(no subject)
So, instead of working on my homework, like I should be, I'm updating this thing. I am dedicating this entry to my mother. I am writing down the following because I always want to remember it.
This last summer, my mom found my facebook account, in which I list "interested in: Women". I intended on coming out to my parents when I turned 21, because I figured that I had to do it. I needed to move on with my life, not harbor any secrets. I always wanted to tell my parents, but I didn't because I saw how some of my friends parents reacted. I knew in my heart that my parents weren't the type to disown me, but my head told me that it still had the potential to be a horrible situation. I remember some distinct moments when I was younger where conversations with my parents lead to some homophobic comments from family members, including both my parents. I didn't actually come out to my parents on my birthday, because I had a bit of a panic about it, but was setting up to do it before the end of July, because I needed to.
I would like to first mention that my mom is a fantastically crazy lady, who had developed a habit of coming to my bed at some ridiculous hour in the morning (usually between 6:30am and 8, and always at least one hour before my alarm would go off), with two mugs of very doctored coffee in hand. So her waking me up one morning didn't surprise me. However, when the first things she said to me that morning was "I have a question for you: is Lindsay more than just a friend?", that did take me back. At this point, Lindsay and I weren't dating. We were hanging out and I was quickly realizing that my increased nervousness and willingness to buy her french fries were definite indicators that I wanted to be more than friends with the girl with the adorable jawline. My response to my mother was honest, "We are not going out, but I am interested in her as more than a friend". She then asked me if I was bi, I said nope, and then exchanged a few words and finished with "Okay" and she walked away.
Two days later, I was in our basement, and she was standing at the top of the stairs. She looked at me and said "You have a dinner date with your father." That was it. Not that I actually needed her to say more. When I got in the car, I knew I was in for some awkward conversation. My dad started with "So, is there something you need to tell me?” I responded the only way I could "I need you to say it, Dad." So he asked me out right, "Are you gay? Or are you just not sure?” (The actual quote is downright hilarious, but needs to be said in person, and preferably after a couple beers.)
This is hard for me, because I was sure. I am sure that I'm gay. But I also know that it took me a damn long while (8 years almost) to figure out who I was and 8 years of struggling is hard to articulate well. I didn't know anyone who seemed to be as confused as I was growing up. Everyone I knew who was gay seemed so damn confident about it, and knew for years. Even if they were hiding it, they seemed to know. Also, most of the gay girls and women I knew were on the butchier side, which wasn't me either. (I can't tell you how many times I've had to defend myself, because I don't "look" gay). And I wasn't a man-hater, which seemed to be a bit of a prerequisite too. So I didn't write off guys. Over the years, I hung out with guys, almost dated a couple, and had sex with a few. But the fact of the matter is, none of that felt right. I originally came out as Bi, but that didn't seem to fit either. And it took me another year or so to finally realize that I was gay. (Which sometimes I still feel like people don't take seriously). But when I was finally honest with myself, I was much happier and much less self destructive.
So I was honest with my father, that I was damn positive that I was gay, and no, it wasn't something that was new of fleeting. Then my father was honest with me, about how he worried that being gay would mean I would lead a difficult life, and how he didn't understand how shocked my mother was, because "it's not like you weren't dropping hints for the last two years". A few minutes passed and then we pulled into a steak house (how appropriate, I know), and it was understood that the conversation was over for now. When we sat down to eat, we both ordered steaks and beer and proceeded in getting buzzed. Then my father and I had a two hour conversation about life and college and politics and (almost) anything under the sun. We also had our first "Well, isn't this funny?" moments when our waiter hit on me.
I can count on one hand the times my parents said something that just made my heart break, and two are included in this story. When we got home, after we walked in the house, my dad stopped and looked at me. "So, do Jaclyn and Claire know?" "Yes." "Robbie and Jeanine?" "Yes." (Beat) "So your mother and I were the last to know?" Heart break #1. Of course they were the last to know. I loved my parents so much that I couldn't bare the idea that they might not love me any more if they found out. If I lost my friends after I came out, it would have upset me, but I could just move on and make new friends. If my parents rejected me after I came out to them, I couldn't just go out and find new parents. I haven't explained this to my father this yet. I want to, though.
So the summer went on, and it included some embarrassing and some tense moments. My dad and I didn't talk about it further; however, he did dish out the fatherly affection a little more than normal, which was reassuring. My mom, on the other hand, seemed to be vocalizing everything as she tried to wrap her head around it. She would occasionally ask why I couldn't give guys a second chance, which would end with me reassuring her that it wouldn't happen. "Oh, but they smell so good!" "So do girls, mom." One of my favorite quotes happened when she and my sister were visiting my Aunt in Chicago. My mom was chatting to my Aunt and just burst out with "I think Julia's boyfriends are girlfriends!", in which my Aunt responded with "Your cousin Addison was in love with a lesbian once".
During the fall semester, my non-defined relationship with Lindsay came to an end, and my sister asked me about it during Thanksgiving. It got back to my mother, and three days after I went back to school she called me and talked at length about how she's impressed by how level headed I seemed after a breakup, and that she would have just started dating someone right away, but that was because she was a bit of a flirt.
Over Christmas break, I began hanging out with Lindsay again, because despite the bullshit surrounding how things ended, I adore the damn girl to pieces and I like to think of her as one of my closest friends. Before I went out one night, my mom stopped me and told me that she was glad that I was so mature about relationships, but if that girl broke my heart again, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't do something drastic.
I visited home for a weekend in February, in which I visited MSU and ended up hanging out all day with this girl (Katie), a friend of a friend. When I got home, my mom (of course) asked me about my trip, and when I mentioned Katie, gave me this funny look and then asked "Is Katie a friend? Or a romantic friend?" and then asked me what my type was. The whole thing just left me in stitches, because how many times does your mother ask you what you want in a "romantic friend"?
When I came home for Spring Break, the first thing I saw when I walked into my room was two pamphlets for the Triangle Foundation on my dresser. And then during the week, she asked me what I wanted to do when I got out of school. I told her that I have always wanted to live and work in Detroit, in which she responded with "You living in Detroit makes me nervous. Have you thought about Ferndale? It seems like a hip neighborhood, and I hear it has a very accepting culture."
At the end of Break, I gave my mom a book I had been holding onto for a while, Love, Ellen, an autobiography by Betty DeGeneres. Being that my mother and I are Ellen fans, I thought it would be appropriate. A few days after getting back to school, I get a voicemail from my mother, "Julia, I have been reading Betty's book and I have some questions for you". I call her back, and the first thing she says is "How PFLAG mom do you want me to be? Because I'm willing to go all the way!" This is followed by at length conversation about how I don't want her to do anything that makes her very uncomfortable, but I will not go back in the closet or dodge questions about it. And that I need her to be supportive of me, and my friends. I then mentioned that I could give her the locations of some PFLAG meetings, in which I got a very loud "Wait! PFLAG is a real thing? I thought they made it up for Queer as Folk!” After I stopped laughing, I explained to her that, yes, it is real, and that there are actually several groups in the Metro Detroit area. This returned an even louder "You mean there is more than one group I can go to?!" and ended with me laughing.
I feel like I should insert a quick memo here. My mother loves groups, and has a tendency to get overly involved. She started out as a mom of a Girl Scout when I was 8, and now trains GS Leaders. I now fear I have given her another project, and wouldn't be surprised if she ends up a PFLAG president. We talk a little more, and then she gets quiet. "Julia, I want you to know that I love you and I'm glad that you told me. There were a few years there when I couldn't figure out why we weren't close any more, and it broke my heart". Heart break #2.
So, with that, you have Part 1 of the story of how my mother became the most fabulous of all the "I Love My Lesbian Daughter!" moms.
-Juli
This last summer, my mom found my facebook account, in which I list "interested in: Women". I intended on coming out to my parents when I turned 21, because I figured that I had to do it. I needed to move on with my life, not harbor any secrets. I always wanted to tell my parents, but I didn't because I saw how some of my friends parents reacted. I knew in my heart that my parents weren't the type to disown me, but my head told me that it still had the potential to be a horrible situation. I remember some distinct moments when I was younger where conversations with my parents lead to some homophobic comments from family members, including both my parents. I didn't actually come out to my parents on my birthday, because I had a bit of a panic about it, but was setting up to do it before the end of July, because I needed to.
I would like to first mention that my mom is a fantastically crazy lady, who had developed a habit of coming to my bed at some ridiculous hour in the morning (usually between 6:30am and 8, and always at least one hour before my alarm would go off), with two mugs of very doctored coffee in hand. So her waking me up one morning didn't surprise me. However, when the first things she said to me that morning was "I have a question for you: is Lindsay more than just a friend?", that did take me back. At this point, Lindsay and I weren't dating. We were hanging out and I was quickly realizing that my increased nervousness and willingness to buy her french fries were definite indicators that I wanted to be more than friends with the girl with the adorable jawline. My response to my mother was honest, "We are not going out, but I am interested in her as more than a friend". She then asked me if I was bi, I said nope, and then exchanged a few words and finished with "Okay" and she walked away.
Two days later, I was in our basement, and she was standing at the top of the stairs. She looked at me and said "You have a dinner date with your father." That was it. Not that I actually needed her to say more. When I got in the car, I knew I was in for some awkward conversation. My dad started with "So, is there something you need to tell me?” I responded the only way I could "I need you to say it, Dad." So he asked me out right, "Are you gay? Or are you just not sure?” (The actual quote is downright hilarious, but needs to be said in person, and preferably after a couple beers.)
This is hard for me, because I was sure. I am sure that I'm gay. But I also know that it took me a damn long while (8 years almost) to figure out who I was and 8 years of struggling is hard to articulate well. I didn't know anyone who seemed to be as confused as I was growing up. Everyone I knew who was gay seemed so damn confident about it, and knew for years. Even if they were hiding it, they seemed to know. Also, most of the gay girls and women I knew were on the butchier side, which wasn't me either. (I can't tell you how many times I've had to defend myself, because I don't "look" gay). And I wasn't a man-hater, which seemed to be a bit of a prerequisite too. So I didn't write off guys. Over the years, I hung out with guys, almost dated a couple, and had sex with a few. But the fact of the matter is, none of that felt right. I originally came out as Bi, but that didn't seem to fit either. And it took me another year or so to finally realize that I was gay. (Which sometimes I still feel like people don't take seriously). But when I was finally honest with myself, I was much happier and much less self destructive.
So I was honest with my father, that I was damn positive that I was gay, and no, it wasn't something that was new of fleeting. Then my father was honest with me, about how he worried that being gay would mean I would lead a difficult life, and how he didn't understand how shocked my mother was, because "it's not like you weren't dropping hints for the last two years". A few minutes passed and then we pulled into a steak house (how appropriate, I know), and it was understood that the conversation was over for now. When we sat down to eat, we both ordered steaks and beer and proceeded in getting buzzed. Then my father and I had a two hour conversation about life and college and politics and (almost) anything under the sun. We also had our first "Well, isn't this funny?" moments when our waiter hit on me.
I can count on one hand the times my parents said something that just made my heart break, and two are included in this story. When we got home, after we walked in the house, my dad stopped and looked at me. "So, do Jaclyn and Claire know?" "Yes." "Robbie and Jeanine?" "Yes." (Beat) "So your mother and I were the last to know?" Heart break #1. Of course they were the last to know. I loved my parents so much that I couldn't bare the idea that they might not love me any more if they found out. If I lost my friends after I came out, it would have upset me, but I could just move on and make new friends. If my parents rejected me after I came out to them, I couldn't just go out and find new parents. I haven't explained this to my father this yet. I want to, though.
So the summer went on, and it included some embarrassing and some tense moments. My dad and I didn't talk about it further; however, he did dish out the fatherly affection a little more than normal, which was reassuring. My mom, on the other hand, seemed to be vocalizing everything as she tried to wrap her head around it. She would occasionally ask why I couldn't give guys a second chance, which would end with me reassuring her that it wouldn't happen. "Oh, but they smell so good!" "So do girls, mom." One of my favorite quotes happened when she and my sister were visiting my Aunt in Chicago. My mom was chatting to my Aunt and just burst out with "I think Julia's boyfriends are girlfriends!", in which my Aunt responded with "Your cousin Addison was in love with a lesbian once".
During the fall semester, my non-defined relationship with Lindsay came to an end, and my sister asked me about it during Thanksgiving. It got back to my mother, and three days after I went back to school she called me and talked at length about how she's impressed by how level headed I seemed after a breakup, and that she would have just started dating someone right away, but that was because she was a bit of a flirt.
Over Christmas break, I began hanging out with Lindsay again, because despite the bullshit surrounding how things ended, I adore the damn girl to pieces and I like to think of her as one of my closest friends. Before I went out one night, my mom stopped me and told me that she was glad that I was so mature about relationships, but if that girl broke my heart again, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't do something drastic.
I visited home for a weekend in February, in which I visited MSU and ended up hanging out all day with this girl (Katie), a friend of a friend. When I got home, my mom (of course) asked me about my trip, and when I mentioned Katie, gave me this funny look and then asked "Is Katie a friend? Or a romantic friend?" and then asked me what my type was. The whole thing just left me in stitches, because how many times does your mother ask you what you want in a "romantic friend"?
When I came home for Spring Break, the first thing I saw when I walked into my room was two pamphlets for the Triangle Foundation on my dresser. And then during the week, she asked me what I wanted to do when I got out of school. I told her that I have always wanted to live and work in Detroit, in which she responded with "You living in Detroit makes me nervous. Have you thought about Ferndale? It seems like a hip neighborhood, and I hear it has a very accepting culture."
At the end of Break, I gave my mom a book I had been holding onto for a while, Love, Ellen, an autobiography by Betty DeGeneres. Being that my mother and I are Ellen fans, I thought it would be appropriate. A few days after getting back to school, I get a voicemail from my mother, "Julia, I have been reading Betty's book and I have some questions for you". I call her back, and the first thing she says is "How PFLAG mom do you want me to be? Because I'm willing to go all the way!" This is followed by at length conversation about how I don't want her to do anything that makes her very uncomfortable, but I will not go back in the closet or dodge questions about it. And that I need her to be supportive of me, and my friends. I then mentioned that I could give her the locations of some PFLAG meetings, in which I got a very loud "Wait! PFLAG is a real thing? I thought they made it up for Queer as Folk!” After I stopped laughing, I explained to her that, yes, it is real, and that there are actually several groups in the Metro Detroit area. This returned an even louder "You mean there is more than one group I can go to?!" and ended with me laughing.
I feel like I should insert a quick memo here. My mother loves groups, and has a tendency to get overly involved. She started out as a mom of a Girl Scout when I was 8, and now trains GS Leaders. I now fear I have given her another project, and wouldn't be surprised if she ends up a PFLAG president. We talk a little more, and then she gets quiet. "Julia, I want you to know that I love you and I'm glad that you told me. There were a few years there when I couldn't figure out why we weren't close any more, and it broke my heart". Heart break #2.
So, with that, you have Part 1 of the story of how my mother became the most fabulous of all the "I Love My Lesbian Daughter!" moms.
-Juli