CHAPTER TEN
I've now fully settled back living at home. I've got myself a new retail job five days a week. It's decent money, the people are nice and it's relatively easy to get to by bus. The company sells lots of lovely clothes as well so the large staff discount has gone down a storm.
This morning, I was relaxing in bed wearing just an old t-shirt and pyjamas bottoms writing my diary entry for the day, when my mum came through the door. I knew it was her before she even entered because she is so much louder than the rest of us going around the house. She always seemed in fully charged mode: cleaning, tidying or making sure we were all OK.
“I've told him!” my mum told me, as she joined me on my bed.
It didn't immediately register with me what she was talking about.
“Your dad! I've told him!”
“What did he say?”
This was last part of the 'coming out' to my immediate family drama. Please let it go well.
“Well, to be honest, Dominic. He didn't say anything.”
“What do you mean he didn't say anything?”
You know what he's like,” she continued. “He can't communicate about things like this like the rest of us.”
“Mum, that's a crap excuse. He's forty odd years old. He's three times older than Abbie and she had an opinion. Where is he now?”
“He's gone to the pub.”
“What a surprise!” I snapped sarcastically.
“Don't be disrespectful about your dad! He obviously doesn't know how to deal with it. He'll come round to the idea. Trust me.”
“Well he needs to show it then. I'm not asking him to love the idea, or even like it. I just want him to say something. He never talks to his own kids about anything of importance.”
“You right, Dominic. I'll speak to him. He's not all bad. He works his fingers to the bone for this family.”
“I know he does, mum. And I really appreciate that side of him. But we all need a dad that we can talk to. I understand he might need to get his head around it. But I need him to come and talk to me and tell me what he's thinking. I deserve that, don't I?”
“Yes you do. I'll talk to him later and get him to come and talk to you. Is that OK?”
“Yes, that's fine. I know what he's like. But he can't bury his head in the sand. This problem won't go away. You know what I've been through. I love him, I just need him to talk to me about it.”
“I will call him and tell him to come home to discuss it.”
“Thanks, mum. Tell him to come to my room.”
Even if he hates the idea of me being gay, I need for him to have an opinion. It really fucks me off that he can't communicate properly with his own children. He even struggles with my mum and they've together nearly twenty-five years. Sometimes I wonder why she is with him. They love each other and he is a great dad in lots of way. He is just so fucking infuriating when it comes to anything important. He's supposed to be the man of the house but he sure doesn't act like it when there's a crisis.
When my sister downed a bottle of vodka and collapsed, it was my mum who took control whilst my dad struggled to cope; when my brother fell off the kitchen table and cracked his forehead wide open, it was my mum to the rescue; and when my cousin jumped over our front garden wall in search of a wayward tennis ball and slipped and broke his arm, my mum rushed to his assistance armed with a huge bag of frozen peas!
Later that evening, my sleep was interrupted by my dad wanting to talk.
“I'm sorry for going to the pub,” he said. “Mum told me that I should have come and spoke to you after she told me you're gay.”
“I'm sorry, son. I struggle with what to say sometimes and don't make a fool of myself or say something offensive. I just needed a pint to think things over.”
I heard the door open and my mum came in and joined us.
“I hope you two are being nice to each other,” she demanded.
“Your mum told me about that stuff I said last Christmas about gay people.”
He looked annoyed with himself.
“That was out of order!” my mum shouted at my dad.
“I know, it was stupid!” he agreed.
He did look remorseful.
“Dad, you need to think before you speak sometimes,” I added.
I respected my dad even more for accepting he was in the wrong. He could have walked away. But he took in on the chin and has tried to change. My mum knew my dad needed to grow up a little as parent and I'm glad I helped that happen. He's not going to become more liberal overnight, but he's willing to try his best because he loves his family more than anything. That is enough for me.
My dad asked to speak to me later that week. I was browsing the TV channels so simply turned the TV on mute with the remote and listened intently.
“Go ahead, dad. What is it?” I said.
“I'm sorry for being a idiot, son.”
“It's OK. You're not an idiot, you're just old-fashioned in your views sometimes.”
“Can I ask you something, son?” he said.
I nodded.
“I'm not really sure how to tell people that I've got a gay son. Like at work or down the pub or with the rest of the family.”
“I understand, dad.”
“I mean some people are very narrow-minded.”
“You mean like you were, dad?”
“Exactly, son. I can't listen to anyone be abusive about one of my kids?”
“You don't have to dad. You don't have to go round telling every one you've got a gay son. But if people ask you something relevant I would appreciate it if you were honest. Is that OK, dad?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thanks. And if anyone is homophobic, do you really want to associate with them?”
“No, I don't Dominic,” he concluded.