A Coming Out Story

Sweet Meryl! Here we are, nearly three weeks in 2022, and I apologize for my absolute absence. Where have I been? That is an excellent question! The answer is self-isolation. Talk about a quick turn around! It seems each time I learn another letter of the Greek alphabet, I am overcome with a sensation of dread.

Rewind back to early December, and bottles of prosecco were popping as The Pasta Shack was busier than ever. Welcome sounds of laughter filled up the dining room, as reunited guests had cause for relaxation, and celebration. Case counts were low, vaccination rates were high, and the holidays were just around the corner. And then BOOM! With astonishing speed, Omicron swept in and crashed the party alright. Suddenly, doors were locking, balloons were popping, and in the distance, a small dog barked.

“I am wondering if I should postpone my trip home for Christmas,” I messaged Mama and Papa Fox in Winnipeg, two days before my flight.

“Your bedroom awaits,” replied my boosted kin.

On the afternoon of December 21st, I touched down on the prairies. An hour later, I shuffled into a booth at The Keg on Portage Avenue. Wedged in between Mom and Pops, I removed my parka and the eight layers of sweaters bundled underneath. Asking our kind server for a glass of Happy Hour wine, I eyed the Mushrooms Neptune on the table beside me. As the three of us raised our glasses to good health, I could not help but feel nostalgic. This same week, eighteen years ago, I came out to my parents at this restaurant.

“‘Isn’t it rich?’ I began to declare my departure from the closet. Without the vocabulary of a seasoned gay man, I had to rely on show tune lyrics to express my truth.”

While the menu has not changed since then, life certainly looked a lot different. For starters, at the age of nineteen, I was dressed in my ‘coming outfit.’ With blond highlights, brown pleather pants, and a navy-blue turtleneck, I looked like a low-budget version of the gay man I dreamed to be. Twirled around my neck, a grey cashmere-blend scarf, hinted homosexual tendencies. In my right hand, a swirling glass of Riesling added further suspicion.

“Isn’t it rich?” I began to declare my departure from the closet. Without the vocabulary of a seasoned gay man, I had to rely on show tune lyrics to express my truth. “525 thousand, 600 minutes ago, I dreamed a dream that, one day more, I would past the point of no return.” With a puzzled look on my family’s faces, my performance of a lifetime was cut short by our fabulous waiter. Speaking the same language as me, he clung to our table like a wet t-shirt. Finally, I had to skip six verses before belting out the final three notes, “I AM GAY!!!”

Drifting back into the present, I felt my shoulders relax for the first time. While there was no question my family had aged over the years; our prairie hearts beat just the same. Taking another sip of wine, I felt my phone vibrate. Unlocking it, I opened the new text message.

“Your close contact just tested positive for COVID-19.”

Feeling my stomach drop, I could not believe it. We were here all over again. Me awash in nerves, with a cute outfit and wrenching news to confide.

“There is something I have to tell you two…” I edged back in my seat.

“We know Rugged, you want the cheese toast,” replied Mama Fox.

“Yes! Ugh! I love cheese toast!” I fumbled. “But no, it’s definitely not that.”

One week hunkered down in my parents’ basement later, I returned to Vancouver, the family in good health. By New Year’s Day on the Coast, I was back in self-isolation. Here’s to the Spring!