OPEN BLINDS: WHEN THE SON COMES OUT
I never knew you were gay. Children can’t find the words,
and when they do, they’re afraid to say them aloud.
And I, as a mom, feared hearing them. Why no interest
in Boy Scouts or sports? Your bedroom was your field;
your computer, your companion. What did I do? I let you
be you. But it wasn’t you, was it? You, hiding in the dark cell
of your real self. Day after day, year after year. Living
between the pages of the books you read, within each
poem you created, on every canvas you painted,
in all the songs you composed. The cacophony of
comments spilled like red wine on a white tablecloth
at every family function with no one seeing the stains
left behind. He's so handsome. He’s so intelligent. He’s
so talented. Why isn’t he dating? I owed no one answers.
I had no answers. Dodging their questions never erased
the doubts. We’d soon lose you to a world of hatred.
If we didn’t know your truth now, how could we help
you face what lay ahead of you? You squirmed the day
Dad finally asked you if you were dating any girls.
No, you murmured. Any guys? I asked. Are you gay?
Yes. The landmine had fizzled. You never saw my tears
that night. All those years, I’d never seen yours. How many
days of pain had I missed? How many tears had you shed
in the safety of darkness? How many days had you stumbled
through life and I wasn’t there for you? How could I be free
from the doubt and despair of letting you down? Through my fog
of sorrow, Dad assured me you were the same son we’ve always
known and loved, I wasn’t to blame, you were the same wonderful
son we’d always known. But how do I know what to say to you now?
No book teaches a parent the right thing to say or do. But you did.
You taught me to listen, to learn, to let you lead the way.
Because sunrays can always seep through open blinds.
Shelly Blankman and her husband, Jon live in Columbia, Maryland, where they have filled their empty nest with three rescue cats and a dog. Their sons, Richard and Joshua, who live in New York and Texas, respectively, surprised her by publishing her first book of poetry, Pumpkinhead. Shelly’s poems have appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Verse-Virtual, and Muddy River Poetry Review, among other publications.