The man sat there, middle-aged and weary, with a heavy heart. The words spoken by his son, edging on tears, resounded in his ears. The confession left no interpretation. It wasn’t even a confession. A confession implies guilt and remorse. This was a proclamation. The boy’s guilt and remorse were expunged as he said the all-encompassing, all-consuming words.
“Dad, I’m gay.”
The elder of the two felt as if a blow had been delivered to his belly. The wind was no longer in his lungs but stuck in his throat. His body stiffened as if the words were the man’s own declaration of death. In a way, they were. The father’s life had changed in an instant, or, at least in his own mind, it had. A son’s coming out always seems to redefine the relationship. The son is no longer the man he was before in the eyes of the father. The father could no longer recall the memories of grilling in the backyard together or teaching his boy how to cut the grass. It was now forgotten. His son was gay beginning at the point of his coming out, and soon everything would change. The dad seemed to forget that his son, the boy he had loved from conception, was gay while the flames cooked the sizzling steaks and sharp blades tore through green leaves.
“I didn’t choose this. I promise.”
He wanted to know why. Why had this happened to him? Why had this happened to his son? The father wasn’t completely selfish in his suffering. He believed his child to be afflicted in the same capacity as himself, but he didn’t show it. As a man and leader, the father had to begin to make a decision. One that would decide the course of his life and his son’s life. The man held futures in his heart while distraught. Many would agree it isn’t wise to let distraught men make decisions. Sadly, many didn’t get a say. The father did. And he said,
“We can get this fixed.”
“I don’t need fixing.”
“You’re happy like this?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m proud to be who I am. That’s why I told you.”
Proud. The word stung the man’s ears and tunneled to his heart. He had heard the word before. Of course he had, but it was never attached to in his mind the common label. It wasn’t something to be proud of. It was something that could be fixed. He had heard preachers and crusty old men on T.V. say it. There were therapies, books, and even camps for a man or woman who had rejected natural affections. His son was gay. That at present was true. However, the man decided to deliver his ultimate ultimatum.
“Try or leave this house for good,”
“What?”
The father, in the most loose interpretation of the word, could hear the tears in the voice of the boy who wouldn’t become a man. Strangely enough, he didn’t care. All compassion for his son’s affliction was lost when the stranger stated his choice to be perverted. The father had no choice. He had to try to rescue his son.
“I will pay for everything. We will get therapists, books, and even camps to help you turn away from this. You have to try because if you don’t, you are out of this house.”
There was no turning back. The words had been spoken, and they couldn’t be rewound. The man had to follow through on his offer. He couldn’t turn back. The choice was now his son’s. The boy would have to decide. The boy had to choose between love and family because the two had recently become mutually exclusive.
“So? What’s your choice? Out with it. You have to choose now!”
The man’s tone wasn’t anger but frustration.
“Dad..”
The man could hear the hesitation in the boy’s words.
“Fine, I’ll try to... change.”
The boy left the room, and the man let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. He wiped away the sweat from his face. He sat for hours thinking, rethinking. He refused to change his mind, but he decided that sympathy in the midst of his anger was a necessary balance. He walked to his son’s room and fell to his knees as he opened the door to his son on the bed. The rope was taut, and the boy was pale. Therapists, books, and even camps wouldn’t be able to put his son back together again.