By Ben Fisher
My Mom and Dad visited two months after I began freshman year—I had yet another opportunity to tell them I was gay. A friend had told me there was no right time and no right place, and I was at least as ready as that advice allowed.
It held true when my older brother was leaving for a camping trip. As he said goodbye stepping into his truck, I realized I wouldn’t see him before I'd leave for college, and with the moment fleeting, I let out “Kyle, I have something to tell you.” He hugged me, told me that he always knew, our family’s love is unconditional, that everything would be all right. When he pulled out of the driveway, I cried. His reaction was that unexpected, but also, I couldn’t believe that I had expected anything less than his acceptance.
I led my parents to sit with me on a bench in Boston’s Christopher Columbus Park. They seemed prepared from the way Mom said, “Okay” to my “Let’s sit here for a second,” and once again, I just said it. Even having told Kyle, their reaction still seemed wrong to me—they had always known, were proud I was ready to tell them, and most of all, happy for me. Among all the coming out emotions we laughed when Mom and Dad shared their ‘yep, he’s gay’ moments: The Wizard of Oz—all the time—how I’d cry when the stepsisters ripped Cinderella’s dress, and how a T-shirt on my head was flipped around like a great head of hair.
But they were worried. They knew not all people would understand, and that some would judge me, not ever give a care who I was, or what my values were if I had that one thing about me. This was some of what I'd come up against, and the prospect hurt. I knew then, and now—their worries were real, but also that their love was unconditional—it allowed me the freedom to realize who I was. My story is a rare story and I am grateful for it. I look forward to a day when there will be more stories like mine, and mine will no longer be so rare.
I led my parents to sit with me on a bench in Boston’s Christopher Columbus Park. They seemed prepared from the way Mom said, “Okay” to my “Let’s sit here for a second,” and once again, I just said it. Even having told Kyle, their reaction still seemed wrong to me—they had always known, were proud I was ready to tell them, and most of all, happy for me. Among all the coming out emotions we laughed when Mom and Dad shared their ‘yep, he’s gay’ moments: The Wizard of Oz—all the time—how I’d cry when the stepsisters ripped Cinderella’s dress, and how a T-shirt on my head was flipped around like a great head of hair.
But they were worried. They knew not all people would understand, and that some would judge me, not ever give a care who I was, or what my values were if I had that one thing about me. This was some of what I'd come up against, and the prospect hurt. I knew then, and now—their worries were real, but also that their love was unconditional—it allowed me the freedom to realize who I was. My story is a rare story and I am grateful for it. I look forward to a day when there will be more stories like mine, and mine will no longer be so rare.
i remember this! love you benny!
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