Ed | 28 | London, England | Television PR
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Ever since my perfect recreation, aged 8, of Torvill & Dean's Bolero routine on my rollerblades on our South East London street, I think my friends and family consigned themselves to the fact that my coming out was looming somewhere on the distant horizon. Looking back, all the early-warning signs were all there: the inexplicable emotional attachment to Sonia's defeat at the hands of the Irish in Eurovision '93, the compelling interest with Hunter from Gladiators (even with what I can now look back and see was a terrible haircut), and the enduring fascination with the beguiling Cher. My favourite moment in the Baywatch opening titles didn't feature jiggling boobs, but David Chokachi climbing out of a swimming pool. Not to pander to stereotype, but I was never first in line for my school's rugby squad. Despite this youth of carefree gay abandon in the late 80s and early 90s, through my teenage years the sexual and social understanding of being gay crept in, as did the knowledge that I'd need to formalise things by ‘coming out’. Born and raised in South East London, my teenage years weren't festooned in angst. I always had a good group of friends and a good relationship with family. |
"I've never really struggled with being gay.
I was never confronted about it nor did I encounter any bullying."
I never lost sleep about it during these formative years of self-discovery (I probably lost more sleep worrying that I hadn't properly deleted the internet history on our family computer). I knew I was, but life was good and simple and the boat didn't need rocking, so I didn't act upon it. I remember at times thinking I might not ever actually ‘come out’, not necessarily for the sake of not disturbing the status-quo, but because I was worried about the effect my being gay could have on my parents. Insurmountably silly in retrospect, as my parents had always brought me and my sister up to have a good grasp of respect and acceptance, but I suppose as I was becoming aware of the full perks of being gay, I was simultaneously gaining a peripheral knowledge of the horrendous stories of coming out souring a relationship between parents and children. Living in the closet permanently was never something I gave much credence to - I'd patently be rubbish at leading a double life, I'd last less time than Mrs Doubtfire and would have to rethink the whole Cher thing - but I can vividly recall the thoughts crossing my mind, and the awry logic that momentarily made sense.
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It wasn't until I was 18, visiting my sister in New Orleans, in a retro pop club called the Shim Sham, that I had my first kiss. It was with a handsome American chap named Robbie - who I thought was called Rodney for the entire night due to the deafening volume the club was playing She Bop by Cyndi Lauper. I remember thinking that every time I recalled my first kiss I'd picture Nicholas Lyndhurst. I do, but thankfully I only do for the purpose of retelling this story. But, anyway - It was brilliant.
"Now I was definitely gay. I had kissed a boy and everything."But upon returning to the UK, I wasn't ready to strap myself to the mast-head of a gay pride float and sing Gloria Gaynor songs across from the rooftops of Old Compton Street. I, unassumingly, shuffled off to University in Bath under my thin veil of faux is-he-or-isn't-he, to which everyone probably just assumed he was. A year or so post-Robbie/Rodney, I was 20 and settling in to Uni life in Bath, living in a shared house with three girls, working in a local pub, and occasionally doing a tiny bit of uni work. Much like when I was in New Orleans, being out of my home environment (London) - plus I suppose now being something resembling an adult - made it easier to forge new friendships where I could be gay from the offset, rather than it loom like a pink elephant in the room as it must have done for years with previous friends. |
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It was within my first year of Uni that I came out to the girls I lived with and the people I worked with, and it was so rudimentary that I can barely recall the circumstances around it. I didn't want to be out and proud in Bath and not in London, out of basic respect to the people who had been there around me from day one. Within days I wrote my sister - now living in Nagasaki - an email, with a single perfunctory line in the middle: "Oh, and by the way, I'm gay". She called me first thing the next morning to check if I was alright. I told her I was. She then said that I had clearly forgotten coming out to her two years previously when we sat on the steps opposite the Shim Sham in New Orleans. I blame the vodka for not remembering that one...
Then, I booked a couple of days off work and came home to London with one sole purpose: telling my parents that I was gay (and probably getting mum to do my washing).
Then, I booked a couple of days off work and came home to London with one sole purpose: telling my parents that I was gay (and probably getting mum to do my washing).
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It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was going back to Bath on the Friday. I remember deciding that I had to tell them that evening, because if the reaction was incendiary or they were unexpectedly devastated, I could spend the Thursday reaffirming relationships, reassuring them that I was still just Ed, before heading off again. I can remember sitting on the train and feeling my heart thudding so heavily in my chest that it was practically shaking me, as I tried to envisage what was going to happen. I had always seen taking a light-hearted or humorous approach to situations as preferable to the straight-forward, but this felt bigger: these were my actual parents, and there the chance that this revelation could trigger some horrendous unforeseen bigotry in them and they might disown me. Completely unlikely, but you never know, and when you try to imagine what could happen in any given situation, a feverish imagination can go into some very strange places. I just had to take a punt on it and hope for the best.
We sat down after dinner (Chinese takeaway, classy) and I told them I had come home because I had something I needed to tell them, which I had told my sister and she had called from Nagasaki to check that I was ok. |
With cautious looks on both parents’ faces, the exchange that followed then went like this:
ME
The thing is... I've got a girl pregnant... [Shocked faces from both parties] ME I'm only joking, I'm only joking - I'm gay. MUM But you haven't got anyone pregnant? ME No Mum, that's not likely to be happening... DAD Oh, we've known that for years. |
And that was it. No histrionics, no tantrums, no atomic fallout, no tears. Just that. They both gave me a hug, and said that as long as I was happy, they were happy. Quite an idyllic outcome, I'm happy - and forever appreciative to them both - to be able to say.
Coming out is a massive step for anybody to take, and ideally I'd rather not be in a position again where my heart is thumping in my chest quite as much as it was on that train. It's a very imposing, personal experience, and hopefully for everyone it will be as thunderously easy and insignificant as it was for me - which was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Giving advice is almost as stupid as taking it - everybody is different, and as this website is proving, everybody's reaction is different.
Coming out is a massive step for anybody to take, and ideally I'd rather not be in a position again where my heart is thumping in my chest quite as much as it was on that train. It's a very imposing, personal experience, and hopefully for everyone it will be as thunderously easy and insignificant as it was for me - which was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Giving advice is almost as stupid as taking it - everybody is different, and as this website is proving, everybody's reaction is different.
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I knew myself and my parents well enough to know how to approach it, and although there was niggling anxiety about how it would go, I think I knew the time was right.
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