Dear FayWhat?! I’ve been a fan of yours for years, so I know you’ll give it to me straight… or, well, you know what I mean. Fifteen years ago, I came out to my parents. No screaming, no slammed doors — but no hugs either. My mom cried, my dad went radio silent for three days, and they even asked if TV had “influenced me.” (Yes, I was binge-watching Queer as Folk, but still.) It took years of awkward small talk and emotional heavy lifting before we got to a good place.
I was the first openly gay person in my family — the icebreaker. Fast forward to last month: my younger brother comes out, and my parents throw him a party. Champagne. Rainbow cake. My mom posts “Love is love” on Facebook. My dad gives a toast. I am happy for him, but wow… they rolled out the rainbow carpet for him, while I got the cold brick wall. He got instant love and all the right words; I got the long road to “okay.”
I know this is the progress I wanted — that whoever came next would have it easier. But it still stings. Like I fought to open the door, and he walked right into applause. Am I terrible for feeling resentful, or just human? — The Icebreaker
