.•°¤* ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ *¤°•.

~10~

tw // mentions of homophobia //

“George! Hurry and get your shoes on! Your father is already in the car!” Mum called from downstairs in an urgent voice. “Coming!” I replied with a lot more irritation than I would’ve liked. I slipped on my winter boots and tugged my beanie off my desk before jogging downstairs. My mum held the door open for me to walk out of before she shut it behind her and locked it. When everyone had piled into the car, small gifts and food covered with tinfoil next to me in the backseat, my dad pulled out of the driveway and sped out of the neighborhood.

Mum and Dad talked over the static of the radio and I remained silent. I hated going to see my grandparents. They always had something political to bring up over our family dinners. They felt entitled to their opinions whenever we’d come around at this time of the year just because it was Grandma’s birthday. I could never remember her age, it was a guessing game each year. Was she 76 this year? No, 84, right? Maybe 90? 102? I would never really know. 

This year was definitely different. I knew myself now. I was gay. There was no doubt about that. I knew their views on the community, but not my own parents’ views. Sure, they had said some nasty stuff shamelessly but my parents never chimed in. Maybe they didn’t want to set a bad example for me when I was younger because they knew it was wrong or maybe they didn’t want to be alienated by my grandparents. I feared the day that they finally said something because I had a feeling it would be bad. 

Still, I enjoyed watching the snow fall from the white fluffy clouds above as we drove out of town and into that little ranch I used to love being at. In the spring I would run through their fields of flowers and in the fall I’d help my grandpa pick the best looking corn for the festival in town. I was young and naive, oblivious to the world around me and the struggles I’d feel later on in my life, during those times. Now having just turned 16 this month, I only saw this place as a negative. I didn’t feel the same spark of joy as we entered through the riggity gates that hadn’t been oiled in years, stepped out onto the slick dirt of their path after parking outside of their tiny, self built house, and entered into the warm nostalgia of the scent of Grandma’s fresh cooking. 

When we’d climb up their porch, they’d be on the other side of the door already expecting us. Mum would embrace my grandma with a tight hug and pat her back, Dad would shake hands with my grandpa and share a hearty laugh with him. Then they’d turn to me, pinch my frost bitten cheeks, ruffle my hair and ask me if I’d grown some since the last time they’d seen me. Over the years I’d grown uncomfortable with the way they’d treat me; they had such cheerful faces but such hurtful words. Every time we sat down at the same wooden table covered with the same red, patterned cloth I had come to learn that they would unleash the absolute hate they had for the world around them. As the years progressed, I became nervous to sit down at my usual spot next to Grandma and listen to everything she had to say right in my ear.

At first I was too young to really take in what they were saying. As I grew older, I began to hear the things they talked about. Visit after visit their views became more corrupt; the racism, homophobia, and the refusal to live in a world with advanced technology. I distanced myself from them, being so young I hated hearing such negativity. Especially after that one winter with my friend in the forest, I started taking their homophobia to heart. I felt like I always knew I was gay, but when my friend kissed me on that bench in the clearing I think it confirmed it. Since then, I dreaded coming here. 

My fear seemed to prove itself as I finally tuned into the family dinner. Apparently, the greeting ceremony and prayer and last preparations of food had whizzed past me in less than an instant because I found myself at the table in my usual spot next to Grandma. She had a lot more wrinkles this year and thinner, greyer hair. Her teeth were yellow and she was frail; I almost felt bad for her, but I knew as soon as she’d open her mouth I’d retract any sympathy I had for her.