Jordan Bouvier, Chicago

I moved to a small village of a few thousand people when I was ten. We had more churches than stoplights and the main source of entertainment was a bowling alley. There weren’t exactly a lot of places for a little future gay to look for guidance. And what sources I had were dire: I heard news stories detailing the AIDS epidemic and the murder of Matthew Shepard. In the process of learning that I was gay and accepting it as a fact, I became firmly convinced that if anyone ever found out – I would be killed. But through the magic of the internet I found out that not all gay men die horrible deaths, as I’d previously believed.

I began to come out to my friends, and they were overwhelmingly supportive. For some reason though, I chose to keep it from my parents. I had no reason to think they would react negatively, but I thought it would be safer to wait until I was in college. I’ve never regretted a decision more.

My chance to come out to the two most important people in my life was taken from me.

I started dating my first boyfriend when I was seventeen. His mother must have thought very highly of me, because she thought I was the reason her son was gay. She thought if she got rid of me, he would go back to dating girls. In one particularly unnerving phone call, she mentioned her Italian family and threatened to have me “taken care of” if I ever talked to Dave again. Well, she didn’t handle me Godfather-style, but she did toss one hell of a wrecking ball at my life.

I had a part-time job at the local grocery store at the customer service desk. One night, while finishing up my closing duties, I started receiving a lot of increasingly irate phone calls and visits from my mom and dad. By the time I finished work I was terrified. My hands and legs were shaking wildly. I went home and sat down at the table with my mom. Dave’s mom had called. My secret was exposed.

The resulting fight is something that will haunt me forever. My parents, who’d always loved me unconditionally and who never laid a finger on me became monsters. A table was thrown at me. I narrowly escaped my mom and ran to my best friend’s house. On the way I tripped and hurt my arm. My dad found me and demanded that I return home. While I struggled to get my shoes on because my arm was numb he told me he would drag me down the stairs if I didn’t hurry. He began to count backwards. Worse than the physical violence were the words that were said. They said they hated me, that they had no love left for me, and that I would never know what it was like to be loved. My entire world was crushed in just a few short hours. I’d lost everything.

After the fight, we tried to move on but it was tough. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely eat, and I certainly couldn’t pay attention in school. After a few months I couldn’t take it anymore, so while both my parents were working I loaded my boyfriend’s car with all my possessions and moved in with him. We were seventeen and nineteen years  old. We were a  high-school drop-out gay couple living on the tips he made pumping gas.

My relationship with my parents today is entirely different. My dad is apparently quite the eye-catcher in the bear community, and he uses that to get free drinks for me and my friends at Sidetrack. My mom writes letters to politicians thanking them for supporting the gay community. They’re amazing.

If I’d come out to them on my own terms, I think my story would have been radically different, but I’m not sure that I want it to be. The past decade has been interesting for me in ways that most people will never know, and I’m happy with the outcome. We’re only as strong as the fights we’ve faced and we’re only as happy as the lows we’ve lived. That makes me one strong, happy queer.

Will Vith, Pennsylvania

In a rare form of self-sabotage, with the best of intentions, I decided to come out of the closet. However, this was only part uno of dos. Dos would occur in three years.

Following my 9th grade year in high school, and several all-nighter conversations with my best friend at the time, I finally seized the moment to come out to my mom. Staying true to myself, I like to ensure that a plan, an important action that I want to occur, actually occurs. With finally admitting that I like boys and not girls, it was imperative to me that I not back out and that once the dominos began to tumble, that each and every last one, filled with years and years of pressure, fell to their fullest potential.

 AOL, yes, America Online. I'd like to thank AOL for this self-sabotage per se. Why? Well, my plan was to drop a note,  a physical piece of loose leaf paper, onto the ground outside of her door during the night, because in the morning I knew she would awake before me. That way, she could read it. It was something tangible that I couldn't just wish away or decide to delay yet again – it was literally there on the ground and she was about to know that her son was gay.

This wasn't enough, however. After roughly fourteen years of pressure and knowing damn well that being gay was not the societal “norm” or what was accepted,  I had to ensure even further that she would read it. This is where AOL, on good old dial-up, plays its intimate role in my coming out story.

I decided to send the exact words written on the note at the foot of my mom's bedroom door in virtual form, via email, to her. That way, in my young mind, I figured even if I decided to wake up in the middle of the night and remove the note  the ways of the World Wide Web would not allow me to turn back time. She was guaranteed to find out the truth no matter my wishes beyond that point.

And she did find out. Was she shocked? No. Was she totally happy that I would lead a “harder” life than the average person? No.

Time passed and the years flew by. Slowly but surely I grew into my own, and as I grew and matured, so did my mom's acceptance of my true self – as a gay man. She was the only one who knew, aside from a few select friends, until my first year in college. By then being gay was something I rarely thought about in terms of it being a personal stressor – it was finally becoming what it should be, a positive and natural thing. I was beginning to date and live life as the gay human I was.

The idea of “coming out” through those three years had gone from feeling like an extremely stressful, large burden to a nonchalant mentionable aspect of myself. By then, I was in college, free of the bullying of high school and the fag comments. I was happily in love with my first boyfriend and on top of the world. I personally emailed my closest aunt and my grandparents. My mom informed the rest of my family casually at a family function. She was able to “casually” tell them that I was gay because that's the way it should be. It's who I am, who some people are, and what some people will always be. Here in 2011, being gay to both my family friends is nothing but an afterthought. In a good, content way. My homosexuality is open and I am so comfortable with myself and the thick skin I have acquired that I would do nothing to trade it. I am gay, indeed.

Josh Draper, Arkansas

I'd figured out that I was gay by the time I was fourteen or so, but even though my mom had lots of gay friends and was a total fag hag, I was still terrified to tell her. I kept thinking, "Sure, she's okay with her friends being gay, but I'm her kid. It might be different when it's her oldest son." I'd resolved to tell her before I turned eighteen, but I kept putting it off. Terror can be a powerful motivator, especially knowing her deep grounding in the Mormon Church. (Though, to her credit, she always taught me to question everything, even in doctrine, and get the answers I wanted for myself. This, more than anything, saved me and actually led me to my lack of belief today. Of course, she always believed I'd go back to the church eventually.)

On New Year's Eve 1998, just over a month before my eighteenth birthday, I went into my mom's room and told her I needed to talk to her about something serious. In my mind, I was freaking out – asking myself just what the hell I thought I was doing, and trying to figure out where I'd go if I got kicked out of the house. But that's me, I'm crazy like that. It took a while, but I finally told her, “I'm gay.”

And she laughed! She burst out laughing at me, and I got furious! “This is serious!” I said, “And you're laughing at me!” And she said, laughing, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh at you, but you acted like you were telling me something so monumental, and I've known for years!"

My mind was blown. All this time, I'd been so terrified of saying anything, I'd worked so hard to hide everything – and she'd known all along! She'd been waiting for me to tell her for years! As it turned out, she suspected it before I'd even started to figure it out myself, and she had been asking her gay friends how to handle it since I was twelve years old, and had just been waiting for me to come to her. She'd even tried to bring it up a few times when I was older, but I rejected it (of course, to hide it), and she'd let it go. Her friends all told her, “Wait for him to tell you, and then tell him everything is fine.” And once she finished laughing, that's pretty much what she said.

She did tell me, if she could wave a magic wand and make me straight, she would only because it would make my life easier. Which is very true. She didn't tell me I was going to hell. She didn't kick me out of her house. She didn't send me to Evergreen or some other kind of "pray the gay away" therapy. She told me she still loved me, she would always love me, and that it changed nothing between us. She always supported me and accepted me for who I am, on this and so many other things. A mother's love should be unconditional, and hers was.

I was lucky to have her. So many others are not. So very, very many others suffer so much from those who should always love them.

For this, and for so many other things, I miss my mother every day. My mother knew the right decision, and she made it. For that, I will forever be grateful.

Chris Wytenus, New York

Looking back, I’d have to say the only remarkable thing about my coming out is how unremarkable the story is. Most coming out stories you read are quite moving, and many involve tears, screams and other intense reactions. But my coming out was nothing like that. In hindsight, the days I came out to different people all feel like normal, rather insignificant days. I guess that’s why this is the first time I’ve ever written about coming out. Because of the lack of excitement and drama, I never thought my story to be interesting enough until now.

When I was younger, I was definitely one of those kids you knew was different. I loved playing dress up with my sister, and I’m fairly certain I enjoyed wearing heels and dresses a lot more than she did. I loved the Spice Girls. Love might not be strong enough of a word. I was OBSESSED with the Spice Girls. I loved musicals, especially Cats. I even staged my own productions in the family living room. Needless to say, I was far from the average, heteronormative little boy. Thankfully, my parents let me do whatever the hell I wanted and didn’t try to suppress me. They did once try to get me to join a tee ball team, just because they genuinely thought I’d have fun, but I think that only lasted a day or two.

I don’t mean to paint my childhood as being all warm and fuzzy. I always had trouble making friends. Elementary school was rough because I didn’t want to play with the other boys. All I wanted to do was play with the girls, which was frowned upon for whatever reason. I guess because girls have cooties. Middle school was actually a disaster. I wasn’t bullied that often, but that’s only because I became really quiet and shy. I made the truly unfortunate decision to be ignored than be mocked. It took me years to regain the confidence and personality I lost during these years.

My parents noticed how unhappy I was in middle school so when I graduated they decided to enroll me in Catholic high school. I really liked the idea of reinventing myself. Since none of my classmates from middle school would be there, I could put the past behind me and start fresh. Thankfully, I found a crowd of really cool kids in high school I could hang out with. And although I didn’t come out to them immediately, I have a feeling everyone always knew on some level and it wasn’t an issue.

My freshman year is when I first told another person I was gay. I was noticing one of my close girlfriends staring at me during class on what was becoming a daily basis. It was obvious she had a crush on me. We were good friends, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so one night I decided to come out to her on AIM. Yes, via instant message. This was high school after all. She initially thought my being gay was just a phase, but it sunk in pretty quickly. We were only fourteen, so I wouldn’t have expected her to fully understand what being gay meant anyway. But I was relieved that she seemed to take the news so well. The first time was so easy I decided to come out to another girlfriend that night, too. I wasn’t ready to come out to everyone just yet, but I felt comfortable telling these girls. It felt really nice having two people I could be completely honest with.

It wasn’t until my junior year that I officially came out. This is around the same time I started to become very social and outgoing again. I think this is also when all of my friends and family realized I had to have been gay. I began officially coming out by telling my best friend, who had an older gay brother and was very accepting of gay people. She said she knew already, of course, and was just waiting for me to tell her. This was pretty much the same experience with all of my friends. By the end of the year, I was out to everyone who knew me in school. It was nice being out because I was finally being honest with myself, but I was the only gay person at my school. I was generally a happy kid, but I still felt really alone.

The only memorable coming out experience was with my older sister. I’m not sure why, but she was one of the last to find out. I looked up to her a lot and we were very close, so I really should have come out to her before I told everyone at school. But for whatever reason, I felt nervous telling her. It didn’t make sense, considering she had several gay friends.

My sister and I were sitting on our back porch one night drinking white wine and looking at shoes on my laptop. Eventually, after a few too many drinks, my sister got the courage to ask me a question I’m sure she’d thought about for years.

“Listen. Did you ever think you might be gay?”

“Um. Well, yeah. I already know I am.”

Of course she wanted to know why I waited to tell her, but I didn’t really have an answer for that. Afterwards, it was as if nothing happened. It was just another night together. We talked and gossiped into the wee hours of the morning.

I’m quite glad my coming out turned out to be so unremarkable. Coming out doesn’t seem monumental to me anymore because being gay is just another part of me. But even though I found acceptance at home and at school, I still felt profound loneliness. I was the only out gay person I knew. And it’s because of the loneliness I felt that I now find myself living in New York City.

Oscar F. Limon, New York

I came out when I was seventeen, mostly to all my friends, but coming out to my friends was rather easier than coming out to my parents. I moved out when I was eighteen to go to college, not because my home life was terrible, but because I wanted to experience what living on campus would be like.

I would always plan on telling my parents that I was gay, but something would always come up; either their birthdays, or it was the holidays, or I was moving back home for summer break and then I couldn’t tell my mom since I would be living under her roof for three months and if I told her I would most likely be under house arrest; I kept making excuse after excuse not to tell them. I figured they knew, I mean, I was always flashy in the way I dressed, I was a theatre major in college who by the age of fifteen knew all the lyrics to the musicals Rent and Miss Saigon and I would watch Sex and the City every Sunday night with my mom drinking a cocktail; they must know.

It wasn’t until my uncle’s wedding when things came crashing to a halt. I was twenty-two at the time, and my parents had been divorced for about eight years now. We were at the reception and my dad was extremely intoxicated. The three of us had been talking for about a few minutes, when we were told to take our seats since the ceremony was about to start, somehow I don’t know why my dad brought this question up, but he asked, “I’m never going to have grandkids, huh?”

Time froze. My heart raced. I was in shock; I thought to myself, “Is he really asking me this at my uncle’s wedding? Why would he ask this now?” I took a deep breath, looked at my mom who was standing to my left, then at my dad who was on my right, then to the door that had been opened in front of me to walk through and thought to myself, “this is it, once you say it, there’s no turning back” and I walked through the door.

I looked at my dad and said, “Yes…you’re right, you’re never going to have grandkids because I’m gay.”

Once the word rolled out of my tongue all these emotions came rushing in at once, I was mortified, I was scared, I was relived, and I was shaking. I looked at my mom and she said, “I knew, thank you for telling me. I love you.” I cried. I couldn’t control the tears anymore. I was set free. I hugged her and said, “I love you too.”

My dad had another reaction, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you think you could talk to me about this?”

“…because you’ve never been there for me and I didn’t think you’d care to know.” By the end of the day, most of the guest at the wedding including my family knew that I was gay since my dad keep bringing up like a broken record.

Looking back on that time, I guess, I didn’t want to come out to my parents because I thought it would change the relationship that we had built, especially with my mom since she was my best friend. As an only child I was afraid that somehow she’d love me less since I would never give her what I thought she wanted. After coming out, my mom has been extremely supportive; twice she’s attended the pride parade in Palms Springs, California and sends me pictures of her marching with her colleagues.

My dad and I don’t really talk about what occurred that day at my uncle’s wedding, I think he’s still trying to wrap his head around that his only child is gay, but we are working on our relationship, one phone call at a time. All of my immediate family now knows and they’re extremely supportive, kind and generous. When my cousins come to New York City, I take them to gay bars, showing them my world. I’m really blessed and thankful to be who I am—I wouldn’t change it for anything.

What I’ve learned through all of this is that you just have to be you. The best version of yourself. That’s all you can do. No matter what.

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.

Hannah Hooker, Arkansas

So I knew I was gay somewhere around the eleventh grade. I should have realized it years earlier when I played house with the little girl down the street and had her to kiss me before she “went to work.” But instead, I was sitting on the curb in my front yard chatting with a pal, and she started telling me about her weekend adventures, which included getting drunk and kissing another girl on a dare. I was so overwhelmed with some emotion I couldn’t name at first. But, the longer she talked, the clearer it became that I was feeling raw, vicious, disgusting jealousy. When I went to bed that night, my thoughts were something along the lines of, “Well Han-Ban, you haven’t done anything the easy way so far, I guess sexuality isn’t going to be any different.”

It was a hard decision, but I decided I would put coming out on hold until I graduated from high school. I couldn’t think of another gay person in my high school, and I just didn’t think I had it in me to be salutatorian and the only open homosexual in my tiny town. Not to say that I kept my emotions totally to myself. I flirted and kissed girls all the time, and no one suspected that I was anything more than a free-spirited teenager looking for popularity. I also had a boyfriend. He was one big fat sticky situation. I loved him in whatever way I could, and he loved me with all that he had, and I thought, Isn’t this what we all want? Why would I ever give this up? 

Luckily for both of us, college did what college does. I made friends who made me feel, for the first time, as though it literally didn’t matter what I did, they weren’t going anywhere. And, I felt the same towards them, which is a pretty powerful feeling. I started dropping an interest in women into casual conversation with trusted pals, just to test the waters. I got all calm and accepting responses, and I was just about ready to make my presence as a lesbian known on campus, when my best friend and I kissed in the middle of the night on one of her visits to my school. Oops! Two days later is was in committed relationship with someone who was nowhere near coming out. Back in the closet I went. It didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing who I was, and not living loudly was practically against my genetic code. Plus, I’d never lied to my parents before about anything. 

Finally, the summer after my freshman year of college, I managed to snag my mom away from the house. In my constantly classy way, at the gas station up the road from my home I said to my mother, “I’ve been dating a girl for five months.” She responded with, “OK.” That was that for about a day. Then, when my kid brothers were out of the house and my parents and I were in the living room, my mom said, “So Hannah, what does this dating a girl thing mean?” I said, “Um, that I’m gay, Mom.” She said, “Really?” My Dad said, “Duh.” 

I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl, after all. With the rents in full support, I was ready to pump up the volume on life again. After that first relationship ended, I totally embraced the lifestyle, which meant....well, not a whole lot. Other than who I was dating and flirting with, not much changed. I still look completely and utterly like me everywhere I go, and I still keep it classy yet chaotic in every situation. A lot of people still don’t suspect upon meeting me that I’m anything other than that free-spirited girl who looks like your average, rebellious, heterosexual WASP, but whenever I’m asked, “Wait, you’re gay?!” I always respond, “Duh.” Thanks, Dad.

Charles Wei, California

I was 24-years-old when I finally came out to my parents. Until it happened, I honestly couldn’t imagine ever actually doing it. I’m second generation American. My mom is Filipino and my dad is Chinese, but he was born in the Philippines.

One day, my parents were watching T.V. and a commercial came on about gay marriage. I hadn’t heard either of my parents make a homophobic remark in several years, so I was shocked to hear the comments they were making during the commercial. It was at that point that I decided I could no longer keep up the façade for them. I had to tell them who I really was. On top of that, they were the only ones in my life that I hadn’t told yet.

I refused to talk to my mom for the rest of that night, so she knew I was pissed at her. The next day, I called from work to ask if she would be at home later because I needed to talk to her. She was really worried and asked what it was about, but I just told her I would talk to her when I got home. In a way, I was getting back at her for the things that she had said the previous day, but I was also paving the way for what I had to do later that night. I knew my parents, and I knew that if I wanted a favorable outcome to coming out to them, I basically needed to take them on an emotional rollercoaster.

I got home and luckily my dad was there. I didn’t know if I could do what I was about to do a second time. He was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table and my mom was doing the dishes. I turned the T.V. off in the living room and asked them to sit at the table with me. They both looked worried. I started out by telling them that I loved them and that I appreciated everything that they did for me. I knew I was freaking them out, but it had to be done. I needed to remind them how much they loved me before I dropped the bomb.

Then I told them I was gay and waited for their reaction. My dad cried a little, and they asked me a few questions, but honestly, I don’t remember exactly what was said after that. Things were a little awkward for a couple of weeks afterwards, and there were a couple of weird incidents with my mom, but things have been pretty good since then. I’m closer to my parents now than I ever was before and although we don’t really ever talk about my sexuality, I know they accept me for who I am. And, I know that they love me.