Dissily Mordentroge

Even though this section of the forum is for young gays I thought some of you may be interested in what it was like to come out to your parents in the 1970’s. I didn’t have to come out to my mother. Like so many mother’s her instincts had alerted her to me being ‘different’ very early on. Her only comment was to say to me one day “ I don’t care if you turn into a queen but if you turn into a really dizzy, queeny queen that would be too much". Soon after my mother died suddenly and my father re-married. Came home one day to find he’d moved out. Took me over a month to discover he’d married a local woman and was living in a boarding house in another suburb. He didn’t attempt to contact me so I rented a room to a friend to make ends meet. About two years later he made contact by writing me a snail mail letter. ( no internet then). It was short and to the point informing me he’d re-married and as his new wife ‘. . . . didn’t want to live with a pervert’. I was given a week to vacate the family home. Some thirty years later he phoned me starting off with a load of superficial chat. I asked him why he’d finally contacted me ” Oh, Molly died last week and I’m lonely” At first I had no idea who he was taking about. Then it hit me, this must be my step-mother’s name. I ended up caring for him in his last days. Something I still have doubts about. Even now at age 73 I find myself thinking I should have let the old bastard rot. The other side of this saga was having to learn to be totally idependent at an early age. Luckily I found a brilliant job with the federal govt looking after foreign students and never looked back. The oddest thing about all this is the family history on my father’s side. His brother (also gay but very closeted) took me aside when I was about 16 and filled my in. My Great, Great Grandfather had been of the Welsh landed gentry, Supreme Court Barrister, church elder, organist and chiormaster. Every year he and his wife entertained the chior, bishop and other church dignitaries ( I wonder at that term) to a ‘Pleasant Sunday Afternoon’ at the family pile. This particular year Great, Great Grandma was taking the bishop, choir etc on a tour of the new orchid house when a breeze blew up stamming the door locking them in. Great, Great Grandma unpeturbed advised the ladies (and the bishop?) to lift their skirts and exit via the back door through the stables. There they surprised great, great, grandpa fucking ( permitted to use that term here?) the stablehand. Arrested and placed on trial he was (due to his connections with the court etc) given a chioce between hanging and transportation to the penal colony of Australia. That’s how the family came to live in Australia. So why am I here now? Nothing really to do with being gay but due to my view of where our species is dragging us - another topic for another part of the forum maybe.