In my early twenties, I finally came to terms with the fact that I am a woman who loves women. I love their tastes, their smells, their emotional makeups (which some might sterotype as irrational or even crazy, but I call fun) their methods of kissing, and their lovemaking styles. Yes, indeed, after years of fighting it, I came to terms with the fact that I am a "lesbian", "dyke", "carpet muncher"... you pick the word or phrase fits your concept of what I am. I really don't care.
However, reaching the point of self-acceptance didn't necessarily make "coming out" -telling my friends and family who I am- an easy feat. Fortunately, all of my close friends were fine with it, and most told me that they already knew and had been waiting for me to tell them when I was ready. Their responses were truly comforting, and the majority of the gays and lesbians I have shared "coming out" stories with tend to agree. Most of our friends are well aware of what we are before we are willing to admit it.
Telling my parents, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. I was raised in a very traditional, Christian church whose teachings condemned to hell anyone who drinks alcohol, listens to rock music, dances, engages in premarital sex, or enjoys any type of entertainment other than reading the Bible and praising Jesus. ( For most of my tender young years, I lived in fear that the hand of God was going to come down and smite me because at various points in my life I have taken part in, and enjoyed, these "lascivious" activities...but those are stories for another time.) It's time to get back to my parents and my tale.
On Thanksgiving of 1998, my "roommate" - a term many closeted gays and lesbians use when referring to their lovers- and I were celebrating the holiday at my parent's. My father and I had been knocking down quite a few beers - yes, by this time he and my mother, had renounced the draconian teachings of the church in which I was raised, and were quite drunk when he decided to pursue a line of questioning that brought my secret right out into the open. The conversation went like this:
"Kelly, you have been living with your 'friend' (a term parents use when they don't want to acknowledge their son or daughter is homosexual) for two years now? Is that right?"
"Yes, Dad."
"And I have been to your house once or twice. It's got three bedrooms. Right?"
"Yes, Dad."
"But there is only one bedroom, the master bedroom, that has an acutal bed in it. Am I correct?"
"Yes, Dad." By now, even in my drunken stupor, I had an inkling of where this conversation was headed, and I had no idea how to stop the train that was about to plow through my life.
"So, Kelly, I assume you and your 'friend' must share the same bed or else one or the other sleeps on the couch. Which is it?"
"We sleep together, Dad." The train was about to crash, so I asked him to pause a moment while I poured myself a rum and coke.
He continued, "Well, Kelly, from our previous talks, you told me that your 'friend' is a lesbian. Correct?"
"Yes, Dad." I took a big swig.
"Therefore, logic dictates that because you and your 'roommate' are living in a house with only one bed, and she is a lesbian with whom you share that bed then you must be a lesbian too?" The train was inches away. How was I going to get off the tracks?
The alcohol and honesty won out.
"Yes, Dad, I am."
The train crashed. He choked on his drink. He asked me to confirm what he had just heard. I did.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity (in which, thankfully, God's hand did not come down to throw me into the depths of hell) my father regained his composure and asked one final question.
"Which do you prefer? Tits or ass?"
"I like both, Dad. Please let me tell Mom in my own time, okay?"
And just like that, I was OUT!
Several months later, I revealed that entire conversation to my mother and asked her how she felt about my lesbianism. She smiled and laughed and then told me that she had already known for many years. So much for the fear that had haunted me for so long. I was, as my friends like to chant, "Free to be me!"
Now, the whole point of this article (aside from my attempt to be amusing) is to make clear that "coming out" is not easy, and not everyone will have the positive experiences I enjoyed after telling those closest to me that I love women. However, being true to oneself in any area of life is truly liberating and exhilarating. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, and, yes, even "breeders" (an inside term the gay community uses for heterosexuals) are all human beings with the right to be happy despite what their friends, family, and the rest of the world might think. So even if it takes one an entire lifetime to own up to who he/she is, it is well worth it. Everybody, "Let your freak flag fly!"