At the age of eight, I remember my mother kind of figuring me out. She would whisper to my grandmother about the possibility of me being a lesbian or “liking girls”. My grandmother said, “Well, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” And even though it had a tinge of acceptance within that sentence, it also had a tinge of slight disgust, or perhaps disappointment to it. I’m not quite sure. But in any event, my mother did accept me after a long battle with trying to get me to see a psychiatrist for my “lesbian condition”, which made me feel less than adequate as a human being - as though I wasn’t equal to anyone else who was heterosexual. That took a slight toll on my psyche and I began to revaluate my self-worth, through the approval of my own mother. It would then trickle into the approval of my own circle of friends. The good thing about that was, I truly realized who my true friends were when I did finally come out. Some never spoke to me again, and one actually said, “Well as long as you don’t hit on me, we’re okay.” I’d give her a look and ask, “What makes you think you’re my type?”
But, in the words of grandma, it’s not the worst thing in the world. I mean, if parents who are so outraged by their kids coming out as gay or lesbian, thank the heavens they aren’t out on the streets doing drugs, killing people or living in some cell in an upstate prison. So yes, I agree, it definitely isn’t the worst thing in the world to all of those old fashioned thinkers.
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