is she?”
I opened my mouth and closed it a few times, thinking it was really too bad Angela and I hadn’t been smart enough to set up a conspiracy. I would pretend to my folks that we were going out, and she could pretend to hers. But there’s that thing about lying. I bet even freethinkers believe that’s wrong. Time for the truth. So I said, “It’s not a she, Mom. I’m gay.”
They both stepped back, and then Dad lunged for me. He grabbed my arm before I could duck and dragged me into the living room, practically throwing me onto the sofa. I stood back up as he turned to start pacing around the room. Out of the corner of my eye—I didn’t dare not watch Dad—I saw Mom kind of sink into a wing chair.
Dad wheeled on me, and I nearly fell back onto the sofa. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again! Do you hear me? You’re talking Satan. You’re talking Hell. You’re talking about your immortal soul. And I won’t have you disgracing this family!”
Maybe if he hadn’t said that last bit, about the family, I would have just let him rant and rave. But it was too much for me. “Oh, we can’t have that, can we? Family disgrace. You know, God made me who I am. It’s between me and God.”
Dad’s voice got quiet. Hard. “I’ll tell you what’s between you and God. Satan is between you and God right now. So don’t pretend you know what you’re talking about, because right now you’re just Satan’s mouthpiece.”
“I do so know what I’m talking about!” My voice was nowhere near as calm as his. But I had more to lose. “I’ve spent a lot of time this year thinking about this, praying about this, and reading the Bible about this. I know where Satan is. And he’s not standing between me and God.”
Dad marched around the living room, kicking aside a small table that got in his way. He’s got a bit of a temper, so despite the comical look of the wispy hair strings on top of his head when he moves around, it’s a bad idea to get him riled.
Too late to avoid that, though.
“You’ve done it already, haven’t you? You’ve been active. You’ve committed sodomy.”
My mind went two different places when he said that. One was to Will. Not that I pictured the act, but that I didn’t want my parents to do that. If I said yes now, they’d want to know who was with me. I didn’t want to give Will to them. Plus I didn’t want them to say I couldn’t see him again.
The other place was the word itself. Sodomy. If you read the Bible carefully, the people of Sodom committed all kinds of sin. It wasn’t just a matter of men having sex with men. They were greedy, and they proved frequently that they were without mercy. And Abram’s nephew, Lot, lived there; why? And when two angels—who were always men, of course—came as guests to Lot’s house and some local guys wanted to have sex with them, do you know what Lot did? He offered instead his two virgin daughters! Talk about abomination. But my point is, sodomy means just one thing today, but the original meaning was more than that. So had I committed sodomy? Not biblically. Not in all its aspects.
So for at least two very different reasons, I said, “No. You’re wrong.”
He stopped and stared at me, looking triumphant. “Then you really don’t know anything about it.” He walked over to where Mom was still sitting in the chair and put his hand on her shoulder, I guess to set up something like a wall of intervention. Solidarity against me. “Then I know what to do. We’ll all go, the three of us, and talk with Reverend Douglas. He’ll know what steps to take. In the meantime, young man, you should consider yourself grounded. We can’t take any chances.”
And as if that settled it, he nodded in my general direction and said to Mom, “I’m going to read the last section of the paper.” And he plunked himself down into his recliner.
I stood there feeling like the spaceship I’d arrived on had taken off toward home without me. Mom got up kind of suddenly and disappeared, and I skulked off to my bedroom, fighting the urge to call Will, terrified that if either of them found out I was talking to him they’d figure out who he was to me.
So Dad made the decision of what was gonna happen next, like he was the only one who needed to be consulted, and Mom disappeared. Which left me—where? Sometimes the weirdest part of a confrontation is what happens right afterward. It’s like no one’s on the same terms they were on with anyone before it happened, and there’s all this psychological dancing that goes on as everyone tries to find out what the new boundaries are. I was feeling a powerful need to set some new boundaries, starting with my mom.
Practically tiptoeing so my dad wouldn’t know I was anywhere near, I moved through the house toward the laundry room. I figured that’s where Mom would be; it’s where she goes when she’s upset.
And sure enough, the door was shut, and I could hear her quietly crying in there. I knocked once and opened it, and she was standing in front of the ironing board ripping an old pair of my pajamas into rags. Therapeutic, I suppose. She dropped all of it when she saw me and wrapped herself around me, crying harder, calling my name between sobs.
“It’s okay, Mom. Really. I’m fine.”
“Oh, Taylor!” was all she said for a while, until she let me go so she could blow her nose. Then, “Your father is so upset. I don’t know what he’ll do. Why does it have to be like this? Why do you…” She kind of fizzled out and blew her nose again.
“Mom, I don’t know what else I can tell you. This is who I am. It’s not something I chose, just like being who you are isn’t something you chose.”
“But Taylor, it’s a sin!”
“We’re all sinners, Mom.”
“But you’re choosing to sin!”
“No. You aren’t listening. I didn’t choose this, any more than I chose brown hair or what day I was born on. I can’t change my birthday, and I can’t change the color of my hair—not really, and I can’t change this.”
“But…you’re our only child.” She raised her arms into the air and let them flop down again, helpless.
“And that means what, exactly? That you don’t get another chance to do it right?”
I must have shouted. I probably sounded like Dad. She sort of squeaked, “It means we won’t have grandchildren.”
I let out a tired breath. “Mom, I don’t know why I’m gay. I don’t know if God made me like this to test me, or to test you and Dad, or if there’s some other reason, but it’s who God made me. Do you think I haven’t prayed about this? Do you think I haven’t asked God why?”
She perked up a little. “Have you talked to Reverend Douglas already? Why didn’t you tell your father? What did the reverend say?”
Well, no, I told her, I hadn’t talked to Reverend Douglas.
He’d been our pastor for my whole life, and even before my dad dragged us in to see him, I already knew where he stood on this issue so near and dear to my heart.
Mom and I talked a little longer, but just so we could both calm down some. We didn’t really get anywhere.
The meeting with Reverend Douglas went about like you’d expect. He came out of his office all smiles and sweetness and light.
“What a pleasure! I’m delighted to see all of you.” He turned to me. “Taylor, your father tells me you’re feeling troubled. Why don’t you and I go into my office and talk about it?”
I could give him about seventeen reasons why not. But at least we were leaving my folks out here. I followed him in and sat in the chair across from his desk. I guess this is my year for sitting across desks from sanctimonious homophobes.
“So, Taylor, what seems to be the trouble?”
“Actually, I’m not having any trouble. It’s my dad who has a problem.”
“What problem is that?”