I am all for discounts, the bigger the better I would say…

…but if it’s Mommy-Dearest discounting my relationships as a gay man, then I am going to pass. Dealing with patronization in the public arena is difficult enough, but it is especially difficult from my own family. It has been a year since I forcibly came out to my parents, and sadly no great improvements have been made in our relationship – unless you consider a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy an improvement. Lately, conversations with them have been feeling very Mama-and-Papa Don’t Preach (sans love-child) in that being gay is really not something they can fix, or even to be fixed. It is not that I am not welcome at home, but being at home means
that there is a constant implicit chastisement and disappointment.

I know that they love me, and I also still love them; however, that prejudicial wall is undeniable, especially when my parents have repeatedly said that they could never accept me as their gay son. Instead, I am the prodigal son who has lost his way, and needs to see the light and be fixed. I realize that I keep fixating on their fixation on fixing me, but you would too if they decided to question the veracity of “what you think are relationships.” Clearly, tear-soaked pillows and ice-cream-cum-sappy-movie binges are a result of my delusional, and possibly schizophrenic (hell, we might as well throw that into the party mix), episodes.

However, when all is said and done, I sill love and miss them – albeit, I can clearly only handle spurts of time with them. Any other topic besides my sexuality brings us together and it feels like I had never actually come out to them. That said, neither my interests nor my social stances have changed, so really our conversations should not have changed – yet, it continually feels like we are all walking on eggshells. Every step is taken with trepidation, every statement is thought and rethought, and no, alcohol would definitely not be a good coping vice in this sitch.

I realize that I cannot choose my family, at least when it comes to my biological family. Even beyond a biological sense, I am not sure that I would even want a different family. My younger brother is what reminds me that perhaps my parents will come around, because he is set in his beliefs, but he took my gay news unphased. "You're still my brother, and the same person," is the phrase that shed light on his maturity, and will always remind me of how unconditional his love is. Besides, in some twisted way, I actually love my parents for being the way they are. It's all because I still know, despite the sometimes heated discourse, that they mean well for me – they just happen to be somewhat blinded by their more old-fashioned values (don’t even get me started on euthanasia and even adoption as an alternative to a biological baby). As much as I'd hate to turn this into an after-school special, I still worry about them, and I am grateful for everything that they have done. No matter what they say, I will eternally feel that I have to somehow pay them back, and not just forward. Besides, once you get over the eggshells, we actually are one of those ridiculously happy families that teases each other, chases each other around the house, or simply eating together at a table. Let's face it, Mommy Dearest really is dearest and Papa Bear (and do not take that as a gay reference)really is protective and loving, so neither of their aliases are meant to be sarcastic. So, for now, by way of diffusing any potentially explosive scenarios with the parents, I keep details (even PG-13) of my relations with men away from their ears. Like Madge said, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” and we all know that I am already driving the bus to hell.