotter, the signs started getting angrier, more pointed, and eventually just outright offensive. “Abomination” is a very strong and hateful word, and I’d simply had enough.

“This is ridiculous,” I told my mother one day at lunch. “I’m sure they know I’m gay, right? This has gotten out of hand, I’m going to go over to the church say something.”

“I would strongly advise against it, Ryan. Not everything is about you..”

“You say that a lot, but in this case, I think it is. This feels very personal. I’m not going to go over and yell at them, just explain that as a gay man, I find their signs upsetting and distasteful.”

“I’m sure they are aware of how their signs come across, Ryan, I think that’s the whole point. They made up their mind a long time ago to be hateful and controversial, and to blatantly condemn homosexuality with their sign messages. But, again, it’s not about you. Did you really not know they do this for their son?”

“Hold on, who does what for who now? Their son? Are you talking metaphorically about the church’s son, Jesus? That’s why I shouldn’t talk to them? They do it for Jesus? That’s lame.”

“Ha, no, Ryan, for their actual son. The owners of the church property—that sign is for their son.”

“Well that makes more sense. I was wondering who actually got out there and put up all those messages, because aren’t the church owners like 90 years old? It makes sense that it’s some bigoted, country bumpkin son of theirs, in the middle of the night, using his parent’s church sign to spread hateful country-fried bullshit.”

“Wrong and wrong again, Ryan. I thought you knew this, they have a gay son. Their son is gay.”

Holy shit. Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I said, too.

“Whaaaaaaaaat? Are you kidding me, Mom?”

“That’s why I’m telling you it wouldn’t do any good to talk to them about how uncomfortable it makes you feel, it’s not about you. To put it quite simply, this sign is how they talk to their estranged gay son, possibly the only way. I don’t think they are on speaking terms.”

“I can’t imagine why. Those sign messages are such delightful conversation starters.”

“I’m not saying it’s right, but I think this sign is like their conversation with him.”

“Hold on— wait -- now I’m imagining... does he have a sign somewhere in town, too?”

I’m picturing some other letter board sign somewhere else in Rowlett that says things like, “Stop being so dramatic, Mother” or “Timothy and I agree your dress at the city council luncheon was hideous,” and “We won’t be coming to your intolerant Thanksgiving party, Mother, we’ll be too busy doing anal stuff! So there!”

“No, I think the conversation is pretty much one sided.”

“So, the idea is to just to harass him with this hateful sign until he eventually repents his evil ways and comes home?”

“Something like that. Or at least reaches out to them.”

I’m immediately brainstorming ways I could get involved and somehow stage an emotional, heartfelt family reunion… some artful way to get this gay son to reach out to his folks… anything so we can stop having a hateful, antagonistic sign at the main front entrance to our nursery. Maybe it will never say exactly what I’d like it to say, but possibly the sign could say something we could both agree on?

“All Pansies Must Go!” comes to mind. That checks both boxes, right? Our customers will be thinking about flowers, but the church owners can sleep soundly knowing that they are still venomously communicating with their gay son in this elaborate and oddly public way. They’d still be letting him know that they are concurrently thinking about him, and disapproving of him, all at once. Same as before.

During the dead of summer, with scorching temperatures in Dallas consistently reaching hellishly high digits, things at the nursery become slow and dead. And I spent many an afternoon looking at their hateful sign messages and thinking up all the devilishly rude things I could make it say by just rearranging the letters. Most of my ideas were wildly inappropriate and not fit for print. They certainly weren’t fit to greet customers as they entered either a church or a nursery, which goes to show you that owning a sign and a bunch of plastic letters is actually a huge responsibility.

Just because you can make a sign say something, doesn’t always mean you should.

However, once I learned what was really going on, there was one thing I religiously (haha) tried to see if I could make the sign say. It was neither rude nor offensive, and I think it’s something everyone could agree upon. Using the letters provide, I could usually achieve some variation of:

Hey! Call Your Mom Already!