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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
Here I am, over 60, and I can still feel the angst of the smart-mouthed adolescent I used to be. Poor thing! I need to tell her how great life turns out, but first she needs to hear this:
Honey, you’re gay.
You know it’s true. It’s the reason your face burns red hot when someone says “gay” or, worse yet, “lesbian.” You keep pushing it down and trying to have crushes on boys but your obsession with Shirley MacLaine is telling.
You’re terrified, I know. Don’t worry, you don’t cross over to the other side until Dad dies and Grandma is lost to dementia. It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s only one homophobe who’s going to make you miserable and that’s you. It’s the reason you can’t see a future: you can’t see yourself in a relationship or having children. You’re sure it means you’ll die young. (You don’t.)
Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to spend your 20s in therapy ostensibly dealing with those nasty panic attacks you think are signs of madness. You never talk about the fact that you’re gay. You do, however, fall in love with your female therapist, which somehow makes it harder to talk about the fact that you’re gay.
When it’s finally clear that you’ve had enough therapy, you quit and join a softball team. You meet a woman who feels like home. She moves in and word gets out. When Mom hears, she sobs and sobs and tells you that it’s a sign the world is coming to an end. She gets over it, shout out to comedian Ellen DeGeneres who helps make gay okay, and life goes on.
You eschew labels. You avoid pronouns when referring to your partner. When your little sister moves in with you both, you think it will throw neighbours off the scent.
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Years pass and something weird happens: Suddenly, you really want to be a mom. You realize, much to your horror, that you can’t go through the process of becoming a mom without being out. You don’t want to be fully out because you feel shame. And if you feel shame, your child will feel it, too.
And that’s how you became gay. You and your partner join Dykes Planning Tykes, and eventually she gives birth to our son, my heart. You are the out-est you can be. You’ve chosen to be the school mom so you’re on drop-off and pickup duty. You gab with teachers and other parents, read to kids and go on all the excursions. You want everyone to know what gay looks like. You want to show them it’s not scary because you understand why they might think it is.
Our boy is proud of his family. Last year, while bored, alone and waiting in an airport, he used Reddit to post a message to the world: “I’m a 21-year-old white straight man with lesbian parents. Ask me anything.”
For weeks, he fielded genuinely curious questions from across the planet. Did you find a father figure? (Son: I never needed one.) Were you teased as a kid? (Son: Someone called me “gaylord” once. I told the principal and it never happened again.) Do you ever wonder if you have a thousand half siblings? (Son: I know there are at least seven and I’ve met two.) Did you ever wish you had a normal family? (Son: I’m a big family guy and wouldn’t change anything.) Is there anything you miss in your masculinity? (Son: No. I’m a masculine guy and so are my friends.) What is your vision of the man you want to become? (Son: I’m happy with who I am. I want to be a father who has good relationships.)
His discussion garnered more than three million views and 900 comments, including a cheeky proposition and some warm gratitude from young gay parents. There was no hostility.
So, my dear misguided anti-social past self, if you hadn’t come out, you wouldn’t have had a son to bring a little comfort and clarity to the world. You wouldn’t have taken the power away from those who disapprove of you. You wouldn’t have found peace.
You’ll be fine. Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth until your heart stops knocking so hard against your chest. Oh, and don’t pick your pimples. It’s gross and it leaves scars.
Lori Fournier lives in Etobicoke, Ont.
