His face. It tore me apart. But I wasn’t ready to forgive. And I certainly didn’t like him bringing Mom into this. This was about him, not Mom. Or was it still about me, and was I trying to, once again, deflect? If I’d let go. If I’d listen to him. If I’d tell him.
“No, your mom didn’t drive me to men, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve realized I was always that way, always searching, always looking for fulfillment. I just realized it too late.”
I know just how you’re feeling. Why couldn’t you have seen it in me? Why couldn’t you have given me a gentle hand? A word of experience? Anything that would have helped me?
But I didn’t speak those words. Instead I latched on to his final statement.
“Too late? Why? Because you were already saddled with a kid, and that would cramp your style?” Hurt can make you say things you don’t believe.
“Just hear me out, Jake-O.” The depth of feeling in his face was melting me, and his pet name for me almost finished the job. “By then,” he continued, “I had a wife I loved, a wife that I hurt very much. But in a way, it wasn’t too late because I also had you… the most wonderful gift that God or whoever controls this universe could give me. If your mom and I hadn’t been together, there would have been no you, and that would have been a grievous loss for me, for your mom, for the world. I’ve always tried to treat you like you were a precious gift.”
He cleared his throat of all the emotion that had built up. I could see another big reveal in his eyes.
“That’s why I moved away from Houston. It tore my heart out to leave you, but I knew I had to be true to myself as well. And you were much too young to understand. So—a coward—I left. Oh, leaving made me grow. I became a secure, proud gay man.”
I was beyond understanding that last. Why is pride so important? Especially if that pride destroys the people you supposedly love.
“But, over the years, I’ve seen how much I gave up as well. I gained a sense of who I am, and I’m proud of that. Everyone should take pride in themselves. But I realized that I sacrificed far more than I gained. I missed so much of your life. I couldn’t be there for everything. I tried, but there is only so much a dad can do via email, phone calls, Skype, and occasional flights.
“Jake, you grew to be a man, and I wasn’t there. It hurt me. It ripped my heart out when I thought about it.”
I saw the tear. My heart was breaking for him, but I willed myself not to follow with one of my own.
“So, this summer, I decided to do something about it. This summer, I was going to be honest with you. Spill my guts. My son would finally and completely know me. Let the cards lie where they may. But, you know, that is harder than it sounds. How do you tell your grown son—your heterosexual son—that his father is gay?”
Heterosexual? Should I laugh? Or should I do a bit of truth telling of my own?
He stood and walked over to the glass doors overlooking the harbor and stared out. The quiet was palpable.
For a moment I thought, Maybe he wants me to answer that question, to absolve him of all his guilt. The still air hung in the room. My mind raced. Or maybe I should come out to him, like he’s just come out to me. Maybe he could help me.
He’d spilled his guts. Been more honest with me than he’d been in forever. I had the answer I’d sought for the past several months. This courageous confession told me everything. The least I could do was let him know he was not alone in this family, that he wasn’t the only one.
But I couldn’t do it. I made up my mind long ago. My resolve not to speak strengthened. All I could picture was my dad helping me navigate these choppy waters, leading to my getting kicked out of school, and thus off the team. That’s where my mind went, instead of what Mal would have said, Tell him.
He turned.
“I’m still the man you’ve always thought I was. I’ve just added another layer for you to get to know. I know right now….” He paused. “Right now, you think that being gay is wrong.” Not really, Dad. Just wrong for me. The thought seemed foreign. Did I believe it? I was letting myself accept him, but accepting myself? I didn’t know if I could do that. “But, like I’ve tried to say these last few days, in words and in actions, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just another way of looking at life.
“I can answer any questions you have. In fact, I want to answer any and all questions you ask. I hope that the rest of the trip can be as I envisioned it, a kind of journey into fully knowing each other. No holds barred. What do you say, Jake-O? Can that happen?”
Fully knowing each other? I was not ready for that.
He’d had his secret. I would keep mine. That’s the least he deserved.
I stood. He took a step toward me, a look of hope on his face.
I turned and strode to my room.
He couldn’t fix it now. It was too broken.
Chapter 12
I WANTED to bolt again—I wanted to get away. But what could I do? I didn’t have enough money to get home. My return ticket wasn’t for several days, leaving from Philadelphia. And a ticket from Halifax to Houston would cost a fortune. I was not going to ask him to buy it for me. I would never ask him for another dime. I’d treated him like he was shit, and I could no longer ask him for anything.
Thank God we had a suite. There was no way I could have spent the night in the same bedroom with him.
The minute I fell onto the bed, I started sobbing. I held the pillow to my face to muffle the sounds. I didn’t know why I cried. My brain was numb. I couldn’t stop crying, but the next thing I knew the sun was coming through the windows, so I guess sleep came despite my tears.
I awoke confused. Why was I in the clothes I wore the day before? What day was it? Why did I feel like shit? Then it all rushed back. My dad was gay. He’d kept that from me. I was gay. I kept that from him. But that was okay because he deserved it for lying to me. I wanted out of there. I wanted, no needed, to get home to Houston as soon as possible. I wanted Mal or Mom or just a familiarity in my life. Anything to put me back on track. But I was stuck in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, with a liar.
And, just to prolong the agony, there was still a whole Sunday before we could get back to the States. He had promised only two days in Halifax, but at the ferry office in Portland, Dad reserved the return trip for Monday. Maybe he thought we’d be Pride-partying all night Saturday. I almost threw up at that thought. Ugh. For whatever reason of Dad’s—and I had quit trying to figure him out—I was a prisoner in Halifax until Monday morning.
I lay in bed as long as I could stand it, but the restlessness of thinking did me in. I got up and took a shower and dressed.
I opened the door only a tiny wedge and peeked out. Dad sat, reading a newspaper. I’d hoped he’d be out, but there he was, and I was trapped. I could either sit in my room and stew, or I could face him. I chose to face him, and I crept out into the room.
He looked up from his paper but said nothing.
Sunday morning passed. We had breakfast in the room, neither of us eating very much. Dad went out for a further Titanic fix, and I didn’t ask him where exactly he was going. I found a game on the TV, so I tried to forget myself for a while.
But nothing distracted me. I kept thinking, “How could he lie to me like that?” and “How could he keep such a monumental thing from me?” I tried desperately to concentrate on the TV, especially when my mind wandered to visions of Dad and some man together. Hell, for all I knew, that’s what he was doing at that very minute, the liar.
Then I wallowed in grief for even thinking that. My father was an upstanding man. If he said he was sightseeing, then that’s what he was doing. I knew him well enough that if there was anything Titanic left to see, he wanted to squeeze it in.
He may have been gay, but he wasn’t the type to pick up some stranger in a bar. He’s too classy for that.
If I’d let myself think about it, the real reason he’d left would have come to me. He wanted to get away from me. I was unbearable, and h
e needed space. But again, blaming myself was not an option. Instead, I latched back on to that “Dad and a hookup in a bar” crap I was clinging to. And then the roller coaster car swooped back down. Highs and lows, highs and lows.
I tried to banish the guilt I felt knowing I was condemning my father for something that was in me too.
Lunchtime came, and he still wasn’t back. I had absolutely no desire for food, but I dialed room service anyway. My sandwich was delivered by the same waiter who’d brought our breakfast. He brought the tray into the room and set it down on the table.
“One ham and swiss on rye with hot mustard,” he said, a smile flashing across his face. He was probably my age or thereabouts. His smile gleamed, lighting up a face that was framed with blond, spiky hair.
“Sign, if you would, please.” He thrust the check at me. “So you’re all alone on this sunny Sunday? If I weren’t working, I’d be taking advantage of this great weather.”
“Well, I don’t really know anyone here. And I’m happy just to stay in and watch the tube.”
“Leaving tomorrow, huh?” He took the ticket from me.
I wondered how he knew that. Then I remembered he worked here, at Dad’s hotel. I answered, “Yeah.”
What would he do if I came on to him? Would he be willing, or would he punch my lights out? And why was I thinking of such a thing after all I’d been through? But I was thinking just that—I was turned on by him, and I wanted to finally act on my urges, just to feel whole. If I finally had gay sex, if I confessed to Dad, if I told him that we were alike, he and I, then maybe I’d finally feel whole.
“Well, look, I get off at seven. I could show you the town if you want. Lots of great clubs I could get us into.”
I looked into his face. Then it came over me. He was willing.
I clutched his cheeks with both my hands, drew his face toward me. I thrust my tongue through his closed lips. Held on to him while I gave him a probing kiss. This was what I was about, right? He was willing; I was willing. Just two gay guys, having a good time.
“Look, man.” Struggling out of my lip-lock, he pushed me, hard. “I’m not like that.”
I was horrified. What had I done? “Sorry, sorry.” I was frantic. What had I done? Now my dad would know. I had to convince him to keep quiet. “Please don’t tell my dad,” I begged.
“Look, guy. Everybody does stupid stuff at least once. Let this be your one stupid-stuff thing. I’m saving mine. I’m not about to tell Mr. Hardy and lose my job. I’m not that stupid.”
I stood there. Relieved. Ashamed. Grateful.
“Just leave the tray outside the door when you’re finished,” he said, coldly, then left.
I collapsed. I sank into the sofa, feeling like I needed nestling, needed mothering, fathering, whatever. I was a fool. I passed sentence on my dad for doing what I just did. And I knew that, unlike me, Dad would never force himself on anyone. It’s not his style.
I picked up the sandwich, hoping eating would force normalcy back into my life. But the bite stuck in my throat.
I tossed the sandwich on the plate, then pushed it away.
I sat, thinking.
Mal said, time and again, “It’s not a choice, it’s something that’s inside of you.” She repeated that mantra each and every time I said something stupid like “Why did I choose to be this way?” Stupid, because I knew it wasn’t a choice. And now I’d learned something new about this. It looked like it ran in families. So it was a gene thing. I’d read it was born in you, and I believed it in theory. Now it was concretely proven.
And I didn’t like it.
I had to get some fresh air. I was burdened by the big revelation and my reaction—forcing myself on the first guy I saw—when I should have been putting my own feelings aside and worrying about my dad. After all, he’d made a big confession, let me into a huge part of his life. I stepped out onto the balcony. I stared at the sky. I saw a plane streak across it. I wanted to be on that plane. I didn’t care where it was going. Anywhere. Just take me away.
Then I wanted to slap myself for thinking that. Why? Why? I had a Dad who had to be in agony, wondering if I would accept him or not.
So he was gay. I had to accept that. But I still felt so angry with the man.
Why? I had accepted he was gay. I even thought I was cool with it. So there had to be a reason I was still angry with him. It had to be that he lied to me. He kept from me something that important. He could have made a big difference in my life if he’d just told me before.
Like last summer. When I first realized I was. I’d had this argument with myself yesterday, and it hadn’t changed anything. Why should I believe it now?
Because yesterday I didn’t want to accept that my dad was gay. I couldn’t deny it any longer. It was an irrefutable fact. My dad liked men.
But he was a liar.
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I took another, and another, and another. My mind was still screaming.
Okay, he’d never lied to me about most things. It seemed crazy, but I really believed that. If he lied to me about the gay thing, it was only because he loved me. Maybe he thought I was too young. Maybe he thought I would think less of him if I knew. Maybe he hadn’t really accepted it himself until now. They say we can’t really face things until we accept them. That’s why he never told me. Why he lied about himself by never confessing. I wanted to believe that so much. I wanted to just run up to him when he came back and chirp, “Oh, Daddy, it’s okay that you love men. And it’s okay that you didn’t tell me about it. I still love you.” Then I could nudge up close to him on the couch and we could watch Le-ho and Red together. Just like old times.
But it wasn’t old times anymore. He’d let me down too many times. “Your mother and I are divorcing, but I’ll still be right here.” Lie. “I’m moving to Philadelphia, but I’ll still be in your life.” Lie. “My job is forcing me to move to Halifax.” Lie. He was trying to get farther away from me. “I’m gay, but that doesn’t change anything.” The biggest lie.
Yeah, right. I’d had enough. I was through with him.
I wanted to just jump off that balcony and end it all. But I looked down, and something deep inside said, “You bozo. Go inside before you hurt yourself. Cut him out of your life, then deal with the rest.” Mal’s voice rang inside me. Except I don’t think she’d tell me to cut him out of my life. No, Mal would want me to embrace this new revelation. I couldn’t, though, I just couldn’t. I saw her disapproving eyes boring a hole into me. Why she stayed around me, I don’t know. I can be stubborn and intractable and ignorant. And she still stays. It’s the bond we formed long ago in the doctor’s waiting room. She saw a need in me, and she vowed to fill that need. And thank God she did, or I might have been a suicide by now—or at least a certified basket case. I love Mal, and she loves me.
Knowing all that, knowing that I should accept the advice Mal would have given me, I refused. I was confused because I knew I loved my dad, and I knew he couldn’t help being gay—just like I couldn’t—and I should cut him slack. But there I was, having had all this dropped on me, and having had almost attacked a waiter because I hated myself, so I was not about to offer the least bit of understanding to a man who lied to me. I was over him. I would continue to deny myself by ignoring my gay dad and thus keep my sanity.
Self-preservation always won. I was glad now I listened to my inner-Mal voice about the “jumping off the balcony” thing. Mom would have said that God talked to me, but somehow, I don’t think God would have called me a bozo. No, that was Mal all the way.
I walked back into the room just as Dad came in. He looked startled to see me, like he was hoping not to have further confrontation.
“Soooo….” He paused. “Are you still not speaking to me?”
The look on his face. For a moment, it destroyed me. Then that self-preservation kicked in.
“No, we can talk. But I don’t want to hear any more of that gay stuff, okay?” Denial—the best way
to handle any problem. My mantra from then on.
“Fine. I can live with that. Tomorrow’s another day.”
I groaned silently. I thought of the long drive from Halifax to Yarmouth tomorrow, the five-plus-hour ferry crossing… how was I going to keep him from spilling his guts to me? And how was I going to keep my guard up? Keep from letting him know about the hell I’d been going through since last summer? Even if I forgave him for this ultimate deception—and that wasn’t likely—my being gay was going to remain my secret. He was not the only one who could play that game.
He shut the door and cautiously walked into the room. “I see you ordered lunch. I’m starving. I should have called. You could have gotten me a sandwich too.”
“You can have that one, if you want. I’m not hungry after all.”
For once he didn’t do the parent thing, asking all sorts of questions like are you okay? and does your stomach hurt? and crap like that. He just sat down and ate my fucking sandwich.
I sat, grabbed the remote, and cranked up the volume.
When he finished, he came over and sat next to me. He still didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word. We just sat and watched TV… a father and son catching a game together… a gay father and his gay son catching a game together.
Chapter 13
WE WERE up at three thirty to catch the ferry in Yarmouth. I would say the drive from Halifax to Yarmouth was the longest of my life, but that came later. Those three hours were a piece of a cake actually. At first, I tried to sleep. Then I pretended to sleep, and when I couldn’t get my eyes to close anymore, I cranked up the radio.
Dad started to talk several times, but I would start singing along with the radio, or I would pretend to nod off again. Sometimes, while I was singing at the top of my lungs, I’d look over at him and smile. I doubt I fooled him at all, but after a while, he didn’t even try to communicate.
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