Hey guys and girls,
I’d like to give you a little back-story before I give you my ‘today’ story. I’ve been raised, like many, by two loving, Christian parents who have provided me with the best that they could possibly offer. In no way have I been disadvantaged, with an abundance of opportunity provided to me. My sisters were always the closest to me, with my brother, perhaps more thankfully distant. From the age of five, I had already known that I was gay. Perhaps it was the way that I responded to the attention my sisters gave me, dressing me in whatever made a great shot, which would later be printed at Kodak, or more likely, the way I felt when play-dates with male friends became more than a time for Lego creations.
Throughout the years following, till the start of 2014, my efforts were directed at ‘acting straight’, something that Grindr seems to value more than intellect or passion for the arts. It was painful having to play along, but I felt that in acting straight, I would also avoid having to love another man. It was a chore and it was heartbreaking, but if I didn’t have to be different from the rest, then it was worth it. When I finally thought about it enough, my self-imposed problem was not about loving another man. It was coming to the understanding or the realisation that God had not made my life harder since understanding that I was gay in 1997, nor had he put obstacles in front of me that would make my life more difficult. Instead, he had opened doors, provided me with endless opportunity and allowed me to be close to those I loved in a way that only television producers cringe when a family gets along famously in reality TV. Today, I would say that I do not resent God, I resent the way that God’s people have interpreted or twisted his word.
It’s now August in 2014 and all in my immediate family, but my mother, have been told of my sexuality. It spiraled after an ‘A-HA’ moment (thanks Oprah) in January this year that found me on the other side of the table from a boy I’d met on Grindr; a non-Christian but nevertheless, a step into the gay community. I was unsure of what to expect from this date, but I was comforted by the way that he was less about asking for pictures showing my wobbly bits and more about the person that I was. The first date was somewhat of an awakening experience that gave me the confidence to begin to unveil who I was as a person and how my sexuality influenced the way that my friends knew and interacted with me.
The first person I told, through recounting (feebly) my date, was my best friend. She had been by my side through the worst of my disownments of sexuality. She even defended me as I claimed to be straight, knowing that I wasn’t being true to myself – I loved her more for it. For a friend to cry for you with happy tears, is the most reassuring gesture that you could hope for. It was something that I will never forget and I think it made us closer. From that day, I knew I had less to be afraid of than I had worked up in my head. My eldest sister was next – we were the closest of all my family. Perhaps it was our fifteen-year separation that allowed us to get along so well, or more likely, the way our personalities found similarities that were too difficult to push aside as a coincidental factor (thanks genetics). She knew. They all knew. Regardless, telling someone was progress and I was this far already, I had to continue.
My chronologically closest sister was next, the closest to me in age and the wife of my boss, my adopted (not literally… that would be weird) brother. It was always going to be the hardest, knowing how close I was to her husband. He was the one that I spent the most time with, the one who had provided me with endless opportunity I thought I hadn’t deserved. The one who had taken me in as one of his family, even though our genetic link was weak, rather, non-existent. It came as a shock that they would take the news so well. Without a rebuttal, I came away on top of the world – thinking that I had finally conquered the giving of challenging news. I guess it wasn't entirely a shock that a week or so later, it was time for a showdown. Not one that was unlike a civilised boxing or tennis match that would see a bystander turning their head back and forth as the Christian card was thrown from one to another, discussing the implications of a same-sex relationship and God’s view on the individual. My stance remained firm and this was taken poorly, a situation that I could have handled far better, but one that I was proud of. Not because it created an unspoken rift between siblings but because my faith had remained cemented, regardless of the sexuality I was living with.
My brother chuckled as I told him over the phone, saying that he was more concerned that I was smoking than my sexual preference. While we don’t speak frequently, my love for him as a brother gained ten points at that moment.
Dad and I had gone out for coffee – the first time we’d caught up properly since I had moved out eight weeks prior. I already knew days in advance that I would be telling him at some point in our extended interaction. It wasn’t until I realised the silence between us, through trivial conversations, had become deafening, that I decided to relay the information that could change his perspective on me forever. “I guess this is an opportune moment…. To tell you that I’m gay”. I blurted it out so that there was no going back. It was not something I wanted to happen but I suppose it was inevitable – he cried. Later he told me that he wasn’t upset that I was gay but he was saddened by the possibility of loneliness that I would experience, and the potential that I may not get the chance to be the father I always knew I could be. We didn’t hug but I wish we did. I hadn’t felt closer to him since I was small. He had been invested in his work for the entirety of our relationship and while I had love for him as my father, I didn’t have a friend.. until now.
It’s now been eight months since I have been comfortable and proud of my sexuality. In that time, I’ve learnt a great deal – lessons of acceptance for those who remain ignorant, love for those in a less fortunate family position and respect for my God – the transcendent being that hasn’t let me down. I continue to beat the same drum; It isn’t God that has let me down, it’s the people who bear his name with misinformed views on those who just want to love the same God and the same sex.
I’m glad that I took the time to write this piece. It wasn’t something that I would have done, had I not read over the posts on Freedom2B. I’m going to Church for the first time in twelve months this Sunday. I hope to report back with my second phase of homosuccess.
– Mark
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