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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.
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.
