In 1963, just before I left home, I told my mother that I was gay. She was a little confused, but as far as I could tell not devastated and so some years later when I got married and had a son the whole matter was writ off as my confusion, not hers. Thirty-five years later: I stand at my gate talking to a former neighbor and I mention to him that the block has changed, that there are now five gay households on the block. He said, "But you're not gay." I said, "Yes, I'm gay." His response: "You mean gay-- HAPPY!" No, I said, gay HOMOSEXUAL. It seems to me that I have spent my whole life coming out. Save for the fact that I have a wonderful son, I think I might have done better to have settled the matter early on. Coming out over and over is not the way.
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