Watching today’s re-run of 90210 (the joys of being at a half-hearted University means you can be home by midday) – where Teddy (named so because – why wouldn’t you want to cuddle him at night) is blackmailed into coming out of the closet, got me thinking about that crucial time in a gay man’s life.
When telling the parents should we rip off the band aid quickly or simply just rip up any hope of having grandkids? Some men are so scared to come out of the closet they live a lie for the rest of their of lives, while others can happily do it in a tiara, feather boa and six and a half inch stilettos. It makes an awful and quite frankly disgusting point about our society that some men still live in fear of this. Fortunately, I didn’t have to have that uncomfortable conversation with my dad…

I’d already told my best friend, my sister, my brother, the milkman, the postman, everyone at work, everyone in the pub and everyone on the internet, so it was only a matter of time before my dad found out. I’d travelled to Manchester, Brighton, Windsor and dare I say it – Stratford for sex (the travel of which Daddy’s wages had paid for) and I still hadn’t told him.
I owned fourteen pairs of hotpants, a playboy bunny outfit and bought glitter by the gallon from ebay and he still didn’t know.
He even caught me bashing one out to a photo of Mario Lopez and bitch STILL didn’t confront me. You’d of thought he would’ve known before I did. Even my seven year old nephew was asking questions before him.

My point is, not that my dear pops was deaf, blind or in fact headless for not noticing, but he was giving me time. That was, until he found my fitlads profile that I’d left open on the computer. So faceparty fucks, one night stands and gay saunas were all OK – but social networking via the web just pushed him over the edge? (I should state this was five years ago, when all of the above were actually acceptable).
Thank Lucifer it was only a face pic with a list of my interests (that would be cinema, art, travelling – not foreplay, roleplay, roughplay).
Could you imagine if I’d been one of the wierdos wanking onto a pair of socks and Reebok Classics? Or one of those pervs in a gas mask having his balls hoovered by a Filipino maid?! Girl, my dad would’ve cardiac arrested right there. I would’ve had to drive him to the Emergency Room, which definitely would’ve been an issue seen as I took the leg off an old woman twenty lessons into learning to drive. (Needless to say, I quit that day).
I could just picture it now…

AUTOPSY REPORT

Cause of Death: Son’s morbid perversion of having his testicles suctioned by a Dyson.

Erm, No.
When he came downstairs after his discovery, he asks
“Why were you on a gay site?”
Because it’s like totally easier to get laid.
“Erm… Because I think I’m Bi-sexual”
How ironic that the only part of this story not inserted for humorous intent is probably the funniest bit. Bi-Sexual?! Bi-Sexual?? Girl the only thing that was bi about me was my bipolar. And maybe my bias to men that play sports.
“Oh.”
And that was how he accepted it. Oh. My sons just told me the biggest secret of his life. Oh. Not to be a stereotypical gay, but where was all the drama? Do I not warrant some form of emotion, even a fake gasp would’ve been appreciated. It would’ve been totally see-through, but still appreciated.

And the rest is history… We don’t discuss dating or anything, but he totally helps me take photos for my blog if I need it.