November 12, 2009 6:30pm
I had a thought while I was downstairs, and I’m so glad that I remembered to get it out once I sat back down here. I have been meaning to go over this for quite some time, and I keep saying I’m going to mention it to Pastor, but I never manage to remember. Every once in a while, I get a flash of memory of what it was like when I first met Cody and came out of the closet. In fact, the very night that I came out to my parents is a prime example of what I want to talk about.
When I came out to mom and dad, let’s just say it didn’t go so well. We didn’t get too heated that night that I recall (although there were a couple of occasions shortly after that were), but it didn’t really go all that well either. I was upset and needed to talk to someone when I got home from my parents. I had told Cody earlier that afternoon that I was planning to come out to my parents, and he made it clear that I could call him to talk if I needed to. Well, did I ever need to talk to him. The problem was, I kept calling and calling his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. This would be the first of many, many occasions where I felt that I was being punished for being gay.
Cody and I had only been dating for about three or four weeks when this happened, and I remember to this day when I call Cody or give someone those numbers that the reason I memorized his home and cell phone numbers was because I spent so much time franticly dialing and redialing them. I remember a nasty storm, but I can’t be certain of it now; I think that my memory may have added that in over time to color the tale.
At any rate, I was trying desperately to contact Cody to no avail. He just wasn’t answering. So my mind, raised on fundamentalist Christian fire and brimstone, immediately went ape shit. This was my penance. I had called down the wrath of God upon the both of us for daring to walk willingly into a homosexual relationship. I feared the worst had happened to Cody. He wasn’t answering his phones because he had been killed in an accident. He had fallen off the side of the building at work. He had been struck down by a heart attack or a stroke. All because I came out to mom and dad.
It was not a pleasant way to spend the evening, I assure you.
As it turned out, Cody wasn’t home, so there was obviously no way he could have answered the home phone. He had gone for a motorcycle ride to his friend Paul’s house and he left his cell phone in his jacket pocket, and his jacket was in the driveway draped over the seat of his bike. No fire and brimstone. No heart attack. Just an everyday, run of the mill, simple explanation. Yet my mind, having been trained to think that homosexuals were the epitome of sin for 23 years, simply took off chasing rabbits every which way except the one that ended in truth.
There were so many occasions, particularly that summer, that something would trigger those horrible thoughts of God’s punishment. I would be driving the 90 mile journey to see Cody in a hellacious downpour with horrible winds, and my mind of course told me that God had sent the storm because I was going to see Cody.
There would be a terrible thunderstorm, and as I looked out Cody’s kitchen window, I was sure that God was going to send the huge oak tree in the back yard crashing through the back of the house, crushing everything in its path, including us.
It was like I was Charlie Brown with the rain cloud over my head. Only this was no ordinary rain cloud: this was the wrath of an angry, vengeful God. It was rough to say the least.
I’m exhausted, and I need a shower.