Since mtnester Reduced Me to Tears... - Democratic Underground

CorpGovActivist

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Mon Jan-07-08 04:02 PM
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Since mtnester Reduced Me to Tears...

Edited on Mon Jan-07-08 04:11 PM by CorpGovActivist

... in this http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=show_mesg&forum=389&topic_id=2613179&mesg_id=2613179">thread with the touching story of a son's coming out, here's mine, cross-posted.

This is why LGBT issues are at or near the top of my list of issues by which I am yardsticking the Democratic candidates.

- Dave
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Since you reduced me to a gushing mess, here's the story.

I knew I had an affinity for other boys at a very young age. The problem was, I was already "different," having been tagged by the school system as some kind of off-the-charts genius by the end of kindergarten. I still have never seen the results of the testing; the tests were (still are) locked away.

But all of society's programming said things like "Jack and JILL went up the hill," ya know? So why be any more "different" than I already was? Oh, yes, those subtle societal signals come thru loud and clear, even at that age.

So, I became the quiet kid; the one who didn't raise his hand, but still got called on by the teacher anyway, when nobody else knew the answer. I learned to overcome that social stigma by tutoring other kids, and by befriending everyone - including social outcasts.

By 4th grade, I began to understand that the aforementioned "affinity" was sexual. I was enthralled by the "bad boys" telling dirty jokes at the lunch table and during PE. I listened quietly, wishing I could join in their banter.

During junior high, I also went out for sports that I sucked at, so that there was reciprocity for my tutoring, and so that others could coach/mentor me at something that didn't come naturally to me. On the team bus in junior high, I came out of my shell, and became the kid with the BEST dirty jokes. I checked out joke books from the library to that end.

The team bus got me through my parents' divorce when I was in 9th grade.

I continued to befriend social outcasts; by now, I was worried that if my "deep, dark secret" ever came out, maybe - just maybe - some of them would stick by me.

During my junior year of high school, I began to exhibit the symptoms of Crohn's. My teachers and my parents thought that I was overdoing it. I went out for every extracurricular activity I could fit in; my jam-packed schedule became the built-in excuse for why I wasn't dating anyone seriously. "I'll date when I get into college."

When the Crohn's diagnosis was finally rendered my senior year of high school, I wondered if it was God punishing me for being gay. Many nights in my early teens, I'd prayed for God to change me. We'd stopped going to the Pentecostal church I grew up in soon after my parents divorced (at 3 times a week, for 16 years, I have 48 years' worth of church under my belt already). Even though my mom explicitly rejected the pulpit teachings about gay people after any sermon that mentioned it, I still couldn't help but wonder.

The Crohn's diagnosis coincided with: (1) my garnering a Navy ROTC Scholarship; and (2) my early admission to Harvard. I took the oath as a midshipman, but when DODMERB finally got around to reading my medical disclosures, I got booted out: Crohn's is non-waiverable, even though Eisenhower had it (a fact I brought up in my appeal). I took the oath when Saddam was making human shields out of Western visitors in the summer of 90.

College in Cambridge was incredibly liberating. For the first time, I had: (1) anonymity (small towns, pre-Internet, were not conducive to anonymity); and (2) opportunity (can you say, "kid in a candy store"?).

The added bonus was that my parents were hundreds of miles away.

Even though my siblings and I piled up in my sister's bed for bedtime stories at least once a week growing up (my mom does incredible voice work for all the parts); even though she took that opportunity to repeat and gently emphasize that she would love us and support us "no matter what" (including if we robbed a bank, killed someone, ... ,"turned out to be gay"); even though I knew that I would not be rejected ... well, I hadn't come to grips with it yet, and I wasn't quite ready to tell my family.

My calls from college grew rarer. They were shorter. They were about the weather, and other inconsequential topics. The questions I received about dating either ended the call, or brought about a quick change of subject.

Freshman year of college ('90) I discovered the Internet. As line-based research tools (GOPHERS, alt. newsgroups, listservs, etc.) gave way to GUI-based interfaces (Mosaic), I rode the wave.

That's how I met my first serious boyfriend (my senior year), a Newfie who was almost on the Canadian Olympic gymastics team. He broke my heart, and I guess it came through over the phone lines. When my younger sister came up to visit me that year - later, I found out, she'd been sent as a scout - I broke down and told her I am gay. Swearing her to secrecy, I let it all out.

When Commencement activities rolled around in May/June of '94, I was on pins and needles. My family was coming up to Cambridge for more than a week, classes were over, extracurriculars were over; in short, I was royally screwed: trust me, there were no "Not Me" ghosts in our family circus. My mom could get to the bottom of a "Not Me" poltergeist incident in record time. Alarmed at my withdrawal, she was on a mission.

Yup, I was royally screwed.

I still managed to enjoy Commencement. Gore spoke; it was his 25th Reunion. His daughter was a year behind me, in another house.

My parents went home, and I somehow held out. When they drove around the bend out of sight, I started bawling.

A month later, I found some liquid courage of my own, and called home.

"Mom, I'm gonna rent a car and drive down this weekend to spend a week. There's something important I need to tell you."

Well, that went over like a lead Hindenburg.

Was I on drugs?

!!!

What?!?

I reassured her that I had still never even smoked a cigarette (still haven't), and was genuinely pissed that she would think such a thing.

She started playing Twenty Questions over the phone, eliminating her worst fears one by one.

I kept telling her that it was something that needed saying face-to-face, and kept trying to reassure her that it wasn't "bad," just "important."

This was the first real conversation we'd had in a while, and she wasn't about to let it go. Finally, I broke down and told her.

"Are you sure that's all? You're really not on drugs?"

Yup. That was all.

"Thank God. Your sister told me months ago, but I just couldn't believe that you'd avoid me over THAT."

Say WHAT NOW?!?

Needless to say, soon afterwards my sister and I had a "come to Buddha" discussion on sibling solidarity.

I drove down that weekend, and we talked. And talked. And talked. And made pots of tea and coffee, and talked some more. Four years' worth of college stories (the ones that truly mattered) to tell. She had epiphanies about why I went out for certain activities before college: "Oh, you wanted to spend more time with X," or "Oh, you DID have crushes after all."

My stepdad was hilarious: "But (long pause) you (long pause) played baseball."

Yup, and I'm still a diehard Yankees fan with a reserved batting cage time.

My younger brother was a pip: "I thought that might be the case. You couldn't dance when you left, but you could when you got back that first summer. You were going clubbing *somewhere*."

Soon after coming out to my family (that same summer after Commencement, in fact), I met my partner - online, arguing in an IT chat room. Go figure. At the time, I figured he'd be a good rebound. Go figure. Some rebound.

A couple of years after meeting him, I broke down and told my Maw Maw, my grandmother. It was important to me that she know. Your son's situation was the very one I wrestled with, and it - phew! - still brings me to tears to think about her reaction.

I was nervous telling her. That, despite the fact that a few years prior, she made a point of telling me that one of her nephews - my 2nd cousin - had come to visit her after losing his mother (my great-aunt and my grandmother's sister). He broke down and told her: (1) he was gay; and (2) he was HIV positive. She made a point of telling me how she'd become a surrogate mom to him, and what she was doing to support him.

When I told her, I thought she might have told me that story for reasons besides the fact that we'd always been especially close. I thought maybe her intuition had told her about me, and she was sending me a signal that it was OK to tell her.

It hadn't. She wasn't.

Once she got over the initial shock, she was perfect. Soon afterwards, I took my partner to meet her. He'd lost his own (special, close) grandma the winter before we met.

There have only been two times I've ever seen him cry. The first was when we got in the car to leave: "She reminds me of my Grandma J."

My Maw Maw can cook. I cannot; I am Lucille Ball on the conveyor belt at the chocolate factory in the kitchen. My partner (a creative genius in the kitchen) has been entrusted with her recipes! (Even the chicken 'n dumplins.)

So, there you have it.

I have friends who've had initial fallings-out with their families, only to patch things up later after the dust settled. I hope your son's friend is able to repair her relationship.

This helps explain why - after nearly 14 years of partnership - I'm putting LGBT rights near the top of my list of issues by which to yardstick the candidates.

As for your son's snarky irreverence: (1) irreveRANTS through it, to coin a pun; and (2) it's more fun for parents to see a snarky, irreverant son or daughter find a partner who routinely gets the better of their brat (trust me, my whole family would agree; they love it when my partner lays me out with one of his quick quips or one-liners, and his family feels the same way about me).

So stop praying that your son'll tone it down; start praying instead that he'll find a partner who'll give him a run for his money.

Then stock up on popcorn, and keep his bedroom available for entertaining visits.

: )

- Dave

P.S. My dad has been great, too.

P.P.S. Has your son started teasing ya'll about who made him gay, and how? My siblings and I get a huge rise out of my mom, especially. That, plus reminding her that she included "being gay" on a list with "robbing a bank" and "killing someone" - as one of the things we could do and still warrant her unconditional love. "I didn't mean it like THAT!" she retorts, indignantly. Works every time.