When I came out, nobody was surprised. Even by modern-day standards, I was an effeminate child. I had a passion for Britney, Christina, The Spice Girls and anything flashy. I take a strange sense of pride in knowing that I somehow dodged a childhood Golden Girls obsession, but I can feel it forming as I write this. I am more of a Degrassi: The Next Generation type of gay.
Television shows always narrate coming out as dramatic. The typical white, skinny, cisgender homosexual boy generally comes out in tears and screams, and his parents do one of two things: turn him away or shower him with love. Television didn’t prepare me for my parents’ ambivalence.
My mother was raised Catholic and my father Protestant. We didn’t go to church really, but God was still very much a part of my upbringing. When my twin brother Zachary and I started going to youth groups and church as teenagers, my mom was ecstatic. Zach was much more passionate about church than I was; I went to see friends and because of the prospect of free food (an idea that my still-husky self can’t decline to this day). I came out to my siblings first.
Out of my three brothers and one sister, I only came out to one sibling face-to-face. When I told Ian, I stood with my back on the door between our rooms for ten minutes. In seventh grade, my mom wanted me to be in bed by ten, and I was determined to do it before I went to bed. I opened the door and stepped into his room, wringing my hands and staring harder than ever at the floor.
“Hey, can I talk to you about something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Can I sit down?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
I sat on the edge of Ian’s bed and stared at the television in front of me. I can’t remember what was on it, though it was probably a video game. Probably something from the Final Fantasy series, a series that we have bonded over throughout our lives. I focused between my toes at the chipped, dark-brown wood floors.
“So I don’t know how to say this…” I started. “I was talking about it with Courtney…” I continued. ‘We were just talking about things and I thought I’d tell you—“
“So, you’re gay?” he said. I nodded, he nodded and we said nothing. I hugged him and went to bed.
I knew that Zach knew, as I had posted a not-dramatic-at-all MySpace bulletin (if that’s not a reference) proclaiming “I’M GAY!” He let me know of his viewing this on Thanksgiving, when he said just a bit too loud, “So what did I see online today about you being gay?” Nobody else was around to hear, which was a relief to me.
My other siblings knew; they were fifteen years older than me and, as such, had met a queer person or two in their lifetimes. They knew because they knew, though I have no doubt Ian and Zach let them in on the confirmation. With them, there was no questioning. It was a fact and it was true and there was no changing it.
My parents knowing is what scared me the most; my father was the definition of a man’s man. To this day he reminds me of a father from a 90’s sitcom, the perfect combination of crass and stubborn and hard-working. My mother was much like him, though more religious and quietly powerful. I knew that they knew for a long time, but I was willing to wait it out. One day, a friend of Zach’s visited and my mother questioned me about having a crush on him.
“What? No!” I said. I couldn’t hide my face. To be fair to myself, my face was more in horror that I would have had a crush on a boy like him rather than him being a boy in general.
“Look, we know about…yeah.” I couldn’t say it, and she couldn’t either.
“Okay,” I said.
“And your dad…”
“Okay.”
After a long moment, she looked at me and said “You know we love you?”
“Yeah.” Since then, it has been nothing but a fact.
I’ve been blessed, but it’s not always that easy for people. Television tropes exist for a reason; at one time, those stories were all that was to be had. Those stories still exist because they happen every day. I’m thankful every day for a family who knows me for who I am.
