Dave | 61 | Worcestershire, England
Dave is Andy's Dad. You can read Andy's story on the April page of the site.
Andrew is my son and I love him. You couldn’t wish for a more caring son and by the way, he is gay.
When my wife, Andrew’s step mum, told me that Andrew was gay I couldn’t believe it. It took a while for the concept to sink in, but what she had just told me completely pole-axed me. I spoke to Andrew a short while after, after I had tried to think things over, and suggested that we needed to talk. He sounded very nervous talking to me on the phone.
Stupidly, I tried to think of reasons why he was gay - was it because his mum and I had divorced, and was it that I was a ‘blokey bloke’ (as he calls me) who had pushed him too far. All sorts of things went through my head, but I came to realise that Andrew was Andrew and he was just gay.
He came home and we had a very calm discussion about it all and what he thought. I had to accept that Andrew was gay, even though the whole physical side reviles me. I had no choice really, I couldn’t change the fact that he had ‘come out’ and wouldn’t even try to change his mind. Anybody who knows Andrew knows that he is strong willed, but I needed to put down some ground rules:
He wasn’t to tell his grandad, it would have killed him. His grandad loves him but is of the old school and would have cut him off completely if he ever found out.
He wasn’t to tell his aunt (my sister), in case she told his grandad.
He wasn’t to flaunt his sexuality in front of me.
He was to be careful and safe.
When my wife, Andrew’s step mum, told me that Andrew was gay I couldn’t believe it. It took a while for the concept to sink in, but what she had just told me completely pole-axed me. I spoke to Andrew a short while after, after I had tried to think things over, and suggested that we needed to talk. He sounded very nervous talking to me on the phone.
Stupidly, I tried to think of reasons why he was gay - was it because his mum and I had divorced, and was it that I was a ‘blokey bloke’ (as he calls me) who had pushed him too far. All sorts of things went through my head, but I came to realise that Andrew was Andrew and he was just gay.
He came home and we had a very calm discussion about it all and what he thought. I had to accept that Andrew was gay, even though the whole physical side reviles me. I had no choice really, I couldn’t change the fact that he had ‘come out’ and wouldn’t even try to change his mind. Anybody who knows Andrew knows that he is strong willed, but I needed to put down some ground rules:
He wasn’t to tell his grandad, it would have killed him. His grandad loves him but is of the old school and would have cut him off completely if he ever found out.
He wasn’t to tell his aunt (my sister), in case she told his grandad.
He wasn’t to flaunt his sexuality in front of me.
He was to be careful and safe.
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We chatted and, now that I knew he was gay, everything seemed obvious to me at last. I could see now that the pieces of a very big jigsaw from when he was little and growing up were now falling into place. It answered a lot of questions that I had subconsciously ignored. I could hear the Rod Stewart lyrics, "How could my son be gay", in my head whenever I thought of him. It still makes me well up even now when I hear the song ‘The Killing of Georgie’ - not the fact that George was gay, but the struggle he'd had and the very sad ending. What a fantastic song.
Andrew must have anguished and suffered over his sexuality for ages and he was very brave to grab the bull by the horns and come out. Looking back now, he should have come out sooner. I would have liked Andrew to have had a family and raised a son just to carry our surname on - Andrew is the last male in our branch of the family - but it’s not going to happen. |
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He could not be a more caring, loving son, and I love him. I will be there for him if he ever he needs me and I hope vice-versa.
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Going back to my teens, my first encounter with a gay man was on holiday in the Isle of Wight. Me and my mate, Andrew's “Uncle Pete”, and a gang of locals we had got friendly with were in a club called the Babaloo at Rhyde Airport. This guy called Rich joined us. He was dressed in a cheese cloth shirt, black trousers, leather sandals, a big flowing cloak and a big felt fedora hat. He looked like the Sandeman on the Sandeman sherry bottle. He was a very flamboyant character.
We asked our newfound friends who he was and they told us he owned a shop in Rhyde selling Indian sandals and cheese cloth shirts, joss sticks and stuff. Anyway, after a while he made a pass at my mate. Pete was about to knock his teeth out but before he could, Rich put his hands up, backed away and apologised. He said that he'd never get anywhere without trying it on, but once we knew and he knew where we all stood he became a really good friend and he never tried it on again. Like Georgie he was the life and soul of anything that was going on. |
He died in the late 1970s of pneumonia. Some said that it was Aids related. He was about 40; he would never tell us how old he was. This is the reason why I am so concerned for Andrew.
All I would say to him now though is, “Andrew, love life and be safe; and when are you going to buy me that pint?"
All I would say to him now though is, “Andrew, love life and be safe; and when are you going to buy me that pint?"
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