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Welcome Back to the 18th Century
Coming Out
Coming Out
by Tom Ziniti
For
years before I came out I was sure that if and when I ever did, friends
and family would retreat from me, forever, in disgust. The sheer force
of the event, I foresaw, would be sufficient to blow the roof clean off
of our house. Neither happened. For me coming out is as it has always
been: anticlimactic, unexpectedly uneventful.
Every openly gay man knows that coming
out isn't just a one-time occurrence. You have to do it over and over
again: every time you face the prospect of a new friendship, change jobs,
encounter a long-lost relative, tell a niece or nephew "old enough
to know," or accompany your partner to a medical appointment.
But, what is supposed to happen when you tell
someone you're gay?
The first family member I confided in was my older
sister. We were sitting at the kitchen table. She stiffened and paled
during the agonizing length of time I took to prepare her. Finally, I
blurted it out. Her hand flew to her chest; her breathing resumed; color
returned to her cheeks. "Jesus Christ!" she shrieked, "I
thought you were going to tell me you murdered somebody!"
I was amazed that my sister thought me capable
of murder and equally amazed that my disclosure had not fazed her in the
least. If she knew, or thought she knew, why hadn't she ever said anything
to me? I had squandered months of adrenaline preparing to unburden myself
of my big, horrible secret, but all the time she knew.
What's supposed to happen when you tell someone
you're gay?
Months later I felt prepared to tell my
mother. We were in the living room. I said, "Ma, I have something
to tell you: I'm gay." The co-author of my life grew silent and got
a far away look in her eyes.
"When I was a girl," she began quietly,
"I had a crush on one of my teachers." I thought I grasped her
meaning but waited a long time before asking cautiously, "Was your
teacher a female?" "Yes." my mother replied. I was dumbstruck.
When I recovered I asked, "So, what did you do?" I figured we
were in for a very long talk; but as the question was leaving my lips
she was out of her chair and on her way to the kitchen. She shrugged and
said over her shoulder, "I grew up and married your father. Do you
want a cup of coffee?"
What's supposed to happen when you tell
someone you're gay?
I recently attended a new-teacher seminar
at my school. For an icebreaker participants were asked to divide into
groups and share something we believed made us unique from the others
in our group. Nobody in our foursome seemed eager to go first so finally
I said, "All right, I'll go." These days, I am committed to
being out at work, too, so once again I braced myself and declared, "I
live in a small town with my same-sex partner and our dogs and cat."
Then I held my breath and waited.
"That's not unique," one quick-thinking
colleague shot back. "I have a cat."
Tom Ziniti is a special education teacher. He lives
in western MA with his partner, Doug.