Get Out!

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to sit his parents down and tell them that he is gay-

Unless of course he happens to be straight-

Which I am not-

So what I’m trying to say is that I had to sit my parents down and tell them that I’m gay-
Because I’m gay.

Ok, I’m glad that I straightened that out.

Considering my current mental state I feel that I should warn you, it is highly likely that this story will be completely incoherent. So if you intend to read on might I suggest a comfortable chair and a bottle of vodka to wash down the out of date prescription painkillers that will be necessary to complete the arduous task of sifting though the scattered contents of my brain.

I’ve been avoiding the awkward coming out conversation for a while now. In actual terms: a while = 6 years. My family has always been a magnet for melodrama, much like the unfortunate Salinger family from 90’s TV classic ‘Party of Five’ who just couldn’t seem to last one week without someone getting pregnant out of wedlock or careering their car through a crowd of innocent bystanders while driving drunk because they needed to drink away the pain caused by discovering that their sibling has a terminal illness - needless to say, I always found it easy to convince myself that it was in the best interest of my family to postpone coming out until the current melodrama had settled down. Fortunately the last six years have been very unsettled. Every time things looked like they were settling down another family drama would arise just as I began to seriously consider coming out.

Then on Saturday morning I suddenly realised, my family wasn’t in the midst of turmoil, and after all these years of always having the perfect excuse to stay in the closet I couldn’t think of any legitimate reasons to hide the truth anymore. Shortly after making this realisation I seriously contemplated setting fire to the house, one last drama to delay the inevitable, but then I thought about all the clothes in my wardrobe that I would be sacrificing and I just couldn’t do it.

All the turmoil associated with my sisters wedding had died down and my parents had stopped having constant conversations about guest lists, the cost of sugared almonds and the frightening possibility of a bloody- no holds barred- knife fight breaking out between my Nonna and Nanna at the reception. In the wake of the wedding my family actually seemed to have become closer, we were all voluntarily spending more time together, my sister and her new husband seemed blissfully happy, my parents were proud of us all, and I was starting to forgive my brother for behaving like an insensitive redneck while we were in America. So if ever there was a time when they could deal with my announcement this would be it.

I was having an impromptu breakfast with Mona, my best friend and partner in insanity. While I attempted to eat a bland deep fried orange substance that was imitating the hash browns I had ordered we discussed coming out to my family- it was the same conversation we had been having for the past 5 years but today it felt different, instead of having butterflies in my stomach it felt like there was an ecstasy fuelled rave going on in there. I returned home to find mum sitting at the kitchen bench, I made an extra strong cup of coffee and drank half the cup in my first gulp, I was hoping to scald and drown the ravers still partying in my stomach.
As I sat down across from her I wondered if in some way she could predict what was coming, or would my announcement be a complete surprise. We talked for an hour about the usual stuff, my brother and sisters lives, Nonna’s health problems, and peace in the Middle East. I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t be able to do it, the prospect of chickening out seemed like a great idea. Then I made a comment about how despite the fact that I’m 23 years old I still feel like a kid. Mum innocently asked,

‘Do you feel like that because you don’t have a partner?’

I answered, ‘Yeah, partly’.

My brain began to race, I was not concerned with the actual question, and rather I was fixated on her use of the word partner. Why didn’t she say girlfriend? Did she already know that I was gay? Is this her way of letting me know that she is ok with me being gay? Was I reading too much into everything? There was an awkward silence.

I opened my mouth to speak buy nothing came out- pardon the horrible pun.

I tried again, this time I managed three words.

‘Mum. I’m gay.’

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hugged me- she didn’t want me to see her cry.

I had always imagined that in this moment I would be crying uncontrollably, I wasn’t. I was very calm and still, I can remember thinking to myself, ‘You should be crying right now.’
The conversation that followed was as I expected it to be, Mum really wanted me to know that she loved me. She had suspected on occasion that I might be gay but never given it any real thought because she didn’t want it to be true. She said that she would never have chosen this life for me and went on to say that it was going to take her some time to adjust. I could tell that she was devastated and even a little bit scared, but everything she did and said showed that she was trying to make the situation easy for me. Just as mum stopped crying my sister arrived for a surprise visit. Good timing sis.

I had already told my brother that I was gay shortly before we went overseas. He took it well, but considering his visible discomfort upon hearing the word ‘gay’ I don’t think he’ll be attending Mardi Gras anytime soon. So now I was faced with the less than exciting task of giving the ‘Guess what? I’m Gay!’ speech to my sister, then I would have to perform a final encore for my father later on. I was tired just thinking about it, however, in another brilliantly timed entrance, my father walked through the door.

SCENE 2: KITCHEN CONVERSATION INTERIOR - KITCHEN

Four family members sit around the kitchen bench. The mother has obviously just been crying. The (devastatingly handsome) son sits silently his gaze fixed on a blank wall to his right. The father sits opposite his wife and son- looking confused, he realises something is amiss. The daughter rambles on unaware of any disturbance.

DAUGHTER: (Speaks quickly) We had such a good time. We were so happy to see everyone there, it seemed like everyone had a really good time. I hope everyone had a good time. Did everyone tell you they had a good time?

FATHER: …

MOTHER: Ok. (Sombre tone) Sorry to interrupt, but while you are both here Michael and I, I mean Michael, has something he wants to tell you.

SON: Ok. Well. This is hard to say. (Pause) I’ve been adopted by Angelina Jolie.

I’m not making it up. That is exactly what happened. Mum had given me a none to subtle push, much like Elaine used to shove Seinfeld as she barked the words, ‘Get out!’. I knew she wanted me to tell them I was gay, but I just thought I’d lighten the mood a little; she didn’t appreciate my comic timing. Abandoning what I thought was a hilarious joke I went on to tell Dad and my sister that I’m gay, they reacted similarly to my mother. I went back into a state of shock and let them say all the things they needed to, interrupting occasionally to remind them that I was still the same person, I wanted them to know that everything they knew about me was still true, and I had not been harbouring a secret gay personality they were unaware of. I was not about to come to dinner wearing a full face of makeup and a miniskirt- although I do have great legs for it.

Since coming out my whole family has been fantastic, constantly making an effort to show their love and support for me. I have to consider myself lucky, though they are watching me a little more closely these days and I often see sadness in their eyes I know that through it all they are trying to do the right thing by me, and that is a great feeling. Now all I have to do is endure thousands of questions and awkward conversations without getting too defensive.
On Sunday morning Mum named practically every one of my friends and asked if they were gay and Dad decided to raise the topic of AIDS over breakfast. I just reminded myself that it’s going to take some time for them to adjust and get all those questions and conversations out of their system. After all- they are trying to do the right thing and its ok, I can get used to having vodka and orange juice with my toast.

Congratulations, you made it to the end of this massive post.

Here is a completely unrelated photo of me in New York. I was sad because my coffee was empty.

It was a really good coffee.

At Least I'm Not Drinking

I spent my day keeping busy, so I didn’t have to think about thinking.

Then the random soundtrack of my life, provided by my trusty iFriend, offered up its first song for the evening, and it seemed alarmingly relevant.

I had just slipped beneath the sheets and selected ‘Shuffle Songs’ on my iPod, hopeful that a few quick tunes would help me descend into a coma like sleep. This was to be the final step in my well executed plan to avoid spending any time alone with my thoughts. It didn't work.

Instead, all the thoughts I had been trying to avoid were provoked.

Of all the songs in my collection…

Amy Winehouse - Wake Up Alone

It’s ok in the day,
I’m staying busy,
Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder where is he.
Got so sick of crying,
So just lately,
When I catch myself I do a 180.
I stay up clean the house; at least I’m not drinking,
Run around just so I don’t have to think about thinking.
That silent sense of content that everyone gets,
Just disappears as soon as the sun sets.

I know my clichéd middle of the night melancholy will probably seem ridiculous in the morning, but I wanted to document this moment for a reason. Despite how embarrassed we may all be to admit it, a simple song played at the right moment has the power to make people feel like it was written just for them. Thinking logically we know that the song was probably written as a result of someone else’s very personal experience, and that countless other people may be having the exact same feeling about the song- but in the moment it’s our song, no matter how irrational that may be.

I’m completely rational, ‘Wake Up Alone’ was written just for me.

I’m off to scrub the bathroom tiles.

Hey Amy- can I get some royalties?

Kick Her In The Face

Apparently there is a drought or something at the moment. The farmers seem to be really upset. The honorable premier of Victoria, Stevie B, is urging us all to conserve water by showering in groups of three. I think we’re only allowed to water our gardens on the 5th Sunday of every second month, and I’m sure I heard someone suggest that we should all brush our teeth with left over ‘Egg Flip’ flavored Big M from 1993, because lets face it- no one bought that shit.

Although I was probably the last person in the greater Melbourne area to admit there is a severe water shortage I have recently joined the hoards of other Melbournians praying for rain. I’ve always been fiercely proud of Melbourne and seeing so many of our beautiful parks and gardens turn brown was the catalyst for my sudden environmental concern. So much so that in recent weeks my prayers for rain have turned into a fully choreographed rain dance, I keep expecting to see Daryl Somers approaching me with a bejeweled microphone in hand.

Like a lot of people I’ve been watching the nightly news, listening to endless promises of rain and looking up at the sky waiting for the downpour. Despite the false hope provided by those few brief showers we’ve experienced recently I remain melancholy, wishing and waiting for some rain. So it may come as a surprise to know that today during the few brief moments when the sky’s opened up and gave the CBD some mush needed moisture I was not rejoicing in the streets and hugging my fellow dancers, I was starring up towards the sky, screaming profanities at the rain…

What began as a simple trip into to the city to sort out some minor enrollment issues at university quickly turned into a cross country walking event worthy of a Commonwealth Games bronze medal, (I’m trying not to exaggerate.) I was experiencing what I call ‘Administrative Redirection,’ this occurs when office administrators, paid to carry out extremely difficult tasks like stamping forms, redirect you from one office to another because they are incapable of answering a question without involving six other admin workers. It was on my third trip from the Bourke Street campus to the Cardigan Street Campus that the rain began to fall.

By this stage I was somewhat tired and aggravated as a result of all the ‘Administrative Redirection’. I was hastily rushing across Bourke Street, eager to get back to see Carmen in the Cardigan Street admin office so I could kick her in the face for making me run back and forwards all afternoon. I hadn’t really noticed the rain, until I placed my right foot on a metal drain cover which was now glistening with its fresh layer of rain droplets.

Can you see where this is going?

I slipped.

My entire body was airborne for what felt like 10 seconds. Then I hit the pavement like a load of bricks- a load of bricks wearing really expensive jeans.

The embarrassment of situations like this usually prompts the adrenaline to kick in so you can get up and walk away quickly. Pretending nothing has happened despite the fact that you have immense pain shooting up your spine and half of the Bourke Street Mall is pointing and laughing at you. In this instance I laid on the ground for a few moments, oblivious to everything around me, every thing except the rain. In a moment of sheer insanity I laid there in the street, looked up into the clouds and screamed profanities at the rain.

Almost instantly the rain stopped, I can’t help but feel responsible. I haven’t been able to shake my guilt or the debilitating pain in my back, all day. So it’s back to praying and dancing for me, feel free to join in.

Five, six, seven, eight...

GRAPHIC REPRESENTATION OF PLANNED ATTACK:

Me: Violent Yellow Kicker

Carmen: Unconscious Blue Victim