During the time I realized I was (still am, thank goodness) gay, I felt like I was living a double life. I was deep in a closet, not letting anyone know my secret. I remember coming out on blogger on my previous blog, and I built up the courage to tell my fabulous trait to everyone, including acquaintances, childhood friends, teachers, and other gay men. Yet I still didn't have the cajones to tell my direct family members.
I've mentioned before that it's easier to tell anyone new everything about yourself, because if he/she doesn't like you, why care(?), because they don't know you and you don't know them. It was harder, though, to tell friends you've known for a while, as you've built a history without them knowing you're a 'mo; there's a threat of your "friend" invalidating the comraderie you two have shaped. Thankfully, I've only had one experience of that happening, and, consequently, I lost one...out of the many. It does sound easy to delete someone from your life after that person suddenly looks at you in a different way, but I was, nonetheless, hurt. But what kept my head straight (hah, "straight") was realizing that my life doesn't revolve another person's opinion, knowing that I don't have to prove to some asshole that I'm still going to be the same person that everyone has known, whether I like boys' naughty parts or not.
And with that mentality, I've finally built up the courage to tell my mom today. They say that there is no such thing as perfect timing when it comes to coming out, and this situation was just that. As I sat on my computer chair, my momma asked for a nail-cutter. I gave it to her. She stood in the doorway, clipping her red fingernails, not even catching the nail clippings that dropped to the wooden floor and my green rug: Perfect opportunity to tell her I'm gay. So, I sat her down on my bed, telling her that I had something important to say. She asked me if anything was wrong, and I assured her nothing really is wrong. I asked if she loved me no matter what, and she says of course. I looked straight (hah, "straight") into her deep, loving, brown eyes; they told me, "I loved you as a baby and that has not changed." I told her: "I'm gay." I still locked my eyes on hers and anticipated tears -- but there were none.
"Ohh...well, I hope that changes," she said weakly. A bit frustrated, already, I ask her why would she would want me to change. She replied: "I want grandchildren from you." For a second I thought about adopting or having a surrogate child, just for her. But I reassured her that she already has a grandchild, and that she'll receive more from my two older brothers. "But I want grandchildren from you."
In the end, though, I hugged and kissed her, and asked her numerous times if she still loves me, and numerous times she assured me that she still does...
"I still want grandchildren from you."