When I Came Out

When I came out to my grandmother as bisexual, she was immediately supportive, asking me if I was dating an out lesbian friend of mine (I wished!) and otherwise leaving it be. Years later, she called me crying about the end of a secret decades-long lesbian relationship with her best friend because she had no one else in the family to talk to. I’m happily married to a man today, but I’m still out because the chance to be supportive is never irrelevant.

When I came out, my parents–especially my Dad–had a difficult time. My father had taken care of my cousin who was dying of AIDS in the late ’80s, and years later, I think this was still running through his head. He quickly grew to accept and support me and my boyfriend…now husband.

When I came out, my mother asked, “You’re not going to start acting weird now, are you?” I’ve always been an odd person, both in and out of the closet, rarely concerned with fitting in or how I might be perceived. I replied, “Um… mom? Have we met!?”

When I came out I told my mother while shopping at a clothing store. I didn’t want a scene and she is not the type to bring attention to herself like that. Her response was, “Let’s get to the car so I can cry.” 7 years on and we still rarely/never talk about it. We don’t go shopping anymore either.

When I came out, I was standing with my new college best friend on the porch of a dorm. We had just come from our friends’ party and were completely hammered. Suddenly the words just left my mouth. He laughed, hugged me, and said, “Dude, I don’t give a sh*t.”

When I came out to my oldest sister, I kept rambling on and on, and she thought I had murdered somebody. Then I said, “I’m gay,” and she laughed at me!

When I came out to my best friend, she thought I was pulling her aside to ask her on a date. My bad.

When I came out to a friend over dinner, I said, “I’ve got something to tell you, I’m -“. I broke down; I couldn’t get it out. He broke down. Eventually, I recovered and said, “I’m gay.” He said, “Thank God, I thought you were going say you’re dying.” We both laugh about it now.

When I came out, the only person that gave me grief for it was the priest at my Catholic school. It’s been a year since that, and he’s finally accepted me for who I am.

When I “came out” to my mom, it was at her funeral. One of her close friends came up to me after the service and told me discreetly and with affection that mothers always had love for their “special” children. She wanted me to know that my mother knew, and that she loved me. I wish I’d had the chance to tell her…