Spencer Smith, Arkansas

I believe that I have always been gay, and it is everyone else who had to find. I knew that I was "different" from the other boys in my grade even before I was eight, and I first called myself "gay" in middle school. Of course it was a word that only I said to myself – a word that only I knew applied to me. It was a word that I would write in the margins notebooks and scribble them out later. To everyone else I was just the shy, awkward kid who talked about Pokémon in homeroom. And I was fine with that.

I was fine with it up until I went to college. Well, it wasn't so much that I was fine with it – that was just how I had decided it had to be for the time being. I had to maintain the status quo. But college was different; it was the predestined time in life that was supposed to be fertile ground for change. It was a fresh start for me; I was no longer limited by who I had always been or the perception of who I was supposed to be. It was time to be the person I had waited all my life to be.

So I picked an arbitrary date. July 23rd. That was the day I was going to come out, and heaven, nor hell, nor high water were going to stop me. It was not just me coming out just to anyone, it was me coming out to my parents – the people who had cared for me and loved me my entire life. And yet I had no idea how it was going to go. My family never talked about that kind of thing. About being gay. My extended family would ask me every holiday if I had a girlfriend, and I would say no – but I would say that I was trying (which I had absolutely no intention of doing). Then they would respond with some kind of quip and that would be that for an entire year. And to my knowledge, both then and now, there has never been another member of my family, alive or dead in any direction, who is gay. I am alone in this regard, but that is nothing terribly new to me. I have always been different. I’m the rainbow sheep of my family.

The day arrived sooner that it seemed possible; it had been over a year ago when had I set the date. I had already come out to other people, but no one like my parents. All of them were my friends and peers in college; they were people I had come to trust implicitly. They had all quickly accepted me, even though I surprised more than a few of them.

July the twenty-third was a very hot day, bright and clear without a cloud in the sky. The sun was just making its way past the tree line on the west side of the house, casting long shadows across the yard outside. Inside, I stood in the kitchen washing the dishes in the sink after dinner. Mom was sitting in a chair by the family dining table on the other side of the stove from me watching the hummingbirds zip down and around a feeder full of sugar water that hung above the deck.

When I had finished with the dishes, I walked over and stood by my mom in front of the glass door to the deck. It was very quiet in the room – it had been quiet in the entire house all day. It was as if there was a great silence that was just waiting to be breached. It was the disturbing noiselessness that fills a room just before a plate shifts out of place and falls, shattering on the floor. My mom turned and looked at me with her hands clasped in her lap.

“Is there something on your mind?” she asked.

           

I looked at her, and for a second I considered saying nothing at all, but I knew that I couldn’t. My mind was set; there would be no turning back.

           

“Mom, I’m gay.”

           

I had said the three words that I had been waiting my entire life to say. I had released my greatest secret into the world. I had no idea how my family would react or what would happen, but I could not take the burden of lying to myself and to the people around me anymore. I knew that in all likelihood there wasn’t going to be a fairy tale ending to my story, and I had at least tried to prepare for that – the possibility of being put out on my own. But there are things that no one can prepare for.

           

“What? Are you sure?” she said.

           

“Yeah, pretty much.”

           

There was a long pause between us as we looked at each other – all the color and emotion had drained from her face. She looked away first, taking in one shaking breath and letting it out. She shifted in her seat, turning towards the table a little more, and laid her arms across the surface holding her elbows. My mom slowly lowered her head into the crook of her arm. I could not see her face; I could only hear her hard, shallow breathing. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just put one hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. I don’t know how long we stood there like that, but eventually she lifted her head and looked at me.

           

“This is like someone calling me and telling me that my son is dead.”

           

There are a lot of things that I had prepared for, but that struck me like a stone. It cut through everything and smashed into my gut. Those words took the air right out of my lungs. If there was anything I could have responded to that with, there would have been no way for me to even verbalize it. But I didn’t even have time to recover.

           

“This – this, is like you decided to wake up and become a serial killer,” and after that she just cradled her head in her arms again and shook.

I fell into the seat next to her. I felt like everything had just been wiped out of me. Two short sentences. That was all she had to say to reduce me to a borderline catatonic state. I managed to recover a bit, and I tried to talk to her. I told her that I loved her, and I tried to comfort her. She told me I should become a monk and be celibate for the rest of my life. She told me that I was better off loving no one than falling in love with a man. She said that college had done this to me, and I should quit and come home. She said she was not crying for me, but the grandchildren she would never have.

           

I just told her that I loved her, that I always would, but I couldn’t change who I am. 

Jonathan Bender, New York

I wouldn't really consider this a coming out story per se, considering I was never really "outed.” Unlike many who have experience incredibly adamant responses from family members, peers and teachers alike, my first steps out of the closet were fairly easy.

Growing up, I feel like every member of the LGBT community knows there's something a bit off about their internal desires and longings; whether it's Barbie's remarkable accessorizing skills or G.I. Joe's throbbing toy bulge, as examples. As a child I had the best possible parents and extended family members a little “friend of Dorothy” could ask for; I say friend of Dorothy because I literally was obsessed with "The Wizard of Oz."

When I was four Toys 'R Us had a sale in the girl's dress up section and there was a feature on the Jelly Ruby Slippers, so naturally my mother instinctively made the purchase. One problem: I was only allowed to dress up in the house. A natural born trouble-maker to the core, I skipped my way out of the backyard and onto the sidewalks, completely ignorant white suburbia. Later, in the fifth grade, I was taunted and teased to death grade, getting called "Big Gay Al” at a time when South Park reigned supreme, and the boys who admitted to liking "...Baby One More Time" were crucified on the playground.

Noticing a major change in my demeanor (and eating habits), my mother enrolled me into theater classes to work through it and make friends outside of school; proving to be more difficult, it was a predominantly Jewish theater school where I had to lie about my "faith" to make a friend or two. Middle school was more challenging, but as my stomach began to shrink my skin became tougher and my attitude became a little rougher around the edges.

Dating my "girl-friends" only proved only to be sham-worthy. I would look tense and robotic parading down the hall arm and arm with a girl that I simply could never crush on. The only real girl crush I had was Sarah Michelle Gellar, who I postered my walls with - but that's beside the point.

High school was where I first met an out and comfortable gay man who paved the way for my coming out process. A friend of a friend, Paul, graduated from my high school a year prior and was incredibly handsome, I knew this would be a problem. Unsure of how I felt, I became closer with his ex-girlfriend, Laurie, who always assumed I was a bit “light in my loafers.” But then again who didn't already assume that?

Paul and I would talk online when I'd get home from school. He had a break from college and would email me back and forth about his long distance boyfriend and about feelings I could only repress. What I had with Paul was special to me, which I'm not sure he even realizes to this day considering I never really thanked him for the mentorship and support along the way.

Through him, I decided enough was enough with my internal struggle. I had to face the facts and I skipped a class on a fake pass to go to the choir room, parading down the hall with sweaty palms and nerves that were boiling through my skin. My choir director had a “Safe Space” sticker on her door from a donation she had made a few years prior, so when I got to Mrs. Wade’s room I told her about my sexuality and finally opened myself up.

I told her how I felt that it was the only secret I had to myself, seeing as my father was a private investigator and knew damn well every step I took, everything I ate, and everything else down to where I went to the bathroom (most likely). He was who I feared the most. Having met my parents before, she knew when I had come to terms with myself and this "secret" I would open up to them when I ready.

One night, after I was out with my friends seeing One Hour Photo, I arrived home to a note on the oven: "We need to talk. Love, Mom." Cautiously, I tip-toeing into the den, my mother was in her usual position on the couch, curled up with Lifetime and her glass of Chardonnay. I sat down. I stare blankly at her.

"How was your night?" banter started the conversation, but I needed to know if what she was asking was regarding my sexuality.

"So, this note..."

"I know your secret."

"MOM, I'm BI!" my eyes were welling up with unmerited tears.

My mother coddled me with her quirky, liberal sense of humor: "I've pretty much known since you popped out of me."

We hugged and I told her stories about my confusion and the struggles I faced in middle school through high school to open ears. But the hard part was yet to come. The next morning I woke up, groggy eyed from salty tears to my father sitting at the edge of my bed./span>

"I just wanted to say this to you face to face," he began, "my brother was always suspected to be gay, and he was my best friend for some time before he died. I loved him, and I want you to know that no matter who you are, what you are, who you love, I will always love you. Do me a favor and remember that this is only a part of you, it's not all of you."

The hardest part of the experience was the easiest part, because I didn't even have to do the talking. 

AJ Bastardo, Illinois

After high school I decided to take a break from school and try to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. At the time my close friend, Jenn, was planning on moving to Los Angeles. One night after pouring out my heart to her about my lack of direction; she asked me to leave Chicago and go with her. I was beyond excited to be away from my home and finally be free to live the way I wanted. I also decided that it would be the perfect time to come out the closet. I figured that no matter happened or what was said I would have somewhere to run to and another life I could start. I waited a week to go by, to make sure that coming out was what I really wanted, and I announced to my family that I had something I needed to talk to them about.

My dad and I have had a very close relationship, and I always knew that I could turn to him when I needed anything. Sadly though, my father was one of those guys who loved to joke about gay men and blurt out the word “fag” from time-to-time. This terrified me when it came time to finally open up to him.

The night of my big announcement started off on a sour note. My grandmother had gotten really ill and we had to rush to the hospital. The whole time my family prodded around for my big news. My sister was sure that I had gotten a girl pregnant, and my family was already giving me the “importance of being a good father” lecture. I knew it wasn’t the time or the place and decided to shrug of their questions.

We finally got home around midnight and I was physically and emotionally exhausted, but knew that this was now or never and I asked my family to meet in the living room. I never in my life felt more afraid and distant from the person I had made myself up to be. The person who they knew was starting to slip away already. I stared at them and took in their faces; imagining that this would be the last night I saw them.

I’ve always thought that it would be late in life when I would finally tell my family that I’m gay, because I did not think they would understand until then. I was already feeling myself paddling away from the conversation. I took a deep breath and clinched my phone tightly in my hand (I had already pre-dialed a friend’s number just in case I needed somewhere to go for the night). My whole body was tired and my brain felt like putty. The only thing that seemed to be moving and alive was my heart beating. I decided that I would start by telling them about Los Angeles – to ease the tension slightly.

“I’m going to move to Los Angeles with Jennifer”, I said, finally letting the words slip through my lips.

My dad and my step mom harassed me with questions about my willingness to move there with no prospects of a job and only enough money for two month’s food and rent saved up. After the conversation had died down I stood there looking for a way to move the topic. My step mom looked at me with worried eyes; as if she could tell that I was keeping something inside.

“Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

I looked at the doorway and then at them and the secret I had held for eighteen years poured from my lips.

“I’m gay”

I walked out the room with tears streaming down my cheeks. I went into my room and closed the door with my body against it. I felt breathless and began to dial my friend when I heard knocking on the door. I opened it and saw my father. I looked at his face and saw no tears or sadness. He swallowed hard and spoke.

“I love you more than anything in this world. I am your father, and you have nothing to cry about. I know that I probably didn’t make it easy for you to be open with yourself, but I promise that I won’t be that guy anymore,” He took me into his arms and I wept.

“It might take time for you to share that part of your life with me, but when you are I’ll be ready,” he said.

Then he let me go and told me to collect myself and come out and hug my sister and step mom. After that day I let go of everything that held me back from who I really was as a person. I didn’t need to hide anymore because I didn’t care anymore. There was no more worry about being discovered, and I didn’t care who else knew that I was gay because the most important people to me were okay with it. I never moved out west with Jennifer, but it was okay because I didn’t need somewhere to run to anymore.

Joshua Lemmons, Alabama

It is difficult growing up in an area where there is a large number of people who don't approve of certain lifestyles. Well, let's be honest, they don't approve of any lifestyle that isn't their own. That was my childhood. I was raised right in the buckle of the “Bible belt.” Most people hear that I'm from Alabama and wonder how I've not been lynched or bashed every day of my life, but it's really not as bad as that. Mostly.

There was, however, an ever present feeling of just never really belonging. I never really understood why I was different as a child, but the other kids at school made it their personal business to ensure that I knew the fact as much as humanly possible. In my particular area it wasn't really common knowledge what being gay was or what it entailed. I didn't really even know what the kids were saying to me in school when they called me gay. I just disagreed vehemently because of the way they said it! Little did I know that not only were they right, but also that it was kind of a big deal in the area. People just didn't talk about it. You could have your sneaking suspicions, but you never out-and-out asked someone about it and heaven forbid someone proclaim it publicly and proudly!

Around puberty is when I started noticing that when asked what I thought about how a girl looked that I honestly didn't have an opinion. I knew something was up though when I saw the varsity boys’ soccer team practice for the first time though. Later on I got the internet and my journey to self-discovery began! I started looking into what being gay meant. Was I broken? Was it wrong? Can I be fixed? Should it be fixed? Is there even anything to fix? So I really have to thank the internet age for helping me come to grips with who I am. Little did I know that this would also be the method to which I would use to come out to those I love.

I had told a few of my friends about my major discovery, but that wasn't really what I considered my 'coming out' experience. It was more like me gathering up the courage to take the first step out of the closet. Ironically the first person to know was my “ex-girlfriend.” Don't get the wrong idea. We were essentially just best friends. The farthest we ever got was a peck on the lips. We were only around twelve or thirteen years old. It was middle school for goodness sake!

She was the one who really helped me feel like it was alright to be gay though. It all started with a simple, “I think I'm attracted to boys, I think I'm gay,” and that really got the ball rolling. She was the one who encouraged me to look more into it. I was probably around fifteen or sixteen at the time. I didn't actually fully decide to come out until I was nearly a senior in high school.

The big coming out is when you tell your parents, and I'm ashamed to admit that I kinda chickened out a bit. Actually, I chickened out hardcore. I was so scared of confronting my parents about it that I literally sat and took the time to write my parents and e-mail about it. That's right...I came out of the closet digitally.

That was the worst possible idea ever and I sincerely do not recommend anyone do it ever because it is the most nerve-wracking experience of your life afterward. Waiting after something like that can literally add years to your life! I was only eighteen at the time, and I swear that I have gray hairs because of that waiting period. I simply wrote from my heart to them though. I explained that I didn't feel like it was right of me to hide it anymore, and that I felt they deserved to know the truth. I declared proudly in the email that I was attracted to other guys, and that I hoped that they would still find it in their hearts to love me the same as always.

I sincerely told them that I hoped that they would still love me. I was so worried about being that person who was turned out of their home to wander the streets because of their sexual orientation. That was my thought process the whole time. I was thinking, “Good lord, Josh. What have you done? What if they throw you out? What if they don't love you anymore?” because that just felt like what would be the case because of the area that we lived in.

I could not have been more surprised by what truly happened. In fact, I would have never even dreamed of it happening the way that it did. I was sitting in my room in the middle of the afternoon doing homework and I hear some knocking on my door frame. I look up and it's my mother standing there, and my heart immediately just fell through the floor because I knew by the expression on her face that she had gotten my email. It was written clearing on her face. Tears. It was like all of the air in the room had been vacuumed out, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. I was very suddenly and acutely aware of my own heartbeat which had somehow found its way to the middle of my throat, yet had found a way to echo inside my ears. The only sound in the room for a minute or so was the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Finally the silence was broken.

She simply said, “I got your email. How on Earth did you think that we would not love you anymore? I thought you would know your father and me better than that.” I was floored. It was literally the complete opposite of what I had expected. Turns out the reason she was crying was not because she was ashamed of me being gay, but it was as she explained “because of hardship you are going to have to deal with for the rest of your life just to be yourself.” I immediately started crying. How could I not? She wasn't ashamed. She wasn't angry. She was concerned. She was worried about my well-being in the future. She hugged me very tightly and it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.

The next thing she said really just cemented the whole thing. She stated clearly, “I had a sneaking suspicion that you were going to end up gay when you were still a baby.” I could only just gape at her with my mouth hanging open. When I was finally able to reply, I said deadpan, “Well, it would've been nice if you had let me known this since I've been in mental anguish over it for a while now! Thanks, Mom!” We both laughed about it and ever since it has just been a fact of our lives. Just another facet to my being. I am proud to be gay, and I am proud to have parents that are so supportive. They have even embraced my boyfriend of three and a half years as a member of the family. My family is the exception to the rule and has kept the “Bible belt” from choking the life out of me. I could not possibly ask for better parents, and I thank my lucky stars every day of my life for having them.

A. McMahon, Oregon

I came out to my friends over winter break my senior year of college. I was 22 at the time.

The year prior I had lived with my best friend... we'll call him Marcus. For reasons I don't care to get into, Marcus was severely repressed. He was always ambiguous about his sexuality in high school, and after we attended the same college and decided to be roommates he came out to me and declared his love for me. At that time I didn't know I was gay, which now seems stupid. I should've known. But having him disclose his feelings escalated the process and I soon accepted my gayness.

Back to my senior year: Friends from out of town visited during break. After a night of heavy drinking, we all returned to my apartment. Marcus lived a few blocks away but crashed at my place with everyone else. In my drunken state I decided it would be a good idea to pick on Marcus. I kept pestering him while he was trying to chill and just generally was being an ass. That's what I did back then I guess. His best friend Robert, my frienemy and roommate, got annoyed with my antics. Marcus and I had not been getting along for several months at this point, and Robert had seen enough. He decided to defend Marcus. He chased me and based on his reaction I assumed we were about to get into a physical fight. I went to my room and locked the door, but my roommate, John, decided it would be a great idea to let Robert in to finish the argument despite my protests.

So we got into a fist fight.

Mind you, this was just before bed at like 2 or 3am and we were all in our underwear/pajamas. Fisticuffs ensued and it wasn't long before I was in a headlock on the floor of my room. Robert screamed "Why are you always so mean to Marcus!"

"You really want to know?!", I replied.

"Yes I really want to know!" Robert yelled.

"Marcus, stop this right now before I say something you'll regret." I told him.

Marcus, standing nearby with three of my other friends said, in the smallest voice ever heard out of a human being, "C'mon guys, stop it."

"FINE!", I said, "If you really want to know. The reason I'm mean to Marcus is because he's gay. I'm gay too. And we had sex!"

Time stopped.

The five or so friends staying over at my place were in shock. Mouths were wide opened.

For me the room was spinning.

Robert dropped me and ran off. He drove drunk, shirtless and shoeless in his truck to go tell his girlfriend what happened. Everyone else went to bed.

The next day I had to explain to friends on a road trip to visit a law school what had happened the night before. I need to explain why I looked like I lost a fight and was bleeding through my shirt the entire day.

I felt better though. Although I had outted someone who was supposed to be my best friend, it was also forcing me to stay in the closet. Looking back, I don't know what I would've done differently. I don't feel good about outting someone I care about. But I refuse to live a lie.