When I was about five years old, I preferred playing hopscotch and hula hoops with my cousin and her friends, while my brothers and the other boys on our street favored football and arm wrestling. I always had a flair for the dramatics and when I was about seven, I insisted that I would grow up to be an actress. My father asked, “Don’t you mean an actor, Son?" I didn’t even have a chance to respond because my mother quickly gave him a backhanded smack with her dish towel right across his chest. “He can be whatever he wants to be." She turned to me and asked, “Movies, television, or Broadway?”
My mom has always been supportive of my sexuality, but I think it was a little bit harder for my dad. He tried to discourage my mom from bringing me with her to the beauty parlor to get a trim because he thought I should get crew cuts at the barber shop with my brothers. When my parents took my siblings and I shopping for new back-to-school clothes every year, I always carefully selected matching outfits and bright-colored shirts, while my dad grabbed a bunch of plain black, gray, and blue t-shirts for my brothers. He always grabbed a few for me too, but they would just sit at the bottom of one of my dresser drawers until it was time for me to hand them down to my younger brother or donate them to the annual clothing drive at school.
When I was in elementary school, some of the other kids used words like “fairy” and “girly” to tease me. Some even came right out and asked me if I was gay. I didn’t have a word for it then, but I knew I was different. One day when I was about eight or nine years old, I decided to ask my mom why all the other kids were always calling me those names and asking me if I was gay. She went on to tell me about how she had always liked boys and fell in love with my father and how he had always liked girls and fell in love with her. Then she explained how some girls like other girls and fall in love with them, while some boys like other boys and fall in love with them. As she gave me a rudimentary lesson on what it means to be gay, I contemplated what that meant for me. I knew that I liked to hang around with the girls more than the boys, but I didn’t “like” any of the girls the way my mom explained. At the same time, I didn’t want to play sports and hang around with the other boys, but I did think my brother’s friend, Scott, was cute and I liked sitting next to him when he came over to our house to watch movies.
I remember making the statement so matter-of-factly to my mom that day. “I guess I’m gay then,” I declared with a shrug of my shoulders. My mom put her hand on top of mine and confirmed, “Yes, Pete, I think you are,” as if she had always known. She smiled at me and then looked up at my father who had just walked into the room in time to catch the tail-end of our conversation.
It was obvious that my parents had discussed the possibility of me being gay at length many times. “Guess you were right,” my dad said to my mom, looking somewhat disappointed. “Alright then, let the boy be gay if he wants." I didn’t really know what else to say, so I thanked him, which brought a tiny smile to his serious lips.
My mother watched him for a second and then turned her attention back to me while he was still within earshot. She joked, “And don’t you worry—in a couple of years, your father will be more than happy to really explain the birds and the bees to you." Of course, that day never came. Although it would have been fun to watch my dad squirm a little, I was equally relieved we never actually had “the talk” and I ended up learning everything I needed to know from movies and my friends.
My father was never really one to show much emotion. He also wasn’t a wordsmith by any means, but I appreciated his nod of approval that day. Since then, my sexuality was never questioned in my family. I always felt totally comfortable introducing boyfriends to my parents the same way my brothers were comfortable introducing their girlfriends.
I’m proud to say that both my mother and my father walked me down the aisle when I married my college boyfriend a few years ago. I know my dad was really happy that I opted for a traditional black tuxedo, but I don’t think he was surprised when I added my own little flair to jazz it up. I asked my dad if he liked my pink dress shirt and matching pocket square and what he thought of the haircut I had gotten at the salon the day before. He just laughed and said, “That’s my boy,” and I know he meant it with pride.