2025-07-10, 01:44 PM
For Sören
Yes, parents, it may come as a surprise to you, but I live with both of my parents under the same roof. In this day and age of life partners and blended families, the gentle reader may consider this a luxury, but I personally consider it a violation of the Geneva Conventions, at least in my case.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I like my parents, I probably love them too, but I'm not always so sure about that. They raised me and provided me with everything I needed to live. They gave me a sense of security and were there for me when I needed them.
But there is one topic on which we cannot agree: my homosexuality.
In mathematics, one would look for the least common multiple, but this search is not so easy with my parents. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack – only the haystack is about the size of the island of Greenland.
The problem started with my coming out.
Strengthened by the good results of my best friend Christ - Christ not Chris! - with his coming out to his Buddhist New Age parents, I thought to myself: you will do the same.
So one fine evening I went down to the living room to see my parents.
“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you.”
“Just a minute, honey, Lindenstraße is almost over.”
So, now I was standing in the living room, brand “oak rustic”, as ordered and not picked up. My heart was beating up to my throat and I felt sick. To make matters worse, I had massive flatulence and I tried not to remodel the living room brand “oak rustic” into “forecourt to hell”.
On TV, the concerns and needs of the residents of a well-known street in Germany were discussed. Georg Uecker, alias Dr. Carsten Flöter, just kissed his TV partner Käthe, then: the final melody. My parents show no reaction. Neither a positive nor a negative one. A good sign, I think to myself secretly.
The melody fades away. Dad turns off the TV. I take a deep breath.
“Mom, Dad, I'm gay.”
A moment of silence.
“But honey, you can't just tell us like that.”
I was stunned. I can't just tell them that?
“You don't know that yet. You're just disappointed because you haven't found a girl yet. But that's not why you become gay.”
I took a deep breath. I was shocked. So, please, I don't know whether I'm gay or not? I... But there was more:
“Or did Christian touch you? With his parents and that terrible cult they're part of, it's no wonder.”
I was speechless.
“First of all, it's Christ, not Christian, I've told you that a thousand times, and secondly, their parents aren't in some kind of cult, they're Buddhists.”
My mother looked at me sympathetically.
I felt that I would not be able to control myself for much longer.
“I'm leaving.”
My mother nodded in her inimitable way, twisting the corner of her mouth so that she looked particularly compassionate.
“Yes, darling, do that. And think again. It can't be like that, you're not gay.”
I fled the room. Otherwise, I would probably have been in all the newspapers the next morning: “Homosexual son strangles parents with bare hands.”
I tried to talk to my parents about it several more times, but always with the same result:
“It's just a phase.”
“Wait until you meet a girl.”
“Have you ever been with a man? No? So, you can't know.”
When they realized that these arguments were not falling on fertile ground with me, they brought up the big guns:
“What did we do wrong?”
“You don't want us to have grandchildren?”
“What did we do to deserve this?”
Yes, parents, it may come as a surprise to you, but I live with both of my parents under the same roof. In this day and age of life partners and blended families, the gentle reader may consider this a luxury, but I personally consider it a violation of the Geneva Conventions, at least in my case.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I like my parents, I probably love them too, but I'm not always so sure about that. They raised me and provided me with everything I needed to live. They gave me a sense of security and were there for me when I needed them.
But there is one topic on which we cannot agree: my homosexuality.
In mathematics, one would look for the least common multiple, but this search is not so easy with my parents. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack – only the haystack is about the size of the island of Greenland.
The problem started with my coming out.
Strengthened by the good results of my best friend Christ - Christ not Chris! - with his coming out to his Buddhist New Age parents, I thought to myself: you will do the same.
So one fine evening I went down to the living room to see my parents.
“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you.”
“Just a minute, honey, Lindenstraße is almost over.”
So, now I was standing in the living room, brand “oak rustic”, as ordered and not picked up. My heart was beating up to my throat and I felt sick. To make matters worse, I had massive flatulence and I tried not to remodel the living room brand “oak rustic” into “forecourt to hell”.
On TV, the concerns and needs of the residents of a well-known street in Germany were discussed. Georg Uecker, alias Dr. Carsten Flöter, just kissed his TV partner Käthe, then: the final melody. My parents show no reaction. Neither a positive nor a negative one. A good sign, I think to myself secretly.
The melody fades away. Dad turns off the TV. I take a deep breath.
“Mom, Dad, I'm gay.”
A moment of silence.
“But honey, you can't just tell us like that.”
I was stunned. I can't just tell them that?
“You don't know that yet. You're just disappointed because you haven't found a girl yet. But that's not why you become gay.”
I took a deep breath. I was shocked. So, please, I don't know whether I'm gay or not? I... But there was more:
“Or did Christian touch you? With his parents and that terrible cult they're part of, it's no wonder.”
I was speechless.
“First of all, it's Christ, not Christian, I've told you that a thousand times, and secondly, their parents aren't in some kind of cult, they're Buddhists.”
My mother looked at me sympathetically.
I felt that I would not be able to control myself for much longer.
“I'm leaving.”
My mother nodded in her inimitable way, twisting the corner of her mouth so that she looked particularly compassionate.
“Yes, darling, do that. And think again. It can't be like that, you're not gay.”
I fled the room. Otherwise, I would probably have been in all the newspapers the next morning: “Homosexual son strangles parents with bare hands.”
I tried to talk to my parents about it several more times, but always with the same result:
“It's just a phase.”
“Wait until you meet a girl.”
“Have you ever been with a man? No? So, you can't know.”
When they realized that these arguments were not falling on fertile ground with me, they brought up the big guns:
“What did we do wrong?”
“You don't want us to have grandchildren?”
“What did we do to deserve this?”