The Turning Point
Dusk. Early July summer evenings are
pregnant with possibilities. The heat of the day has faded but the cool of the
evening hasn’t approached yet. This particular dusk brought my son, Chris and I
closer together than we’d ever been.
*
We were sitting in the back yard, watching
the sun turn from bright yellow, to orange, to a purplish blue color. The
crickets were just beginning to voice their evening song. Here and there little
flashes sparkled in the grass as lightening bugs frolicked. This was our quiet
time, the place where we didn’t have to say or do anything, we could just be
with each other.
We tried to spend an hour or two just
being with each other each night. Some nights we’d talk, some he’d sketch
whatever popped into his mind, and some nights we’d just sit and watch the
world go by. That night, I knew something was on his mind, he’d been quiet
though dinner. I waited until we were outside, watching the sun go down to ask
him about it.
“Um, well. You see. I sort of have something
I want to talk to you about but I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
I could see how nervous Chris was. His
whole body was tense; his hands were clenched and he looked as if he was ready
to do battle. He also had this horrid, haunted look on his face, as if he was
waiting for something horrible to happen.
“Take your time, Chris. We have all night."
I could see him out of the corner of my
eye, sitting just to my left in the green, plastic, lawn chair. He couldn’t
seem to get comfortable and he kept crossing and uncrossing his long legs. He
fidgeted for another ten minutes or so before he began again.
“Mom, you love me, right?”
“Yes, Chris. I love you with my whole
heart.”
“And nothing’s ever going to change that?”
“Nothing ever could. Not in a million years.”
Another few minutes passed before he
finally got up the courage to tell me. His voice cracked as he started –
stopped – and finally started again.
“Mom, I think I might be bisexual.”
For a moment I was taken aback. I was
fully ready to hear, “mom, I’m gay.” I’d known for a couple of years that Chris
was gay, but I figured he’d tell me when he was ready, so I didn’t push. Bisexual
never entered my mind. The only thing I could think to say at that point was,
“Well, Chris, you have a 50 percent greater chance of a date on Saturday
night.”
The tension that had held him its grip
released suddenly. He let out a breath that he’d been holding and stared at me
for a long moment with a confused look on his face. Then he started laughing so
hard his face turned purple and tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a few
minutes all he could do was laugh. Some of it was a release of nervous tension.
I knew that a part of him had been expecting me react badly and disown him or
something. Another part of him was
probably reacting to the absurdity of my comment. His laughter was infectious though, and soon
I was laughing so hard that I had tears rolling down my face too.
I’m not sure how long we sat there
laughing like fools. The fireflies had gone home and the cricket’s chirps had
segued into frog’s croaking. Dusk was nearly over and full dark wasn’t far off.
We sat quietly, spent after our outburst of laughter. Chris reached out his
hand to mine and gently squeezed. Then he said the words that give me the most
joy in life.
“I love you, Mom.”
