I mentioned in my last post that I haven’t talked to my mom in years.
That’s because when I was 16 years old, I came out to my mom, and she couldn’t accept it and kicked me out.
I had always known I was different in some way than the other boys growing up. I find that gays are very stereotyped in the media, with men saying they knew they were gay when they were little because they wanted to play with dolls with the girls instead of trucks with the boys. This was not my experience at all, not that there is anything wrong with that. I just think a lot of times people see all gay people as the same, but we are people just like anybody else, and we all have different experiences.
But I was what a lot of people would consider a stereotypical straight boy as a child. I liked hanging out with other boys, but obviously not because I was attracted to them when I was little. I liked action heroes, and sports, and all that stuff.
I still felt different, though. I didn’t want to chase girls on the playground, and I didn’t have crushes on them like some of the other boys. And when I hit puberty, I knew in my gut that I was gay. The way my friends talked about girls was the way I felt about other boys.
I came out to my friends first, and they were very understanding. Most of them said they had already guessed, or that it didn’t make any difference to them. A couple of my guy friends made it weird, and even though they acted cool about it, I noticed they never sat by me on the couch again when we played video games or anything like that. That’s another stereotype with gay people – just because we are gay, and you are our same gender, doesn’t mean we are interested in or hitting on you.
But generally, most of my friends were so nice about it, that I felt brave enough to tell my mom finally.
I should say at this point that my mom is a single parent. I never met my dad, and don’t know anything about him. It’s possible my mom doesn’t even know who he is; she refuses to talk about him. I am her only child.
When I came out to her, one night at the dinner table, I guess she felt like she had failed as a parent or something. I don’t know what she thought, really, and maybe I never will.
But she freaked out, told me to get out of her house, and to never come back.
So that’s what I did.