Dead Fit - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The rest of my day at the gym was typical for a Monday. I had two more personal training sessions right after lunch, and then spent the remainder of the afternoon completing paperwork and performing inventory of our nutritional supplements. When I wasn't with clients, I found myself thinking about Brian. I replayed in my mind the short conversation we exchanged and was frustrated that I hadn't said more to him. At a minimum, I could have made small talk with him and asked if he was married or had kids. That would have answered my questions about his sexual orientation.

The sun was just setting when I finished work for the day. The August heat was letting up, so I decided to go for a run along the beach, hoping fresh air and exercise would help clear my mind. Not that the air in Long Beach was particularly all that clean, but I figured physical activity would help get Brian off my mind.

It was a quarter after six by the time I made it to Ocean Avenue. The beach was crowded with people walking on the trail that ran along the water. Apparently other people had the same idea I did. I ran a mile and a half, then turned around and headed back to my car. The run was a good distraction and I was ready to think about something else besides Brian.

When I arrived home that evening, my parents were already done eating dinner and were lounging in the family room in front of the television. Since retiring from their full time jobs, they were eating dinner earlier and earlier, a sure sign they were aging and would soon join the ranks of the blue hairs.

My father was sitting on the sofa, absorbed in watching the evening news, while my mother passively completed a crossword puzzle in the mismatched recliner.

“How was your day, honey?”

“It was good, Mom. A coworker was out today, so I helped him with one of his clients. It turned out this client was more advanced than any of my clients. I usually get stuck with beginners since I am still new on the job. But now that I can say I have some experience in working with higher level clients, I’m hoping my boss will give me better assignments in the future.”

"Oh, that's nice, honey, that you were able to help a coworker," she said. It was obvious to me she didn’t fully share in my enthusiasm - she just wanted to be supportive.

Neither of my parents ever owned a gym membership in their lifetime. Needless to say, my career choice was completely foreign to them. The notion that anyone would pay to exercise was beyond comprehension; their practical lifestyle always won out. But at least they supported my decision.

“There's beef stew in the refrigerator and rolls on the kitchen counter, honey. Try to finish the beef stew tonight. It won't be good tomorrow.” That was yet another sign my parents were getting older - eating beef stew in the middle of summer.

I grabbed the plastic container of stew from the refrigerator and nuked it the microwave. While it was warming up, I sat at the kitchen table and thought about how different my work life was compared to my parents.

My father started working for a small electronics manufacturing company right after high school. He worked for one company for 37 years. He probably would have continued working for the company for another 10 years, but the company closed down due to competition from companies who moved their operations to Mexico where they could hire cheaper labor. My mother worked for 15 years as a teacher and 18 years as an administrator for public school systems of neighboring cities. Who stays at the same job for more than 5 years these days?

The microwave beeped, letting me know that my meal was ready to eat. I took the stew out of the microwave, grabbed a spoon and sat back down.

My mom was in her late thirties when I was born. According to her, I was a “pleasant surprise” to their lives. They had tried numerous times in their first years of marriage to have a baby. But after several unsuccessful attempts, they just assumed having children was not in their future. Then one day, years after they had given up on having kids, I popped into their lives. I ended up being their first and only child.

Growing up, I was always closer with my mom than my dad. My relationship with my dad was never bad, by any stretch of the imagination. He was never abusive and I never pushed the limits of his authority. By most other families' standards, we probably had a good relationship. But there always seemed to be something between us that prevented us from sharing the same friendship I had with my mother. To be fair, the barrier that existed between my dad and me was put up by both of us. As I laid a brick down, so did my father. Before we knew it, there was a wall between us, one that kept us from really getting to know each other.

I was mostly a good kid in elementary and middle school. Shy would be an accurate way to describe me as a child. I wasn't one of those charismatic kids who instantly captured the affection of adults. I was more of a loner, finding ways to entertain myself.

By the time I reached high school, I came out of my shell a little. I joined the cross country and swim teams, although I was never a star athlete. I got along well with everyone and even won the “good citizenship” award a few times. My report cards were always A's & B's. While I did well academically, it was because the classes I took were easy – math, science, and English for the normal kids. If I would have taken honors or advanced placement classes, I would have been with the smart students and would have had to fight for good grades. Competition wasn't in my nature.

After graduating from high school, I ended up going to California State University, Long Beach. Most of my close friends went to USC or UCLA. Long Beach State, a part of the second-tier public college system in California, was a good fit for me. The campus was big enough that I felt I was entering the real world, but still in my backyard, offering me a hometown feel.

I lived at home while I was in college. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but without scholarships or financial aid, it was the best alternative. To help me make the adjustment from high school to college, and in hopes of meeting more people, I joined a fraternity my freshman year.

For as long as I could remember, I always knew there was something different about me. As a kid, I didn't know how to express this feeling, but I was well aware that I wasn't like other boys. The difference was underscored in high school, where I found myself unable to relate to the hormone-filled conversations of my male friends. I felt a painful isolation when I didn't share the same experiences as my peers - not being able to talk about a first kiss, or the anxiety of going steady, or losing my virginity.

It was during my senior year in high school that I became more honest with myself. When I could finally look myself in the mirror and admit I was gay, the feelings of being different and the pain of isolation began to fade. I wasn't ready to come out to the world, but I knew I had taken the first step by being true to myself.

Sometime during my first year in college, I had a burning itch to talk to someone about being gay, and I found a close friend in the fraternity who I could trust. But it was my parents who I desperately wanted to tell. There were so many times that I was almost ready to tell them, but when the opportunity came about, I got wet feet.

It wasn't until my senior year in college that I gathered the courage to come out to my mother. With just a few months of school left and a new beginning around the corner, I was anxious to begin living my life, and hopefully start dating.

The night I told her, she and I were talking in the living room after my father had gone to bed. Mom was talking about an older cousin of mine who just had a baby. She lamented on how parenthood was the final step in the transition to adulthood. To drive home her point, she added, "But someday, you'll understand what I am talking about. You'll have kids of your own. Then you’ll finally understand what it means to be an adult."

I took this as a perfect opportunity to have "the talk" with my mother.

"Mom, I don’t know how else to tell you this, but I'm not going to have kids," I said. In previous times when I had made this announcement, my tone was light and casual, giving my mom an opportunity to refute my statement as simply a reflection of my age. She always predicted that I would change my mind as I got older. This time, though, there was finality in my statement and my mother knew there was a serious reason for my definitive position.

"Why? Is there something wrong with you," she asked, concerned that I had some kind of disease that would eliminate the option of having kids.

I took a deep breath before responding, "Mom, I’m not going to have kids because I'm gay."

“Oh.”

There was a ten or fifteen second period of silence and when I couldn't stand it any longer, I asked, “Mom? Are you okay?”

“Even if I wasn't okay, what can I do?” She paused and chose her words carefully. “I think I started figuring it out when you were in high school. You're so handsome and you're always around beautiful young women, but you’ve never had a girlfriend."

Her response surprised me. I had expected her to be disappointed, maybe even try to “talk me out” of being gay. The conversation with my mother was going seemingly well. Then suddenly, she broke down and started crying. She muttered, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Hearing her say that killed me inside. How could she possibly blame herself? I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault. But just ask quickly as the tears formed, she composed herself and put back on her maternal hat. “I love you all the same, honey.”

I never had the conversation with my dad. I probably should have, but I couldn’t do it. Shortly after telling my mom, I noticed he became more withdrawn when talking with me and I knew that she had told him. I suspected that me being gay was just one more difference he saw between us.

When I finished the beef stew, like a good son, I rinsed the container and spoon and put them in the dishwasher. I returned to the family room, where I found that neither of my parents had moved since last I saw them. The only difference was my mom's eyes were now closed and her book of crossword puzzles was sitting in her lap. The evening news was over and my dad was watching reruns of I Love Lucy. The volume was barely audible, but somehow he managed to chuckle at all of the jokes. It was probably because he had seen every episode at least ten times.

My dad looked up at me and said, “The stew was something else, huh? Your mom really knows how to make some good stew.”

“Yea, dad, mom always makes the best meals.”

We sat in silence for a few moments and then he got up, handed me the remote and said, “Well, I'm going to work in the backyard for a while. You can watch whatever you want.”

After all these years, he was still uncomfortable holding a conversation with me without the presence of my mother. It made me sad, but I didn't think our relationship was going to get better anytime soon.

No matter how much I hoped it would.