ABSTRACT
In my mind, it was really more of a test for them than it was for me; would they be the people whom I had known them to be when I had told them truths in the past? If not, better that I learned it now rather than later, because I knew well enough that my independent streak, my tendency towards being mischievous (nothing serious, but I was always one to push the rules and boundaries) meant that this would not be the greatest challenge I would present to my parents and my family during my lifetime. Remember: this was the 1970s and my parents were in their early fifties, having had me and my brother later in life than was traditional at the time. My parents, understandably, were not happy with the news, but continued to stay focused on the fact that I was their child and that our home was always my home, and that I should never turn away from them or my family. So, over time, we worked through whatever discomfort they had and moved on to have an even more wonderful relationship, one in which I could be open, honest and present with them, or as much as any young person really is with their parents. I was able to involve them with the people whom I loved and whom they came to love too, and not to exclude my family from areas of my life for fear that they would ‘discover’ and disapprove, as I have known others who remained closeted or distant from their families, fearful of their families’ rejection or abandonment.
