My father is gay. My journey with him

Testimonianza di Wes J. Pimentel  tratta dal sito HubPages (USA), 23 marzo 2009, liberamente tradotta da Adriano C.

My father is homosexual. This is the story of how I discovered it, of the emotions that I felt at that moment and of those I tried later.
I would then like to share some anecdotes with you and end up with a little light gay humor.

My parents divorced when I was two. I have some faded memory of all of us who lived in the same apartment, but they are mostly images disconnected from each other.

All I know about my father I practically learned it in the post-Divorce period.

During my childhood, my brother and I lived with my mother from Monday to Friday, as we went to school. We then spent the weekends with my father.

It has always been a prominent figure in my life and in fact I have never experienced the emotional trauma commonly attributed to growing in a "divided family".

So it was that, on a bright sunny day, my father took his children and brought them to the beach.

Normally, when you go to the sea, you walk back and forth for a while up or down the shore in search of a good place.

On the other hand, that day we headed laterally keeping the water on the left and we walked to the most remote part of the coast.

I did not notice it at the moment, but we headed towards a point where there were no families, and I certainly had no idea how, what would happen after, would have had weight on the rest of my life.

My father's choice on the destination of that day had not aroused my curiosity at that time, because we have always considered it a little eccentric. It was a normal thing, as always.

After a little good cheerfulness Marina, my father decided to lie down to sunbathe while his children played on the beach.

It seemed that Dad had fallen asleep. However, while my brother and I were occupied with the sand, we were distracted by what happened on a beach towel, relatively close to ours.

There were two young men on that towel. One was very pale, the other instead very dark skin.

They were both shaved. One was lying on the other and they were kissing passionately.

I was ten years old at that time and my brother was twelve. When they come across situations like this, many guys from our age would have done exactly what we did.

We immediately began to express our repulsion saying: "Hey! Look at those fags !!" And "Blach, what a disgust!".

We continued like this for a while until my father showed us that he was actually sleeping.

He was always lying on his back and without looking at what the two boys were doing, he had turned his head towards us and said to us: "Hey, guys, you shouldn't tell people similar words. You don't know those guys and you are insulting them without even knowing anything about them".

My brother and I was stunned. Until then I had never heard a straight man who defended homosexuals. I was out of me from amazement.

From that instant my brain began to elaborate any significant information on my father and that until then I had filed.

My father kissed all his male friends on the cheek, they were mostly celibate men, friends without wife and children; He never talked about sports or machines or "getting a girl"; His apartment was wonderful and fantastically furnished; He liked music, art, food and culture; He shared his two -room apartment with another man and had only one bedroom.

Oh ... my ... God. All the jokes that my uncles did, that I did not understand, on the fact that we had two mothers, etc., they returned to me at that moment.

Pianino I came out of my torpor, we were on the road back from the beach.

I held my dad's hand. I looked at him and asked him: "Popes, are you gay?" To the question he replied: "Yes, they are."

We walked in silence for about five minutes. Then who I asked: "Joseph (dad's roommate at that time) is your boyfriend?"

And he replied: "Yes, it is." I felt the feeling that that beach towel had uncovered my entire life.

I don't remember anything about what happened when we returned to his apartment. Faithful to his character, Dad was ready for the situation.

He sat on the bed and turned on a video. I say faithful to his character because he grows, every time I had a real question, he used to deliver me an artico or a book or movie, closely related to the topic in question.

It was annoyingly didactic. However, he had recorded a documentary on homosexual parents from television. It was tremendously poor, but it was exactly what I needed.

I needed to know that I was not the only son who had happened that matter and that my father was not a slum phenomenon.

Well, when I then returned to my grandmother's house surrounded by all my uncles and my mother, things changed.

Tolerance was transformed into deep reflection, which then became disgust, which originated resentment and Rabba.

I told myself that dad was wrong. I began to study the way of being able to tell him that I no longer wanted him as a father.

I practically divorced my father for a week until the time came to see him again.

The next time we had to return to him, the only feeling I felt was a deep love and affection that I had never tried for anyone on earth. I have never tried to make that speech.

In fact, I felt horrible for having even considered it.

My resentment and anger were immensely redirected against all those who had taken a game of him in my family in front of us, without telling us what those jokes meant.

I felt betrayed by the people I had more confidence. I felt my closest father than ever.

The nineteen years following this accident were filled only by the joy that came from my father.

I am really lucky to have lived the rare experience of having a homosexual parent.

My father has always been present for us and it was a model of how a father should be after divorce.

I have always said that I would not have exchanged it with anyone else, even with a straight version of himself. The fact that it is homosexual adds only the best to my life and I don't want it in another way.

I remember that once he invited me to the "parade" with him (the parade of gay pride).

I accepted and reached it in his apartment in the center. He did not come to the door, he shouted to enter. It was changing or something.

However, I entered and said to me: "I have one thing for you you have to wear." I thought "fig!" Because his taste in clothes is exceptional and although he is twice my age, his clothes are increasingly fashionable than mine.

He said to me, "It's on the sofa." I entered the room and was there ... in full light; A simple, white, adhering cannot just left the package. Above with an orange marker he had scribbled the phrase "I am proud of my gay dad".

The writing was not centered, it was made good. He had to have had a kind of sudden delirium.

Dad I enter the room and said to me: "wear it". I replied: "Popes, I love you, I am proud of you, but I have absolutely no intention of putting myself on that deal".

With his best voice from "I'm-the-to-Papà-Che-Disapprova" said only "Wesley!" Needless to say, I didn't wear that fucking shirt.

So it is. I have a great dad. I know there are a lot of people in the world who do not agree on homosexual parents because they think they are not a good example for their children.

In the first instance, sexuality cannot be labeled as right or wrong, unless it hurts someone.

As for the "example", if you have not yet understood, sexual orientation is something that cannot be taught.

Where do you think the homosexuals arrive?

Having a gay father taught me to be welcoming, tolerant, flexible and mentally open.

For all of you, right "good Christian" who believe that Jesus wants to condemn homosexual people, read Matteo 9:13, or 5:10.

According to Jesus Christ, if you persecute gays because of justice, they guarantee them paradise. So thanks.

Anyway, I like to say to dad that comes from the north coast of Faghdad [game of words between Baghdad and fagot-pap].

I think it's fun.

Original text: My Dad's in Homo