I Turned 20 Today; 20 Years Ago I Started Anew

Sitting in my mother’s rocking chair, nervously rocking, anxiously, intensely, I just did it. Pretty quickly too. I figured I might as well just get past that “elephant” in my family’s living room. The room I grew up in, with my mom and dad, brother and sister, the family dog and cat.

My mom sat in her chair; my dad sat in his. My brother was on the couch; my tweenage sister had fixed herself on the floor. And somehow I had chosen the rocking chair. I think I sat there probably because it seemed more upright and official than if I had sat on the couch. The rocking chair, was hard and stiff and meant business; although with the obvious movement allowing for a somewhat more personal touch hidden underneath.

So I just did it. I had woken up from an awful sadness, illness, during an intense afternoon, depressive sleep. And I just decided I didn’t care anymore. So I was almost running upstairs from my basement bedroom in my family home. I went to find my mother. Then I yelled to my brother and sister to come out to talk. And finally I collected my father who was working on a broken bathroom door in the hallway. He was down on his knees with screwdriver in hand adjusting the doorknob when I asked him to come out to the living room. By then, there was no turning back. I had gathered everyone together. I sat down in my mother’s rocking chair. And I told them.

I just directly told them. “Look, I wanted you to know before you start hearing it out in the world.” I’m not sure why I said it like that. It’s not like I was a public official or someone who would be well known enough in the community for something to get back to the paparazzified public. But when one is young and in teenage years, one assumes everything is a major public relations drama. Plus I think I simply wanted an opener; something to make it seem like I needed to do it rather than I wanted to do it.

The truth is I was simply tired of the insanity of it all. I wanted to get past it. I wanted it to already be over with and done. I was so tired of pretending and avoiding and worrying and lying and covering and trying to live somehow else. I was just plain tired. And, I will say, also starting to get a little angry. The revolutionary styles of youth had begun to gain a foothold in me, after a lifetime of living by the book. So there was actually a little anger inside as I rocked that chair.

My mom cried.

My brother looked unsure.

My sister seemed almost excited.

My dad got up out of his chair; he walked over to me in my mother’s rocking chair; and very calmly and quietly, hugged me. He spoke, “I love you no matter what.”

I actually didn’t know what was happening anymore. Everything had changed in an instant and now I did not have my usual quiet secrets to be my only company. Now everyone knew everything. And now what?

My mom cried. A lot. She followed me down to my room and cried some more. We talked. A lot. But I just wasn’t feeling any of the family emotion anymore. I was too wrapped up in the insanity of what I had just done. I was too excited to tell my friends what happened. I was too caught up in wondering what they would say. I was starting to think about telling my friends who did not know, as well as my teachers and professors and advisors and counselors and fellow students and classmates and hallmates. I was beginning to think I would change the world. I was ready to change the world! And, most importantly, there was also this cute guy that I wanted so badly to tell.

Somehow I found a way to get out of the house, made up some excuse to see my friends or studying or something. I drove off into the night, off to the big city, away from my family’s suburban world. Rehearsing over and over what I had done in the car, laughing, screaming, crying, freaking. And then, eventually, I started back home after a few hours of being out in the world on my own.

The whole world had changed in just a few hours. I came back home late at night, all the lights had been turned off, everyone was in bed asleep. I quietly let my mom know I was back. “Mama, I’m home.” I always did that when I came home late at night. I knew she always felt better knowing when I got home, no matter how late. And tonight would be just like any other night, even if I had previously rocked the world in my mother’s chair.

I was still coming home tonight, to my family-- who took care of me, and loved me-- and I was still the eldest son making his way from the darkened night to the porchlit front door, stepping inside, letting my mother know I was back home, and then quietly creeping past the rocking chair on my way back to my room, trying not to disturb anyone else while they slept. I had rocked the world enough for one day. We’d start again in the morning. And then that next morning we would begin to figure out our new lives together, as a family, with everyone having heard me, on the day before, say “I’m gay.”