Two Special People

by Mitchell Crispell

I know two special people whom I would never trade for anyone else. They’re the same two who bother and frustrate me. When I get home from anywhere, they make me sit down and debrief the outing (Where’d you go, who’d you see, what’d you do). That level of interest is unparalleled in my life. They have processed every issue I’ve ever had, providing a wonderful sounding board and wise insight. They plunge into these issues like a diver in murky water, help me through them, and emerge from those depths only when I’m ready to do the same. Those two people are my mother and father. Their support in everything I’ve done (including coming out) and everything I am (including gay) is incredible.

When I came out to my parents, I told them that I wasn’t sure I was straight, what brought me to that point, the heartache it was causing me, and who I had told so far – including someone I’m hardly close with. My mom is well aware of my big mouth and instead of reacting to the “not-straight” part (as most would), she launched right into “Jewish mother” mode and began to tell me how to solve my problems: “Why can’t you just work something out on your own for once! Diane isn’t anyone special to you – she’ll just blab it around! Are you ready for that yet?” It wasn’t a fear of others finding out my sexuality; it was a loving concern for a recurrent problem I have – processing everything in my life with at least 5-10 people. That immediate care and focus on helping me with what’s hurting is love. My dad calmly told me that he loved me no matter what and then the tears started flowing.
They don’t pretend that it hasn’t been difficult for them: anything off of the envisioned path of children throws parents for a while. They are honest with me when they don’t understand something about LGBT people; they invest their energy in my “boy problems” just as much as my other challenges; they have helped me pick the best (read: safest) gay club; they accompanied me to my first Pride; and they have brainstormed where and how I can meet other gay men.

The true mark of their acceptance and support of my sexuality has been their willingness and interest in talking about it just as much as we talk about everything else. Often, what I really need their help with involves my homosexuality. They neither avoid it nor make it the focus. We discuss issues that involve or run parallel to my sexuality and they don’t hesitate or resist – they jump right in.

Every unrequested piece of advice is soaked in a rich broth of love; every tear shed was a drop of empathy: not for the “tragedy” of being gay, but for the pain it was putting me through. When I came out to my parents, they hurt because I was hurting; they cried because I was crying; and they loved me because I was their son.

Over dinner, we discuss my future career, where I’ll live, and what toys they have saved for my children. We celebrate the newest gay rights victory and discuss something “gay” they heard on the news. My dad comes home pondering why gay women get their own word (lesbian): “That just doesn’t seem fair!” My mom cautions me strongly against a husband who will tear me away from her. My dad responds to my mom’s question of why I wear tight-fitting clothes with the comment “He’s got to indicate he’s gay somehow! He’s a man on the run, looking for love!” We laugh together and hug; his answer reveals how much he really listens when I talk to him about my experiences as a gay man. My mom relates to my love issues through her own college relationships.
My parents are the most important people in my life. If they hadn’t been there – immediately after I told them – to help me figure this “gay” stuff out, I don’t know who I’d be now. I will never be able to repay them for all they’ve done; but one day, when I have children of my own, I’ll try as hard as I can to offer them the same unconditional, flowing, strong love I have felt all my life. And I know my mom and dad will smile, knowing they’ve succeeded.