My Coming-Out Story
December: The two of us sat in her mother’s car waiting for her sister to come out from a piano lesson. Liz and I sat in the backseat, listening in near silence to the quiet program on the radio, and the endless conversation her mother was carrying on, which almost seemed internal. Abruptly, Liz’s mom asked me when I was going to ask her daughter on a date so we could “get it over with already”, to which I responded by, red-faced and extremely uncomfortably, asking Liz out, right there in front of mom. Starting point of my first Christmas vacation from college began with me being forced to ask my best friend on a date, in front of her mom, less than 12 hours before flying home for two and a half weeks. Awkward doesn’t begin to describe this.
January: I returned to Liz’s parents’ house the day before going back to Gustavus for January Term. Everything went smoothly, and Liz and I officially began our time together publicly announcing ourselves as a couple. Returning to school brought on a new awkwardness for me, primarily due to the fact announcing to others I was dating Liz caused puzzled expressions and prompted on-the-spot questioning from some people. I later found out this was because many had suspected my homosexuality all of fall semester. My closest friends treated Liz and me no differently, and January Term came and went with little out of the ordinary, other than the nightly stays in Liz’s room, where our relationship “developed” further. Time for Touring Break, which I decided was going to be spent at Liz’s family’s house—nothing too exciting in plan, just hanging out with her five siblings and her parents. Days passed uneventfully, aside from occasional outings to the mall, movie theater, or restaurant with friends—and then came Jesse, a friend of a friend who was funny, nice, and I thought at the time to be very attractive. Oh, and Jesse was gay—an important detail in this story.
After hiding my homosexuality since the beginning of high school and swearing to myself that I would never come out, I found myself in a predicament. I wanted Jesse, not Liz, but I also wanted my friends, and more importantly my family, to continue to love me and treat me as they always had. Hoping for a relationship with Jesse was a long-shot—he was a student at Luther and lived in Maple Grove, I was a student at Gustavus and spent my summers and other vacations in Seattle with my family. These obvious complications are not so blatant, however, when you want something, which is exactly what the case was with me—I wanted Jesse, and I wanted him enough to break the oath I had made to myself in high school, not to ever tell anyone I was gay. I decided to tell Liz first, then my parents, then friends.
A walk seemed the best environment to play the “sorry we can’t date anymore, we have too much in common—we both like guys” card, since we would be uninterrupted and would practically be forced to talk about something. We left her parents’ house, and as we walked down the snow covered sidewalks, we began to talk about trivial things: what we were excited for in the new semester, how we liked/disliked our J-Term classes, simple things. Once we got things rolling, I finally found my balls and told Liz that she and I needed to talk about our relationship. She was confused, as I expected, since the four weeks we had been dating went by without even a fight. Liz first asked me if I was dumping her, which made things easier for me, because I could easily say yes, which I did. My three letter response was cut short by the second of many questions to come, being if it was because of another girl, to which I honestly and obligatorily answered no. After her understandable but lengthy interrogation, I knew I had to tell her the reason we could just be friends. To nobody’s surprise I am sure, the phrase “Liz, I’m gay” didn’t formulate in my mouth as easily as I had expected the night before when I planned this outing, pardon the pun. Finally, a stroke of genius instilled the image of Liz and me watching Will and Grace together back at Gustavus. “Liz, you’re my Grace”. The words erupted from my mouth, as Cady Heron from the movie Mean Girls would say, like verbal diarrhea. No need to worry, because fortunately for me, no further explanation was necessitated—Liz understood immediately. Tears followed, from both of us, as we walked back to her house. To try and limit my feelings of awkwardness, my last request of her was to not tell her parents until I left her house, which she said she would do. In this case, her no meant yes, and I was confronted less than an hour later by her mother forcefully and tearfully hugging me, claiming I would be the subject of her prayers that night. This was unwelcome attention, but I thanked her anyway and went upstairs to the room I was staying in, and called my parents. At home, there was no answer. Dad’s cell phone: no answer. My sister’s cell phone finally brought the unwanted sound of a family member’s voice [it was my mom]; I knew this would be harder than telling Liz. Small talk ensued, but was interrupted by my proclamation that I needed to tell her something. She asked if I was okay, which prompted my tearful claim that I was. Moms know best, and she asked what I needed to tell her. It came out as one word. “MomIbrokeupwithLizbecauseIamgay”. “Are you sure?” “Yes”. She told me she loved me no matter what, I needed to call and tell my father, and lastly everything was going to be okay. Call number one went better than planned, but my father was who I was most afraid of telling. He had never been a fan of gay people, and often used three or four letter words to refer to them. I think you can figure this out. I tried home again, and he picked up right away. Without fail, I began to cry as if this would make telling him easier. It didn’t. I prolonged the big news as long as I could in order to muster up the courage. It never came. Finally, after some coaxing from my dad, I got the words out between frantic inhales. Again, the question of whether I was sure came. I was. Had I ever been with a girl? Well, had he ever been with a guy? The answer was no. Then how did he know he was straight? Dad told me he loved me, but it was going to take a long time for him to get used to the idea his son loved someone else’s son, but in the end, everything would be fine between him and I.
This happened one year, eight months and three and a half weeks ago, but coming out is a situation I continue to deal with, whether it be with friends, other family members (my grandparents still don’t know), or coworkers. Plain and simple, the coming out process never ends for someone who is gay, transgender, or even an ally. Being an ally can always make the process easier—they, including my family, are the ones who with my boyfriend have given me the courage to, as some people say, be loud and proud. In the end, there are people I will never be able to tell because I fear their rejection of my “choice”, as is the case with my grandparents. However, being out has been the most liberating, positive life-changing decision I have ever made—it’s my life, and I am so much happier living free wearing and talking about clothes rather than being in the closet with them.
