It was an early July morning in Phoenix. It was already warm outside with the temperature between 85 and 90 degrees and the sun was shining brightly through my bedroom window hitting upon the trophies that were sitting on the dark brown, wooden shelves above the television. Because of the warm weather, I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. My room was messy with dirty clothes all over the floor. The stereo was playing 80’s music from a local radio station. I awoke to a phone ringing in my ear. I felt a sense of happiness, as I thought someone was calling to wish me birthday greetings. This was my birthday and I was turning 17 years old. I wondered to myself, "Who is calling to wish me a Happy Birthday?"

I answered the brown (my favorite color), Ma Bell trimline phone and discovered it was a long distance call from my best friend’s father asking to speak with my mother. He sounded disturbed and was highly impatient.

I was absolutely livid after hanging up the phone with an angry parent who had accused my daughter of being a lesbian. Thoughts of "not my daughter" were ringing through my head, as I approached Lisa’s room early that morning. With each step, I became more enraged. I was fearful that maybe it was true. My footsteps became louder and more determined and I moved more quickly with each step.

I stormed into Lisa’s room and shouted, "Are you and Shelly more than just best friends?" She didn’t have to say anything. The look on Lisa’s face told me what I feared to hear. "Yes, we are." "What in the hell is the matter with you? What the fuck are you thinking? You are just sick. Sick, sick, sick. I can’t believe you are doing this to me. I can’t believe that you are doing those things with Shelly. I can’t even allow myself to think about it! I am calling Dr. Smith and I am taking you to see him today. You are going to see him so he can cure you of this goddamn sickness!"

My bedroom was at the opposite end of the other bedrooms in the house. From my room, there is a hallway with a full bathroom on the left and the laundry room on the right. Turn left and you enter the formal dining area and the kitchen. In the dining room was a not so pretty pale green wood table with 6 high back chairs. The décor was very southwest with copper pots hanging from the ceiling. The wallpaper and tile flooring were matching and their primary colors were brown and rust (or a burnt orange sort of color). There was a southwest design to both the wallpaper and tile. There were DeGrazia pictures, large and small, hanging on the walls. The house itself was immaculate with nothing ever out of place – with the exception of my room. As I emerged from my room, I began to yell back at my mother. "I am not sick. You are the one that is sick. I can’t believe…" I shouted back, "You can’t believe?" "You fuckin’ bitch! You disgust me!" With that, I slapped Lisa in the face. I went to slap her a second time and she grabbed my arm. "Let go!" I said, staring at her, waiting for her to let go but she wouldn’t. I responded with "Don’t ever, ever hit me again." We stared at each other briefly and then I backed away from her.

I vividly remember the sound as my mother slapped my face. I also vividly remember grabbing her wrist and squeezing tightly, so that she would be unable to hit again. I can hear her yelling at me, shouting obscenities with such disdain. The sound of her voice kept ringing in my ears. She spoke to me as if she were yelling at a stranger or at someone she knew but hated. Her big eyes, hazel in color, stared at me with such a look of contempt.

I made the appointment with my psychologist and took Lisa down there on this same day. After the appointment, the psychologist told me that Lisa wasn’t sick and that many young girls go through this period of experimentation and it didn’t mean that she was a lesbian. Afterwards, I thought the psychologist was a quack too.

On the drive to and from the psychologist’s office, I began to think back and remembered things that didn’t seem right to me about Lisa and Shelly. They did spend all their time together. When they weren’t with each other, they were on the phone talking endlessly. Why didn’t I stop this fuckin’ shit sooner? Why didn’t I realize what was going on? Why is Lisa doing this to me??? Why is she putting me through this hell? I have so much other shit in my life. I don’t have time to deal with my daughter who is sick and fucking up my life in the process. God damn her!

While this relationship had been evolving for over two years, it wasn’t until this day that I felt "different" from others. I knew that most people around me cared intimately for individuals of the opposite sex; however, I did not feel any less normal. At least, not until my mother had reacted the way she did. What a birthday present I received from her that year. Because it happened on this day, I am reminded every year of the events on this particular date. I am unable to let go of this fastidious incident. As such, I have never been able to celebrate my own birthday since. I choose to treat July 2^nd as just another day.

Because of this incident, I moved out of my house and moved in with my father. There were many episodes leading to my moving out, but the revelation that I was gay was the last straw. Currently, I do not have a relationship with, nor do I speak to, my mother at all. Moreover, while I don’t know my mother’s thoughts and emotions regarding this incident, I do know that she has never attempted to repair the relationship during the past 16 years.

With respect to the incident that I chose, there is an underlying subplot having to do with the relationship (or lack thereof) I shared with my mother. While this is an important issue, I chose this incident because of the gay/lesbian issue.

Perhaps my mother acted the way she did because homosexuality was not a widely (or narrowly for that matter) accepted practice. I am certain that many people in our society supported my mother’s opinion of homosexuality being a sickness. I further believe this opinion transcended across racial, ethnic and class lines.

In the fifteen or so years that have passed since this particular incident has occurred, I have noticed increased acceptance with respect to homosexuality.

My teenage stepson (who will be 17 on his next birthday) has had to come to terms with the fact that his mother is living a homosexual lifestyle. He accepted it quite easily and has shared his alternative family with his friends and parents of these friends. In four years, there has not been one episode of hate, prejudice or snide remarks that my stepson has had to deal with.

While my stepson can freely talk about homosexuality and sexuality, I was unable to do so a generation earlier. I could not tell friends, or parents of friends. Once my friends did find out about my relationship with Shelly, I was ostracized from my social circle.

As we enter the 21^st century, there is an age band of teenagers and young adults that are more liberal and less judgmental with respect to sexual preferences. However, many older individuals living during this same time period have allowed their closeted opinions to remain deeply rooted within their minds.

Apparently, it is highly difficult for people to broaden their minds and perspectives and be willing to change previous viewpoints and beliefs. Because of this, I don’t see racism or prejudice on any scale effectively decreasing within the next 50 years. Unfortunately, people are too set in their ways. It is my opinion that it will take several generations for any significant change to occur. I believe we are seeing the first of those generations now entering young adulthood.

I can only hope that for future generations, the pursuit of equality with respect to race, gender, class and sexuality is given the attention and devotion it deserves from our entire society, and not just from a select few that have taken on the nearly impossible task of trying to change the minds of many.

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