Mom, I'm Gay



  Mom, I'm Gay

  By Rebecca Flannery

  Copyright 2013 Rebecca Flannery

  Although my childbearing days are over, about five years ago, I decided to have another type of “baby.” I needed to fill some of the empty time my summers off as a teacher provided, and I started writing. I worked on it each summer and before I knew it, this book had sprung out of me. It grew as I edited and added to it, with less work than my own two children had required, and much better able to sit silently during the times I did not tend to it. As I share this book with others, it’s kind of like the first day of kindergarten. It can be hard to watch but it’s time to let go!

  This story is written to provide inspiration and encouragement for anyone who cares about acceptance. The characters and story are a work of fiction created from my imagination, but I have tried to write it in a way that will ring true. While the main character, Mara, absolutely accepts her son, her methods are not always the best. She is not accepting about everything, and she has some challenges in her personal life. Mara will work through some of them in this story, but others will not be addressed until the next chapter of her life is written.

  My support for writing this book has come from my faith, my husband, my family, and my friends. I thank you all for your encouragement, acceptance, and feedback. My motivation is to promote acceptance for others who might be dealing with this subject. It is not meant to offend, just to offer a view that might be different from your own experience. If, after you read it, you are so moved, please consider making a donation to the Human Rights Campaign, Reconciling Ministries, or another organization that promotes acceptance.

  Chapter 1

  One look at Jonathan’s face when I walked in the front door made me realize that something had happened. Was I prepared for what he told me? Looking back on it now, I had definitely considered the possibility, but I had never imagined the actual finding out part…. never really thought through what it would be like when he told me. And now it was happening, in bold, permanent marker colors that would never be erased.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said as soon as our eyes met. “This isn’t how I planned to tell you. But I have no choice now.” Large tears rolled out from my handsome son’s deep brown eyes and made a trail down his tanned face. I knew whatever he was about to tell me was very big – at least in his world. Although Jonathan had always been sensitive, I hadn’t seen him cry since he was thirteen years old. That was when his closest friend in the world moved away. My mind quickly went to the day Andrea, with whom he had played nearly everyday since he was old enough to play, had moved. Just as quickly, I came back to the present.

  I put the grocery bag that was in my arms down on the chair in the foyer where we stood, and my purse slid off my shoulder, hitting the floor with a thud. I reached out to hug him. At first, he moved back, as if to pull away, but then he let me hold him and more tears came. He’s much taller than I am, and as I caught our reflection in the mirror, I thought what an awkward scene we made as he slumped to let his head rest on my shoulder. “What is it?” I asked my only son, wanting to take his pain away.

  Jonathan pulled back a little and looked straight into my eyes. He hesitated a moment, took a deep breath. “Mom, I’m gay.” Three small words, but he spoke them with so much force that I could almost see the weight come off his shoulders. He stood up straighter and the tears were no longer coming, as he waited for my reaction.

  I stood there, looking into his face, but I didn’t react at all. Mentally, my mind flashed through many events that had occurred over the years, events that had caused me to consider, indeed, that my son might be gay. He’d grown up without a dad; my husband, his father, had died in an automobile accident when Jonathan was only five years old. Since then, there had never been any other real father figure in his life. Of course, I knew that many boys grow up without a father and aren’t gay, and others grow up with a father and are gay, but on the occasions I allowed myself to consider that Jonathan might be gay, this was something that came to mind. Because of our family situation, there were few men in his life. I rarely dated; I had no brothers, and neither had Dick. Most of our couple friends had stopped visiting soon after Dick had died – and even I had to admit it had felt awkward for them to visit without Dick there anymore. There simply hadn’t been many men in our home since Dick. Did I really think that could cause my son to be gay? Not really, but it was something I wished was different. Of course, Patrick, who had introduced Dick and me, had always kept in touch and visited, but he had certainly never been a father figure…or had he?

  Other thoughts crossed my mind. Growing up, Jonathan never has had many male friends, but he’s always had a large circle of female friends. In nursery school, even before Dick’s death, then in kindergarten, and actually, all the way through school, most of his favorite playmates had been girls, especially Andrea. Growing up, he was about as interested in football and other “manly” sports as I was. He preferred the kind of sports that were more individual and didn’t have teams.

  There were some other observations I had made that had caused me to wonder. He is always the first one out of the locker room after his track and cross-country meets, and many times, he waited to shower at home. I’d never asked him about it, never made an issue of it, but I had known something about it made him uncomfortable. And now at eighteen, he’s never had a girlfriend, yet he still has lots of friends who are girls. He doesn’t date, but seems to go out in groups, and as a senior in high school, he is going to his very first prom, and this one only because one of the girls had begged him to go with her, insisting that they would go “as friends.” I know these things are not the way it is for most eighteen year olds. He is very handsome, and that’s not just my opinion as his mother; he’s tall with a lean build and a beautiful head of dark brown hair that he wears slightly longer than the current style.

  Right now, Jon is waiting for my reaction, but I am thinking about all of these things, and I still haven’t shown any reaction to those three small words as my mind continues wandering through other events that have made me wonder over the years. I remember a conversation I’d had with a friend back when Jonathan was in eighth grade. I had actually told her that I suspected he might be gay…I don’t remember saying it as a negative thing, but I just stated that I thought he might be. Cathy’s eyes had grown wide, and she began asking me all sorts of questions that I realized I wasn’t ready to discuss, and I quickly changed the subject. During subsequent visits, she had tried to bring it up a few more times, but I always switched to another topic, and we began to drift apart after that. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else since, although I definitely thought about it. I don’t know why I’ve never said anything to my sister, but for some reason, I never have, even though it was on my mind many times when we talked.

  Just a few weeks ago, Jonathan had been talking to his sister, Gabby, on instant messenger, and had called me in to read something funny that she had written. He left the room to get a snack, and for some reason, after I read Gabby’s message, I brought the cursor to the top of the screen and clicked on the drop-down list of recently visited sites. I can’t pretend I was shocked that a few of them clearly offered gay and lesbian support. I quickly went back to Gabby’s e-mail, and Jonathan came back to his room. I wanted to ask him about it, but I just hadn’t. And then I managed to keep myself extra busy so I wouldn’t have time to think any more about it. So the truth was, I knew, but I hadn’t ever broached the subject with him, and now he was telling me.

  My thoughts continue wandering for several minutes, but I still haven’t said one word. As I came back to the present, I knew I should be saying something, but at the moment, I was
n’t feeling any particular emotion. There are certainly worse things a son could tell his mother. He wasn’t telling me he had problems with drugs or alcohol, or that he wasn’t going to graduate from high school. He was only telling me what I already knew deep inside, but had never talked over with him, and had really never allowed my mind to ponder. And now, as he waited for my response, it became clear to me that I had been very unfair to him. I began feeling such incredible regret that I had never brought up the subject. My silence was making him uncomfortable, and he began talking again, before I had said anything. He spoke more naturally now, and I continued to sense that by telling me, it felt like a heavy weight had been taken off his chest.

  “Mom, I had always planned to tell you. I just never knew how and the time always seemed wrong. Gabby and I have talked about it; in fact, she wanted to be here with me when I told you. But all those plans mean nothing now because I had to tell you. I was forced by the events of the day.”

  My face finally reacted, and it must have formed a question mark. I really didn’t comprehend what he was saying this time, and I asked three questions all at once, rather incoherently, and Jonathan misunderstood what I meant as I uttered, “Gabby? Why? What events?”

  Gabby is nearly five years older than Jonathan. They are close, and I wasn’t surprised that he had told her. She was a wonderful older sister to him, and I was sure she had been supportive. I wondered what she had to do with ‘the events of the day.’ Jonathan must have thought I wanted to know why he had already told her and he began to tell me about that conversation.

  “You know how Gabby and I have always been…we’ve always been able to talk about anything. When she came home at Thanksgiving from her freshman year at college, we stayed up one night for a marathon catch-up talk. She was all hot for this guy in one of her classes, and she couldn’t stop talking about him. She kept saying, ‘Do you know what it’s like to have this wild crush on someone, and that person doesn’t even know you exist?’ I really hadn’t even thought about telling her before that, but after she asked me that for the third time, I told her that I definitely knew what that was like….”

  I shook my head no. Was it because I was unprepared to hear what he was saying about knowing what it’s like to want someone who doesn’t know you exist? Or did I really just want to know what ‘events’ had caused him to choose this moment to tell me? Mentally, I realized he had been in eighth grade when that conversation had taken place, but aloud I said, “I wasn’t asking why you told Gabby. I’m glad you did! What are you trying to tell me about ‘the events of the day?’ Have you spoken to Gabby today?” That thought caused me concern, since Gabby was in Canada, in graduate school at McGill University, and we always spoke to her on Sunday afternoons. It had been a family ritual since her freshman year of college. But Jonathan was shaking his head.

  “Talk to Gabby today? No, but I sure wish I could speak to her right now! This day has been a little more than I can handle…. Can we go sit down before I dump all this on you, Mom? And I have to tell you, your reaction to my coming out has been rather anti-climactic. When I think of all the worrying I’ve done about it, I thought we’d have to call the paramedics to revive you, or you’d start crying or something…”

  I mumbled a short response, something like an apology, but I didn’t say much because it was clear that Jonathan had much more to tell me. I followed him into the living room, and we both sat on the couch, not side by side, but facing each other, our knees nearly touching as each of us pulled our feet up underneath. We didn’t use our living room often, and it felt odd to be sitting in here together. The room was more formal than the rest of the house, and it always had a more sterile feel to it because we were in it so infrequently. It was still light enough outside that the room wasn’t dark, but a sort of early evening haze filled it as Jonathan began to tell me about the afternoon that had caused him to tell me he was gay on this particular spring day.