Cheese, Clowns, and Coming Out
My sister and I were eating KFC macaroni and cheese in the mall when I first came out to her. It was June 2013, and I had just told her an extremely embarrassing recount of my weekend. This was the first time I had my heart broken by a boy, the second time I had my heart broken at all, and possibly the sixth time I had cried into a pasta dish. Of us two, Angelica is arguably the sibling who feels emotion more strongly. She is the first one to worry, get angry, or respond enthusiastically; and she was just the person I wanted around at the time because I knew that she would be willing to talk shit. Seriously, sisters are the best. You’ll never have to ask twice to outsource your revenge killings.
About one month later, I discovered that she had inadvertently blurted out my sexuality to my parents while I was away. I had been watching something on Netflix when my mom gave me a hug and said, “I know.” At first, I thought she had meant that my dad told her about my upcoming promotion. But then she followed up with another “I know,” and that smile TV parents typically give when they have a genuine moment with their children. Author’s note: It’s been five minutes and I still can’t think of another TV show in which a mother and son bond over a shared appreciation for men. I imagine it would go something like this….
Rory (as a boy): I prefer dick.
Lorelai: The dick is preferred. That’s how you were born.
*Hug as the scene cuts to Melissa McCarthy in a bakery*
To make a long story short, my parents proved themselves to be the people I had always thought them to be — accepting, loving, and protective almost to a fault. Even today, my dad ends every text with “Stay safe,” which is code for “Don’t be promiscuous. Use condoms.” As for my mom, she always tells me to avoid standing out in a way that would make me a target of homophobic subway riders. With the exception of my dad’s previously mentioned text, I rarely listen to my parents.
People who come out have a special kind of toughness to them; a certain trait that allows them to block the hateration and holleration from the dancery. In the back of our minds, we recognize that today may be the day a Trump surrogate throws a Bible at us at the 42nd Street subway station because of the way we dress, talk on the phone, or walk down the hall. Yet, that possibility stays in the back of our minds because there are more important things we need to do, like get to Trader Joes before the evening rush. In 2016, the nation is becoming increasingly fearful of running into hellish clowns on their daily commute — the LGBT community has been dealing with this sort of shit for years.
I could go on, but midterms are this week. So I leave you all with this: Congratulations to those of you celebrating National Coming Out Day. As for those of you still waiting for your moment, I wish you the best of luck and offer my full-hearted support. Never let anyone tell you that your sexuality may prove to be a liability in the workplace, community, or anywhere else. Your sexuality is not your single-most defining trait — in most cases, it has no relation to your goals or success. Take a look at your current situation. Can you actually say “I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for my preference for dick/vagina”?
