• Giorgio Franchetti Pardo
  • July 12, 2019

It was three days before Christmas. The year was 2016. I was 25 years old. Only my mom and I were home as she was beginning to set the dining room table for Christmas dinner. I was sitting on our living room couch, the television was off. No music was playing. Only the lights of the Christmas tree and decorations illuminated the house. I was trembling and had a shortness of breath. My palms were sweating as I sat in the other room because I knew this was going to be it; the next time my mom entered the dining room and my line of vision I was finally going to reveal the biggest secret of my life. Sure enough, seconds later, my mom entered the dining room with a stack of plates ready to be set. I got up and shuffled closer to her; what was maybe three steps honestly felt like a mile. “I have a question” I asked my mother. She says okay. For context, my brother has struggled with substance abuse, so when I asked my mom if she would ever stop loving him for all of the trouble he has caused, her immediate reaction was to proclaim “of course not” in a tone that implied “why would you think that?!” At that point, my lips began to quiver, my body was shaking, I took a deep breath and I went for it. The flood gates opened and tears immediately began to pour from my eyes. “So would you ever stop loving me if I told you I was gay?” I muttered out the sentence, partially with shame, almost unable to be understood with how much I was crying. My mom, the angel she is, came closer, put her hand behind my head and held me closer. “Oh honey” she proclaimed again with emotion, “I have been waiting for this day!” Though I was still uncontrollably sobbing on my mother’s shoulder, I let out a chuckle. I knew at that moment, the bandaid had been ripped off and I did what I had to do. There was no yelling. No claims of shame. Best of all, there were no more feelings of guilt from me. Minutes later my father got home and saw me sobbing to my mother. At first my mother told him to go upstairs and that she was handling it. After another five minutes of calming me down she said to me “you need to tell your father.” As every gay knows, you have to come out multiple times in your life so here was my first second time.My dad met me in my room. He sat next to me on my bed and I muttered to him “I told mom I was gay.” My father, after taking a small pause, said “okay. And if that’s what makes you happy then I’m happy.” Then he gave me a hug. I was so nervous that day. So afraid to confirm what I suspected my family had already known for years. The reaction, the result, the finale was the total opposite of what I (foolishly) thought. My family still loved me. They still considered me their son. They didn’t think I was defected. Though I may not have been completely ready that day, I regret absolutely nothing and it confirmed I have wonderful and loving parents. 

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