Dear Mom

I’m gay. Yes, happy...but more like I like to finger fuck and eat pussy. I know you know, but I thought you’d like to hear it from my mouth. I know, my poor Grandmother is rolling in her grave.

I can’t say that. I don’t even like the word, gay. Gay upsets my stomach. Except when it doesn’t, like when I know my life is right and I am happy. So I say queer. I like queer. It means odd, or an offensive name for a homosexual male, according to my mac dashboard dictionary. I prefer the first definition, since I am not male.

You did nothing wrong. In fact, I would say, You did something right. You raised a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to get it. I know what it takes for me to be happy. I am working on obtaining a life that fits my needs. I am a strong, somewhat over-independent person. So thank you.

Dad asked me if it was just a phase. I told him I didn’t know because I was too afraid to tell him no. I can never see myself with another man for the rest of my life. I don’t like trying to figure out which emotion a man is exibiting by his blank face. I don’t want a scratchy chin tearing up my own when I kiss. I don’t want to worry about explaining logic to another man. And I don’t want to be fucked by another messy dick ever again.

See, Mom, this has been going on for quite some time. Farther back, it seems, every time I think about it. I remember even telling you in high school that I was a lesbian. You said, in your exasperated, sarcastic, “whatever” tone, “Ok, Jen”.

So, take two. This time’s for real. I have a girlfriend. I have introduced my kids to the notion that loving whomever makes you happy is good and right. I am out to my high school friends and my mom’s club, other parents at my kids school, my sisters, my dad and one of my cousins. So, why did I take so long with you? Fear, mostly. Fear that I would have to explain myself and justify my actions to you, which I don’t, but would still feel compelled to do.

I can’t stand the thought of you crying and saying, “How could you do this to me?”, like you did when I told you I was pregnant. That time, I needed you, this time I don’t. That time taught me to rely on only me. Can’t listen to some bullshit about your family are the only people you have, because it’s not really true. Well, maybe in families where the main topic of discussion isn’t juicy gossip about other family members it might actually be as you said it should be. Alas, not your family, which also happens to be mine, but I have removed myself from your gossip circle of hate.

Although, somehow, by me coming out to you, I have once again entered the circle because I know how the family works. One of you gets upset and goes and riles the rest, then you recruit more of this war’s veterans and begin a battle, but this time, you are fighting yourselves, because I will not participate.

The ideal would be for you to ask me questions. I’d rather not too specific, but I can deal with a little pink in my cheeks. I will answer and be honest, what do I have to lose, but that which I have lost already. I would love for you to be happy for me, without having to think about it. I want you to accept me for the person I am and always was, JLVMC.

(This is practice for the real thing. I am hoping to have my wits and guts about me in the beginning of March. Wish me luck. Of course I will post the real thing when it happens.)