The usual disclaimers apply - ie. no reading this if you're not of age to read it, and no peeking at this if you can't stand gay people (which would bring to mind the question of what the hell you're doing reading this anyway).
Robin gets it much easier than Shane does, so those who winced last chapter can breathe easy.
All questions etc can be directed to dcross1@home.com
Robin pulled into his house's driveway, and paused momentarily before getting out of the car. He was sorely confused by the events of the day; his dream, his encounters with Shane, and his self-doubts. A high hurdle to leap over, this realization of a sexuality that was at variance with society's expectations. He shook his head and got out of the car.
Robin went into the house, dumped his backpack on his bedroom floor and lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling while thoughts whirled around in his head at insane velocities. The confusion that had struck him earlier had returned. Who was he? What was he?
More importantly, "who are you, Shane, that I should be mindful of you?" Robin wasn't a great believer in psychic phenomena, but he felt that sometimes the subconscious worked on a level that the conscious did not, and prodded and poked at the conscious brain until finally the answer was accepted by both portions of the brain. His dream was telling him that the safety and security he sought of a relationship would only be found with a man, and one man. Shane Wilson.
Robin devoutly wished he had someone to talk to. His family? Who knew what their reaction would be! His friends? He didn't have that many, but he wasn't sure they'd understand. Or if they did, would they react negatively?
"Supper!" His mother's voice carried into the bedroom, startling Robin from his meditation. He yawned and looked at the clock: 5:30 PM. Strangely, he felt tired, as though he had actually been asleep and been abruptly woken.
Robin brushed at his hair with his fingers, and then headed to the dining room. His father, mother and sister were already seated at the table, and had just commenced eating when he shuffled in. Mumbled greetings were exchanged.
His mother got her oar in first. "Robin, how was school today? You look kind of beat."
"It was OK, Mom. I'm just feeling kind of lousy."
"Are you sure you'll be fine?"
"Yeah, I'll be OK." He was such a shitty liar.
His father weighed in. "I bet it's a girl, right?"
"Heh, Dad... no, it's just one of those days, you know."
His sister, Shari, voluble as ever, began rattling on about her Social Studies class that day. She was a couple of years younger than Robin, and Robin was only half-listening...
".. Dad, you know today we did the current events, and Mr. Mairs brought in the newspaper and just started randomly going through the articles and asking us what we thought. Then he went to the front page where it had that big thing on the Human Rights Act and how they're changing it to add sexual orientation as a protected ground."
"Oh?" His father put down his fork and his eyes twinkled with interest.
Robin's curiosity was similarly piqued. If he had been a dog, his ears would have pricked straight up.
"Yeah, the class got into a major debate about it. Some people said they didn't see what the problem was because they didn't care about what other people did, but then this one guy, Steve, started majorly ranting about how the government shouldn't be giving the same rights to gay people as straight people, and this other guy, his name's Larry, got up and started getting into a shouting match with Steve and Mr. Mairs had to go in and tell them to settle down. Whew!"
"What do you think of it, Shari?"
"Well... I dunno. I mean, I've never met a gay or lesbian person in my life. I wouldn't know how I'd react. I guess I'd ask questions and try to understand the person."
"Very good, Shari. What about you, Robin?"
Robin answered, "Well... um, I dunno. Like Shari said, I never thought much about it."
"The important thing is to keep your mind open. I was just reminded of this man; he's the general manager down at the pulp mill, and I've heard he makes speeches at the local Baptist church every now and then. He's a raving homophobe, to put it bluntly. His name's Don Wilson."
His mother looked upset and said, "Eric, do we have to talk about that horrible man? I had to listen to his wife down at the real estate agency the other day when I was bringing Doreen over so she could look at houses in the area."
"I'm sorry, Ann, but I want our kids to know that not everyone is going to be as tolerant as we are. As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for Don's son, Shane. Poor kid must have to deal with the ravings of that guy every day."
Robin nearly fell off his chair as the revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning. He recovered quickly and said, "Dad, how did you know all that? I've just seen Shane a couple times in school, and he's in two of my classes this year."
"Well, good question, Robin. You see, it wasn't so long ago that I was almost as much of a Holy Roller as he was and still is; we knew each other when we were growing up here in Campbell River, and we went to the same church and everything. Since we knew each other, and still sort of do even though we are now in different churches, I knew that he'd married and had a child, whose name was Shane. The day I met Ann was the beginning of a lot of changes in my life, though. When we first started talking about homosexuals back in the early 1970s - keep in mind this wasn't long after that big Stonewall thing in 1969 - she just about broke off our relationship when she heard me talk on the subject. I shudder to think how uninformed I was back then!"
His mother took up the conversation. "Your father and I met in 1971, and began going out not long after that. We didn't get engaged until 1973, and part of the delay was precisely this topic. You see, my brother, your Uncle Henry, was gay. He only told me when he was 19, and I was just a year younger. He'd been so unhappy for several months after graduating from high school. I thought it was just that he couldn't find a good-paying job down in Vancouver, but it was actually the fact that he was having a terrible time dealing with himself and his sexuality.
When he sat me down in his apartment that night - I can still remember the exact date: October 5, 1968 - I had no idea what he was going to tell me. Our Mom and Dad had gone out for drinks; we were alone. To make a long story short, we spent 3 hours talking after the dam finally broke and he admitted he was a homosexual. At first I couldn't understand, but I knew he was still my brother even if he was different in this one way from other men. He made me promise never to tell anyone - not even Mom or Dad, and I kept that promise until that day in 1972 when your father and I had the Mother of all Arguments."
His father returned to the thread. "I can remember the exact date in my turn - it was May 1, 1972. It may be just coincidence, but..." he broke off, and then in a hoarse voice, added: "it was the exact day, one year before then, that your Uncle Henry died.
Amid the shocked expressions of his two children, he continued: "In any case, the newspaper had an article on the effects of Justice Minister Trudeau's changes to the law in 1967, and how it legalized homosexual sex for people over 18. I, back then, threw the paper down and said something to the effect that those Godless homosexuals shouldn't have gotten equal rights at all."
Ann once again resumed: "I was absolutely shocked and furious. It didn't help then that it was the anniversary of Henry's death. He died in Stanley Park, when two policemen came across him and another man in the bushes. They roughed him up, and threw him over the seawall. Unfortunately, he landed on his head, and the fall broke his neck. He died instantly.
"But anyway, when your father said that, I pretty much tore him to shreds. I said that he had no idea what homosexuals actually had to go through, and that my own brother had died just for being one, and a whole lot of other words which I'm not going to repeat here. I stormed out of his apartment, and went back to my parents' place. They, of course, had no idea what in the world had gone wrong between us, and I just said that it was an argument that blew up."
Eric then took his turn. "The moment that your mother made me face facts was a confusing one. First, I'd realized I might have lost a wonderful woman, and second, I asked myself if I had ever really used my brains. So I started asking around, quietly. I found a psychologist who would talk to me, and he explained that while he, personally, did not believe homosexuality was a disease that had to be cured, the current psychological literature was split on this viewpoint; he also said he believed that the official classification of homosexuality would be revised soon, and that the new classification would not label it as a psychological disorder. As it turned out, that was done in 1973.
"Your mother and I didn't talk to each other for almost a month afterwards. Part of it was because I was so busy trying to find out more, and part of it was because she was still too angry to say more than two words to me. It was also hard because I had to ask myself if God truly intended for homosexuals to be worthy of His consideration. Eventually, after much prayer, I came to the conclusion that each of us must worship God, or not, in his or her own way and that the phrase 'God is no respecter of persons' implied that God would not make judgement on any basis except whether or not a human being had been willing to accept God into his or her heart.
"Eventually, I was able to convince Ann to come over to my apartment; by this time it was two months after our big argument. I apologized for my insensitivity and lack of understanding and I explained the soul-searching I had done and the conclusions I had come to. Of course, it took many more years for me to unlearn some of the other bad side-effects of being too narrow-minded in one's own religion, but that was the first step."
Ann concluded: "I accepted your father's apology, and explained some more about my brother at that time; we talked for hours that day. He proposed to me in early 1973, and we got married in April. Eric admitted one of the reasons he delayed proposing was the long time it took for us to be totally reconciled to one another.
"In the end, Robin and Shari, what I have to say is this: Your father and I have learned in different ways the importance of tolerance and understanding and have tried to pass that on to you. None of us can ever understand wholly the pain and fear that strikes the hearts of millions of homosexuals in the world when they realize the lack of understanding they are faced with, but we can help all we can. Please, for our sakes and for your own, never turn your back on anyone who is in need."
Shari spoke first. "Wow. That's mind-blowing. I always wondered why you never talked much about Uncle Henry, Mom."
Robin simply nodded in agreement. In silence, the Peterson family cleared the dinner table and went their separate ways. Robin went to his bedroom, paused, and then went inside. He noted the time on the clock - 9:00 PM. He quickly began his Math homework.
10:00 PM
Having spent an hour on homework, Robin decided enough was enough, turned out the light, and quickly changed into pajamas and went to bed.
September 10, 1992
7:00 AM
Robin woke up, and quickly made his way to the bathroom to commence the morning ritual. While in the shower, his mind wandered. His parents' revelations the previous night had been a lot to digest, but it cleared one hurdle for him: he would always be able to talk to his parents about the troubles facing him. Maybe he would try and talk to Mom after school.
Robin finished by 7:30, having failed to realize he'd slightly overdressed for school in a medium-blue shirt and dark blue pants, with a shiny black leather belt. He grabbed some toast and coffee, and gulped it all down before he headed off to his car.
8:00 AM
Robin stood by his locker, idly noting that his classes that day were French, Western Civilization, English, Social Studies and Chemistry. He twirled the dial absently and went to his first class on auto-pilot. The French teacher, Mr. Hagberg, was a real comedian, and bluntly stated that if the Ministry of Education would let him, he could teach the course in two weeks and let the class goof off for the rest of the year. Sad to say, he did not do that.
English was coming up, and Robin began trembling slightly. In the wake of the major discussion the previous night and his own self-doubts, he was rapidly becoming unsure of his ability to not make a fool of himself in front of the object of his attention, being a certain blond named Shane.
As Mrs. Johnstad went over how not to split an infinitive, he snuck peeks at Shane's profile. With each peek he memorized more and more of Shane's features until he was sure that if pressed, he could write the most accurate physical description any police officer would ever need to draw Shane's face: slightly tanned skin, a perfect nose, a sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes and short blond hair. Those eyes. His own eyes, so brown and dark, were surely too moody. By contrast, Shane's eyes seemed to radiate a brilliance which belied the impression that he was the hick son of a small-minded father. While he was doing all that furtive looking, he could have sworn Shane was returning the looks. Or was he?
Robin's heart broke as he thought of how Shane must be forever doomed to have to deal with a father such as Don Wilson, and resolved to live up to his parents' admonition; he would never turn his back on Shane.
The remainder of the day was bland; all too quickly Robin found himself back at the doorstep of his house, with a load of homework that had somehow attached itself to his shoulder. He remembered what he had wanted to talk to his mother about, and took a deep breath. He went inside.
His mother was on the phone, chatting with the same Doreen she'd mentioned the night before, who was chatting about the houses she'd looked at. In short order, the conversation ended and Robin nervously began. "Mom?"
"Yes, Robin?" She smiled sweetly at her son.
"Well, it's kind of important. Can we talk somewhere private?"
"Sure. Come into the master bedroom." She and Robin entered the bedroom that his mother and father shared. It seemed like an invasion of privacy to enter that room, but he had no choice. He needed the psychological sense of privacy.
"Mom, I think I might be gay."
His mother was shocked and looked it, too. Would she handle it?
"I'm sorry, you startled me for a moment there. It's not every day I hear you asking me something like that."
"I can imagine it, Mom. But I need to talk to someone about it, and I wasn't sure if talking to you would be a good thing until we had that big dinner-table conversation last night."
"I always knew that at some point we might discuss something like that, because your Uncle Henry's death was not an accident, and while we never mentioned it in this family, at some point you deserved to know the truth. But what makes you think you might be gay?"
"It's... hard to explain. I kept having this dream..." and he went on to explain the dream, and concluded with ".. so, you see, somehow this guy, Shane, the same Shane Wilson as Dad mentioned, strikes a chord in me; there's just something about him, Mom."
"I don't like to sound patronizing, but I have to ask: Have you tried anything with girls already?"
"Well, sort of, but none of them have ever affected me the way Shane has. It's almost like a magnet that just won't let go."
His mother let out a breath. "Well, if you're gay, you're gay and that's all there is to it. You're still my son regardless of that fact. But your father should really know about this, too."
"Does Shari have to know?"
"Well, she is your sister, but aside from you, me, and your father, I see no reason that anyone else has to know."
"Thanks, mom. I... I really appreciate you not blowing up at me, and talking to me about this. I'm still so nervous about all this. What if it's a big mistake? I'd feel really stupid."
"Stupidity is in the eye of the beholder, my son. I'll always love you, though."
Robin reached out, almost as a little child, and hugged his mother, who returned it. He smiled and said, "I'd better start on my homework before supper."
She nodded and watched Robin leave the room. Ann paused, then reached into her top dresser drawer. She felt around to the back, and withdrew a faded color photo of two good-looking young men, arms around each other. One of the men, if the photo were retouched, could have nearly been the spitting image of Robin Peterson. On the back was written "Henry and Charles, 1970".
She whispered, "Oh, Henry, if only I could have saved you from that horrible death. You would have been proud of your nephew."
She wept.
That ends part 4.