I swear I'm straight...

I’m on a roll,
I’m on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change.

We are standing on the edge.

“Mom, Charlie’s gay, I just saw him watching the Chippendale strippers on television” she shouted this triumphantly, running up the stairs to tell my parents. My sister caught me in the act, one might say, and she relished in the chance to finally be the favorite.

If you are unfamiliar with the Chippendale strippers, well, they are a bunch of naked, muscular men who dance around in pink briefs. I was around nine or ten and quite obsessed with men. My heart leapt as I turned on the television to this day time talk show that was showing these ill-clad men. I remember feeling a surge of shame and excitement at the same time. My whole body flushed, and I knew then and there, I dig guys.

There were many other times when my parents should have clued in. I remember watching a late night movie with the family one night and seeing so many scenes I wanted to revisit, cataloging them in my head, and waiting for everyone to hit the sack. I can’t remember the movie, but I remember we rented a VHS player one right and a whole bunch of movies. The scene I remember was a moderately hairy man, completely naked, legs spread, sat down doing stretches. His arms would stretch out to each foot, and I was completely entranced. It was one of the first times I got to see a naked man. It was wonderful.

When we watched the movie, I delicately hit the “information” button on the VCR remote to see what point in time this event was taking place. I catalogued the movie time in my head, and repeated it over and over again; I memorized it so that I could jump to that scene as soon as the living room was secure.

After the movie was over my sister, mother, and father retired upstairs, and I scrambled to rewind the tape to see this man do his exercises again. I rewound the tape to the point in time, and than hit the slow motion button. All of a sudden I hear my mom yelling out to me from upstairs…”Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” There is no way they could know, how could they know what I’m doing is beyond me.

“Nothing mom, just watching television…” I reply as my face starts turning red, and the thought of being caught is crossing my mind. "I'm just watching some TV."

Than my greedy sister shouts “Why are you watching the movie again, we can see what you’re doing, you're gay!" The VHS player is showing the movie on the TV upstairs. I didn't realize this, but the VCR was linked to all the televisions in the house.

Her raspy voice boomed down the staircase and I could detect a hint of glee in her voice. She always wanted their affection and would stop at nothing to portray me as the undesirable, bad seed.

I remember completely flushing and quickly thinking I replied “I tried to rewind the movie and it got stuck, the remote doesn’t seem to work,” as I scrambled to stop the VCR and remind the movie completely. After my response, there is silence.

I think my parents made great efforts to deny that part of me. They wanted me to be a normal kid. I mean, their boy was a great hockey player, he loved softball, played tennis with his dad, and threw ball in the backyard; how could he be gay? It’s impossible.

Gay boys liked hanging out with their moms, working on the garden, hung out with girls, and had a lisp in their voice. What I had on my side were stereotypes – and no matter how many times they catch me getting off on some gay oriented material, they would never think their son is gay…he just didn’t fit their idea as to what a gay man was.

I’m lucky we had these stereotypes growing up. I mean, I loath them now, but they really did save my ass time and time again.

When I was about six or seven I was a more effeminate kid. In the community where I grew up, we were quite isolated, and I had a speech impediment, so most of the young male kids distance themselves from me. My only friends when I was younger were my sister and my next door neighbor Christa. I would hang out with them most everyday, and even carry myself in a more girly way.

I had a lot of anxiety from my parents. They already decided what I was going to be, how I should carry myself, and how I was to fit into society. When they noticed I was leaning more toward a less informal style of living, they panicked.

“If he keeps hanging with girls, he’s going to be gay Eric. Oh my God, oh my God, what are we going to do?” I heard this particular shouting match before I even knew I was gay. I was in grade one and they were on to me. I knew that there was something out of whack with me, and my impression was I was becoming a girl, and my parents wanted no part of it.

“There’s nothing I can fucking do about it Meta, for fuck's sake,” dad yelled back. Then whispers. They just realized that I was around, and I probably heard the whole conversation. I was totally encompassed with a feeling of guilt, and the anxiety I have been fighting with my whole life as a teenager was consuming me. They had a way of making me anxious.

This brings me to one of the weirdest moments in my life. They reasoned that if I were exposed to men more, I would no longer be a gay. Shortly after the yelling match they both head downstairs to see me. My mother took the lead, and I could tell that a conspiring was taking place. They had a plan, and I’m sure that it was something totally off the wall. My parents were not worldly, nor did they understand the differences in sexuality and culture. They were isolated Newfoundlanders who only knew the world around me.

“Charlie, your father and I notice that you hang out with girls a lot. We are afraid you’re going to turn into a faggot. The only way we can think of helping you is to put you in a shower with your father….” I screamed “What? How is that going to solve anything?” They were at a loss for answers, but I could see the embarrassment and shame on both of their faces. They didn’t know any better.

I was put in a shower with my dad that afternoon. We were both naked and ashamed; both of us turned away from each other, and hoped that it would soon be over. I remember being red the entire time, and catching glimpses thinking, maybe this is what I need, more exposure, maybe they are right and it will cure my problem.

The only thing it did accomplish was self-actualization. I realized that in order to survive my crazy parents, and battle whatever affliction they think I have, was to conform. I had to be masculine; I had to pretend to at least enjoy the male elements that didn’t bring me joy in life, such as playing trucks and guns with the boys. I had to be one of them, which is the only way I could get my parents off of my back.

I did it. I did it quite well. Before high-school I become a great hockey player, I started to despise my sister – and all women for that matter – and had a network of guy friends, who treated me like one of them.

I’m not sure if dad or mom even remembers that specific event that I could never forget. Sometimes, I feel as if I should ask”Hey ummm Mom, do you remember the time you threw me into the shower with Dad because you though I was going to be gay? Well, yeah, it didn’t work; you can’t cure me, there is nothing wrong with me.”

They know I’m gay now. It took sometime for my mother to stop blaming herself, LOL. But they know. Every once in a while, some of my old resentments come up and I sometimes play tricks. One April fools I phoned my mother and said “Hey mom, I don’t know how to put this, you may want to sit down.”

“What is it Charlie, what’s wrong?” I feel her general concern. I know that she is genuinely worried. We aren’t a family that brings up issue.

“Well you see, I don’t think I’m gay anymore. I’ve been dating this girl, and I really think I’m into her. I think I like women, Mom.” There is a silence on the other end, and I could hear her deliberating.
“Oh my God, that’s wonderful,” and I can feel her smiling over the phone over seven thousand kilometers way. “I have to tell your father!”

“April fools mom,” click.