Story:

I always had the feeling that my parents were good people.
They would ask me if I was going out with boys.
To hang out, play basketball or football? Yes.
Was I interested in boys? Never.
One day, my mom asked me to sit down at the table.
She asked me if I was gay.
I started crying.
I was scared.
She just said, “You know you’re my child and that I love you?”
Then she started crying too.
We agreed not to tell my dad because he wasn’t ready.
I didn’t want to tell him.
The words “faggots should be shot with a shotgun” were still echoing too loudly in my ears.
Years passed.
I was in a long-term relationship.
Downstairs, I heard an argument and my mom’s voice saying, “Yes, your child is gay!”
After that, silence.
They called me downstairs.
My dad had questions.
Some were hurtful.
He was in shock.
That was understandable to me.
They taught him that being gay was something bad, but he doesn’t think his child is bad.
That’s why he was blind.
I never really hid it — I just never said it explicitly.
To my surprise, my dad told my half-brother.
They accepted it.
When my girlfriend at the time broke up with me, he surprised me with the words:
“Don’t cry, child. There are other women.”
Today, my parents have two most important questions:
1. Are my girlfriend and I doing well?
2. Do we have enough to eat?
In my eyes, my parents really are good people.