Part II

Now, for the most part, my high school experience wasn't really bad after the first year. I found a niche, found a clique, and just kind of went with everything. That day, I went ahead and admitted to a few friends who had their suspicions. Nothing changed between us. That school day went by so quickly. It was probably one of the easiest I had to endure, as well. 


3:15 the bell finally rang, ending the school day. I walked out front, and there sat my dad's truck. I threw my backpack in the bed, hopped in the cab, and we took off. The radio played and nothing was said. Only, that wasn't different from any other day. My dad and I didn't have much to talk about those days, and so we just didn't. Every now and then we'd have a conversation about a song, or a car we passed, or so-and-so in my grade and how dad was in the same grade as their parents. 


Out of the corner of my eye, I realize my dad is just staring at me. Paying more attention to me than the road or traffic around us. Suddenly, it occurs to me. Mother must have told. That drive home could not have gone any slower. I didn't think we were ever going to get home. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, we did. I jump out of the truck grab my backpack, dash in the house and corner Mother in the kitchen.

"You told him," I said, my voice so flat you could have set a foundation on it. 

"Well, what was I supposed to do, Robert Lee," She starts, "He's your daddy and he has a right to know."

"I would have liked to have told him myself."

"Well, that isn't your place."


What did she mean it wasn't my place? I knew that I at least owed my dad the decency to tell him myself. I stormed to my bedroom, buried myself in homework, ate dinner, and went to sleep. That became my routine for the next week. Silent car rides to school, school days that flew by, silent car rides home, silence at the house. No one really knew what to say to me. I didn't have anyone else to speak to, but my Aunt Jane. 


She and I had always been close so I called her. If anyone would help me out it would be her. After all, it was kind of her fault I was in the situation I was.


Mother was the second person I told. I told Aunt Jane first, right after school started; Right after I rededicated my life back to my faith. She was always like a second mother to me. I spent weeks at her house, and if anyone knew me better than myself it was that woman. Unfortunately, the nature of our relation took a very negative turn. Jane and I rededicated ourselves back to the Lord around the same time. Her life changed as much as mine did, just in two opposite directions. 


So, I tell Jane one day the feelings I have going on, how it's making me feel, the confusion, the anger, the aggression. She prays with me, and I'm all for it. If this isn't what God wants me to be, I want to change it. I start going to therapy sessions with a very nice christian lady, a friend-of-a-friend of Aunt Jane's. I go for a solid week, right after school, staying with Jane that week just to make sure I get there. I leave there everyday feeling more frustration, more guilt, more regret. The lady told me that it was my fault I was feeling these feelings because I wasn't willing to change, I wasn't doing enough, I wasn't trying hard enough. How she couldn't believe that "the homosexuals" chose to call their lifestyle "Gay" because there was nothing gay about it. How "the Gays" were the most miserable people she had ever seen. On our final session, after she had pretty much told me I was a lost cause 10 minutes into the session, I walked out. Tears of failure were flooding my eyes. I walk to a relative's who lives a few blocks away, call Jane, and wait. I get in the car, and I lost it. 


My Aunt had always been in my corner, taken my side, had back. ALWAYS. Until now. She looked at me, unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes. I get myself composed as we pull in her driveway, and tell her that tomorrow after school I wanted to go home. That night we sat outside after I had worked on my homework, and prayed. Jane looked at me and asked if I felt any different.

"No," I didn't want to lie to her. I had lied enough. 


I then get a good lecture about Old Testament scripture "condemning" homosexuality. I get a very long definition of the word abomination. Then, this woman who had been my best friend, refuge, hero for the past 15 years says two things that I will never forget.

"Well, John [her husband] and I won't want you around our boys." 


I look away. Absolutely ashamed of myself for having these feelings. For feeling like I somehow fueled her ignorance, like it was a contagious virus. 

She then began asking me about my intentions of telling my parents. I explained to her that I had no intentions of telling them anytime soon. Then came the ultimatum.


"You tell them, or I will."


I went upstairs, packed the overnight bag I had been living out of for the past week, made a phone call and left.


Here we were, two weeks later. I had told my parents. And they couldn't stand to look at me. 

The Beginning...

I started blogging almost ten years ago. Only, we didn't call it blogging, we referred to it as a journal. The hip new way to keep up with everything minus the pencil and paper and hiding it from Mom and Dad. I had (still have it) a LiveJournal account. But those have almost always been my daily ramblings about my mundane life. Now that I think about it, my life isn't mundane, nor has it ever been. I'm going to use this blog not to recount my day, but to recount my life. I'm going to put down my coming out story as a gay man in the south. In hopes to shed light. In the hope of giving someone some glimmer of hope. Kind of my "It Gets Better" message, but with all of the stuff before it does.


I remember the first question I always got was "When did you know" that you were gay? The answer if very simple. I always knew. It was never a question to me. I always acted like I had a sexual attraction to women, but that was the pressure of society telling me I didn't have a choice in the matter. Being homosexual was wrong, an abomination, corrupt, immoral, unnatural. You get the gist?


You see I've been an openly gay man for 10 years this coming October. Ten years ago, you didn't have 15 year olds telling people they were attracted to the same sex.


I was raised extremely Southern Baptist. The subject of sex was never spoken of in my house, never mind the subject of sexuality. In early September 2001 I rededicated my life to my faith. By the end of September I was dying physically and spiritually.


People asked me why I came out so young. The only answer I have ever had to validate that question is that I didn't have a choice. I wasn't per se suicidal, although the thought seemed to cross my mind everyday, but I couldn't take the lies anymore. The lying to my family, to my friends, most of all: to myself. I'm sure this all sounds very cliche, but I was a 15 year old high-school sophomore. I was in the middle of the time of life that would, supposedly, shape my whole life. On top of all that, I was 15 in a very small town in East Tennessee. I came from a family of some prominence. My dad was the the captain of the fire department, a deacon, a leader in the community. My mother was in what could have been considered the Junior League, if we had one. I was the oldest child and only son. My parents expectations of me would soon shift.


One day, on a cool October morning as mother drove me to school, the feeling of sickness was overwhelming. We weren't even half way to school, and words started coming out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wasn't exactly known to have a filter and sugar coat what I was saying. The 5 minute conversation my mother and I had went over about like a rock in a windshield.


"Momma, I think I might be gay," I said. My ice breakers aren't usually award winning. I hit my mother with the truth right off the bat. No warning, no preface, no nothing. I threw myself out there, unprepared to follow with any kind of answer.


 "What did you say," Mother asked. That's my momma. I was pretty sure it was because the radio was on, so I reached to turn it off and repeat my confession.


"I think I might.."
"I heard what you said." Well why did you ask me was apparent all over my face, but she just stared at the red light in front of us. See, I timed this pretty poorly. We had a good half hour drive in front of us to school. We had been in the car just over 5 minutes before I attacked her with an uncomfortable conversation. "Why do you think that?"


"Well, momma, I'm attracted to boys. I have been as far as I can remember."


My mother then proceeded to tell me that I wasn't "raised that way" and just kept asking "Why, why, why? How, how how?" The embarrassment was already all over her face, and we were the only two who knew. The next 20 minutes of our car ride was driven in silence. When we got to school, I got out and leaned in to kiss her like I had every other morning and she wouldn't even look at me. She didn't bid me a goodbye, good day, nothing. She just kept staring out the windshield, her sight set on something not there. I simply said, "Don't tell Daddy. OK?" and she nodded in agreement. I closed the car door, and walked on in to school. Feeling no relief whatsoever.