Coming Out. Part 2

Four Wheeled Confessional (aka Riding in Cars with Boys Who Like Boys)

This one's a less linear reflection of the coming out process. I've noticed something as I think back on the times I came out to someone. It's happened in cars pretty often. Besides being a great place to have sex when you're a teenager, the backseat of a car is a lot like a psychiatrist's couch. Something about all of that space makes people more chatty. Once again, the names have been changed to protect all involved, including our readers...

I came out to two friends at 16 on the way home from a traumatic round miniature golf (when you're 16, every non-masturbatory event turns traumatic, at least briefly). I was miserable because the two guys I was closest to in the world didn't know who I really was. After some hemming and hawing, it finally just spewed forth. Stunned silence followed. Tom, in the driver's seat, stared ahead and went about driving like nothing happened. To fill in the space, I went on a stream of consciousness rant about how kissing boys was reallya lot like kissing girls, only usually more aggressive. It was in the middle of this that Jamie, in the passenger seat, sat straight up turned around and said, "Wait a minute, J. Are you saying you're gay?" Laughter erupted and the tension was cut permanently. Jamie and I are still great friends and I'm always quick to remind him of that when he starts to get to big for his britches.

Does hitting on an unsuspecting guy count as coming out? Because that's how it worked the night Sky Masterson drove me home after a rehearsal of our high school production of Guys & Dolls. He was actually beyond OK with me being gay. The problem was that he was straighter than an arrow. Actually, that was the problem with most guys I liked back then. Oddly, Sky seemed more willing to let me help him with his quick changes in between scenes after he found out. Go figure - I wasn't complaining.

When I was 21, my Dad asked me point blank on the way home from somewhere if I was gay. I told him yes and he proceeded to tell me that he thought so and just wanted to know because he wanted me to know that was OK with him. We haven't really talked about it since, but that might have something to do with the fact that when he told my Mom just a few weeks later, she freaked and didn't speak to me for almost two weeks. Or it could just be that my family doesn't speak to each other about anything of consequence. Yeah, it's probably that.

(By the way, my third choice for a title this time around was Driving Sideways. I think back on my experiences now and wonder how I didn't cause at least one accident for all of the times I came out on the 405 freeway.)