2001
I’m standing in my parents’ garage and my mom tells me she’s gay. Her face is red and she’s laughing, which is what happens when she’s nervous or drunk. It’s obvious she’s both. She’s talking a mile a minute, but I don’t hear a word. “I’m gay!” just keeps repeating in my head.
This can’t be how she planned to tell me. When it’s cold outside, sometimes the garage is where we take the dog to poop. It’s Kansas City, the day after Thanksgiving, so it stinks.
Other words start filtering in, words like, “I wanted to tell you,” and “I’m still your mother,” and “One time I tried cocaine.” It’s a floodgate and she’s rattling off every secret she’s had since grade school.
She says she’s been attracted to girls since she was thirteen, that she fantasizes about women at work.
I feel woozy.
My mom starts crying. “I just can’t keep sleeping in the same bed with him.”
“Dad knows?”
“Of course.”
She says she told him the truth years ago, that they’ve been staying together until my sister finishes high school. My parents have been married for a quarter-century and they’re still sleeping in the same bed
I hear my buddies outside the garage yelling for me to get my ass out there. It’s my last night in town. I head back to L.A. in the morning. I’m twenty-two years old, but right now, I feel like a child. Someone starts banging on the garage door.
“So what do you think?” my mom asks.
“About what?”
“About what I just told you?”
“I don’t know… Are you really gay?”
My mom covers her face. “You hate me!”
“What? No.”
My father comes in and wants to know what the hell all this racket is. He hits the button and the garage door crungles up. My buddies stop punching each other in the arms at the sight of my father.
“Mr. Szpak,” one of them says.
My mom pulls me to the side and says, “We should keep talking.” She’s trying to whisper, but the booze has removed that particular skill.
My father can tell my mom’s been sharing.
“What did you say to him?” he asks.
“The truth.”
“I thought we discussed that you wouldn’t say—“
“You can’t tell me what to say!”
My buddies pull me towards the car. It’s like an undertow, but I don’t fight. I just let them drag me away. My father’s leading my mom towards the house.
“Get your hands off me,” my mom says. She runs over. “Where are you going, Anthony?”
“Strip club,” one of my buddies slurs.
My mom’s eyes widen.
Another friend starts to say it was just a joke, but my mom cuts him off—
“Can I come?”
My father forces a laugh. “All right, let’s go back inside, Kathy.”
“Come on, Anthony, it’ll be fun,” my mom says.
There are moments in every child’s life, which cause parts of the brain to fizzle and burn.
My buddies give my mom a hug and say that’s why they love her. She’s so cool, they tell her.
My father finally corrals my mom. She knows not to push it, because she’s staring into my eyes.
I’m crammed in between two guys who played on our high school football team. Someone hands me a beer as we drive off. I watch my father finally get my mom back inside. The garage door closes.
Yikes. This makes me sad, for all of you. What a difficult time this must have been.
Yes, it was intense, and so were the six months of chaos that followed. But it all worked out, we’re closer now, and it gave me some fine jokes.
Wow…. that was beautiful, but also kind of scary. I just…. knowing what I know from what you’ve written on here, I just feel for everyone. I mean, the time lost to your mom, how your dad must have felt, how completely shell shocked you must have been from the news. Rough dude. But I AM glad it worked out.
Thanks, Hannah. I think that’s why it took me a bit to finally sit down and write this post. This was the explosion that blew up our little family, but in the end, it was good for us. It made us more interesting, more compassionate, and more willing to make fun of ourselves. I suppose that’s a good thing.
Kudos for your courage in sharing these stories. It’s more than I could do.
It’s sad that our natural inclinations should be so hated and feared that we would stay closeted the way we do, especially in the 21st century when we scientifically know that we’re normal and we haven’t anything to be ashamed of.
Best wishes to all of you.
Thank you for the kindness, Tiffany. Things have definitely gotten easier in some places, but it’s sad to know there are still so many communities where it’s almost as impossible to come out as it was for my mom in Kansas City during the 70′s. Hopefully, this progress will continue.
And best wishes to you, as well.
I think I have a better understanding of my brothers reaction when he caught me and my best friend “bobbing for apples” in our tree house. I guess some of us can be a bit dramitical (means gay dram) when we come out.
But completely justified. Without the dramatical it would be far less human. I can’t imagine holding in a secret for that long. Oh, and I’m totally using “bobbing for apples” in everyday conversation now. Grazie.
I’m sorry you had t go through the family ‘chaos’ … You should be proud of your mom for being true to herself. It’s a hard thing to come out to your children not knowing how they will react. Nice that you are accepting, it makes life a whole lot easier I’m sure.
It was a little difficult to navigate at first, but ultimately, it brought us closer together as a family. And my mom’s courage and willingness to trust us with her truth makes me the proudest kid on the planet. It’s given me the strength to share our story and the secrets I hold. And your blog has inspired me to try and love, live, and pee my pants today. If I succeed, I’ll post the pictures.
Wow. That was excellent. Funny and touching. Good stuff.
Thank you, Scott. It is a night our family will never forget.
I wasn’t sure whether to piss my pants from laughing at the thought of this scene or cry for you.
I feel the best responses in life involve a little of both. And a few tears always remind me I’m not a sociopath.
I don’t know what to say.
So I guess it’s true that some of the funniest things in life are also the saddest ones/those that involve much pain, huh? I don’t have anything but admiration for all the people involved in this story. Bless you and your family, Shpock.
Thank you. It was hard at first, but it definitely brought us closer together. I’m so proud and grateful for my mom.