How I came out... A long time Ago...

Preface; I came out in 10th grade.... looking back? Shit I was young... anyways here's my story

I sat in the car, my heart racing; I knew I had to tell her.  She was my mom, for Christ’s sake; she always said she would always be there for me no matter what.  What if she doesn’t accept me?  What if they kick me out of the house, where will I live?  What if I become the black sheep of the family?  Come on, none of that will happen, I just have to say it.  The car curved around the road heading home, I knew I wanted to tell her before we got there.  She did that creepy thing moms do, and asked me if something was wrong.  How do they always know?  I looked at my mom, how could I hurt her? But wasn’t I hurting her more by lying to her and keeping a secret?

I had known I was gay early in life, I just never knew it had a correct term.  Back in kindergarten when all the boys were finding girls to “marry”, I had no interest, but everyone else was doing it, so I thought I should too.  I didn’t feel anything. I was 5 but I knew love wasn’t this boring, I thought to myself: I am probably just getting sick, that’s why there’s no feeling. That’s all my life had been, a bunch of excuses I made to comfort myself.

  After kindergarten things settled down until 5^th grade.  Every kid dreads and looks forward to that fateful day in their last year of elementary school when they get “the talk.” Mr. Rabe, my fifth grade teacher, adjusted one of his many Eeyore covered ties as he walked to the chair in the front of the classroom.  My friends and I all stopped talking, and waited for the token sound of the air rushing out of the chair he was about to sit on.  Like clockwork his plump hand flattened his gray moustache. He took a sip of water as he described the physical and mental changes a boy goes through during puberty, I listened contently then came that part of the talk, where babies come from.  My teacher shifted in his seat, I knew an awkward topic was coming.  

“When a man has strong feelings for a woman” he said, “hormones cause an increase of 

blood to the penis causing it to swell forming an erection…”

Already I was starting to get confused by these new terms entering my small fifth grade vocabulary. The next part of his talk nearly caused me to be sick, no exaggeration. He went on to say:  “The man puts his erection into a woman’s vagina…”  That wasn’t the worst part, he then put up a slide of a woman’s vagina on the  projector. I had to look away, something didn’t look right, and something didn’t feel right.  I sat patiently through the rest of the talk and tried to focus.  On the bus ride home, everyone was abuzz with “the talk”; they were playing with their mini-sticks of deodorant and flipping through books.  I sat quietly, knuckles tight around my bag, thinking.  Was I the only one who had felt this way?

As life progressed I put my feelings on the back burner.  I played football in 6^th grade, and as all the guys were checking out the cheerleaders, I was more focused on the game, which I guess is a good thing.   As seventh and eighth grade rolled around, I had lots of girlfriends 11 to be exact, and I really liked them mentally, but when it came to kissing them or rounding the bases, I just didn’t feel good about it.  Everyone talked about seeing fireworks when you kissed someone you loved.  I never saw the fireworks; my mind always flashed back to the fifth grade talk. 

 As the year progressed, I started noticing boys, they way they talked, walked, dressed, smiled, etc.  I still didn’t know what made me different.  Towards the end of eighth grade, I started to learn the name to what I thought was my “disease.”  The guys would call their friends fags, homos, and a bunch of other names that would make your mother blush, all of which I didn’t understand.  With a google search of these words, it all became clear, my dislike of girls, and my hidden like for boys.  After I filtered through the pornographic results, I found a website that I thought could help me see clearly, it gave me various examples of the word gay.  It pretty much summed up my feelings.  I sat at the computer and thought, now what?  With a little more poking around I discovered a term called “coming out”; the process of telling your loved ones about your feelings for the same sex.  

How could I tell my mom I wasn’t normal?  How could I tell my dad he would never have biological grand children? When was the right time?  Was there a right time?   What if they rejected me?  What if they kick me out?   I had to clear my head. I started pulling away from my friends because I was afraid they would find out my secret.  In ninth grade, I was introduced to Joey, my first boyfriend. 

 Through a string of friends, I was introduced to Joey and we hit it off right away.  He made me laugh and smile like no other  person had before.  we volunteered to help with the Special Olympics in the Poconos.  On the hour and a half bus ride my mind was racing.  Was he gay? Was he feeling the same way I was?  Were his palms this sweaty?  We got off the bus and put on our ski’s, he playfully through a ball of snow at me.  Unfortunately the snowball had hit me in the face and I toppled over. He rushed over to see if I was alright, I stood up and told him I was fine, but he insisted he take me in the lodge for some hot chocolate.  He smiled as he told me about his sister and how he accepted him for being gay.  Sirens went off in my head, this had to mean something right? He just came out to me, how should I react?  He noticed the change my face made while I was thinking.  As if to read my mind, he leaned in and kissed me. It was like the world has sped up, the room was spinning, all talking seemed to stop, nothing mattered except for him and I. My world lit up with sparks.  I snapped back to reality and finished the task at hand, helping the kids, but not without a smile on my face.  We went home and he officially asked me out. 

 After dating for about a month; I was running out of lies. My mom would say “Who are you going out with?”

  “ Oh, just some friends” I would reply with a lie, and with more than 3 dates a week I was running out of fake friends to hang out with.  It was winter of my freshman year, and I decided enough was enough; I wanted to come clean to my mom.  

I sat in the car, my heart pounding. Everything seemed to slow down. There went the local carwash, there goes the Italian restaurant, and only 2 miles until home, just spit it out.  

“Mom I…” 

shit, what am I doing I don’t want to hurt her, maybe I should just let it go.

“What were you saying?” she asked inquisitively.

“Its nothing” I replied and looked out the window, a fresh tear running down my face.

We pulled into my neighbor hood and approached my house. As the driveway draws closer, my mom maintains speed,  and she passes the driveway and continues driving.  I look at her, and as all kids know, moms have an innate sense when something’s wrong.   The drive continued in silence for what felt like hours.  Finally I decided that it was now or never; my mom was starting to get upset that something was bothering me and that I wouldn’t tell her.  After a couple miles I tried thinking of various ways I could tell her.  I could take the comic approach:

“ Mom, you know how Andrew on Desperate Housewives likes boys, well I do too.”

But what if she didn’t take me seriously?  I could make it over-dramatic and start bawling my eyes and whine and scream and yell

“MOM I’M FUCKING GAY!” 

I don’t think she would appreciate the screaming and cursing.  I think the best way is just to tell her everything flat out.

“ Mom, I just want you to know I have been lying to you the past month. Every time I go out with ‘friends’ I am actually going out with the person I love.  I know you said you will always be happy as long as I am happy, and mom, I… well, I just want you to know that I… mom, I’m gay.”

I swear time stopped. All the air had been knocked out of me.  Had I lost hearing? Why wasn’t she saying anything? Did she hear me? Should I repeat myself? Why is she just looking at me? Why isn’t she watching the road?  Is she going to be mad? Will she yell or scream? 

“Oh, honey come here” she said as she parked the car along the sidewalk, the tree we parked under cast an eerie shadow over her face.

She leaned over the center console to give me a hug.  Our bliss was broken by a car who couldn’t get around us.  She put the car in drive and turned around. We drove home in silence.  When we got home all I wanted to do was run to my room and collapse, but she insisted we talk first. She busied her way around the kitchen preparing a plate of cookies. We sat at the kitchen table.  She opened up conversation with: “ I have always had a feeling, it’s just a mother’s instinct. I was going to ask you, but I figured it’s better to let you come to me.  How long have you known?” 

I explained to her, “ I have always known, I  just didn’t know.”

She was confused, so I explained to her the story much like I explained previously.  

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” she asked.

“I wasn’t  sure how you would respond, or if you would accept me at all,” I replied as I looked down in shame; how could I ever think my mom wouldn’t accept me?  

“So about this boy,” she said, quickly changing the subject after sensing my shame,

My eyes lit up, “ He is such a nice boy, I can’t wait for you to meet him, he’s smart, and funny, and makes me smile.”

Her smile thinned out. Inside I knew what was coming, but I don’t think I was ready to admit it.

“We have to tell dad,” she said.

It’s amazing how five simple words can kill every single butterfly in my stomach and turn them all to heavy sludge.  I felt like my feet were glued to the floor and my mouth was glued shut. Oxeygyn could not reach my brain because I had stopped breathing, the room was spinning.  I had to put my head down to hide not only my tears, but also my fears. 

. 

I paced my room waiting for something to happen.  What was I thinking asking my mom to tell my dad? Why couldn’t I man up and do it myself?  This is exactly what I didn’t want, for him to think that because I am gay I can’t help him around the house, or lift heavy objects.  What if he ignores me?  What if…

“Chris, come down here” my mom says patiently.

I slowly walk down the stairs, the temperature increases, I feel like I’m walking into hell.  I turn the corner and walked into the study, my eyes not leaving the floor. I plopped into the oversize leather chair.  I avoided his gaze and fiddled with my fingers.  

“Its okay Chris, I told dad,” my mom said as she tried to play peace keeper,

My dad shifted uncomfortably in his chair, giving nervous glances at my mom and I. I looked up slowly and waited for him to say something.

“Chris it’s okay, a lot of teenagers have thoughts like this,” he said, “It is probably just a phase,” he said in a short and awkward tone.

I wanted to scream and tell him it has been this way for years and I didn’t predict these feelings leaving anytime soon.

“ I see,” I replied slowly and without conviction. Still trying to avoid his eyes.

“As long as you’re happy, I am happy and that’s the way it will always be,” he said as if he had heard my mom say it earlier.

I looked at my mom. She gave me the nod I was internally waiting for. I stood up and walked back up stairs and slowly shut my door, I walked to my bed and lay down to think.  My mom accepted me, my dad accepted me. I should be happy right?

Years have passed and things are pretty status quo.  My mom and I check out guys together, and my dad and I work around the house.    I still feel hesitant to bring boys around the house, because I am afraid I will disappoint or make my dad sad.  But on the few occasions I have had him meet my boyfriends, he has always been open minded and accepting.  To answer my own question; I am happy.