P.O.G

Generally speaking there are two types of POG (parents of gays) in the world.

Firstly, there are those who are wonderfully happy with their alternative offspring, tell all their friends about their child’s lover and hold pink parties twice a month. Secondly, there are those who cast their wayward children onto the street, write them out of their will, and burn effigies of them at their weekly Klu-Kluk-Klan meetings.

My parents however are disappointing. Being born again Christians they struggle to balance their godly tolerance with their own feelings, hopes and disappointments. As a result their responses taste like watered-down water.

In short, for a writer, they’re an infuriating lack of inspiration.

I told them about the engagement the other day. In fact, I actually made the effort to ring them up so they must have known something was wrong. And after talking about their Home Improvements and their Grandkids took a deep breath, stopped my knees from shaking and said, “Dan and I got Engaged.’

My mum went quiet for a moment, then said ‘congratulations.’ She no doubt wanted to start talking about the grandkids again, but I felt awkward and asked her to make dad ring me back when he could so I could tell him then hung up as fast as possible.

My dad said, 'oh right?' asked the details, then responded, 'well at least I know you’re with one guy rather than running around after all of them.'

For a moment I imagined myself in a Benny Hill video, chasing in fast motion after same hunky men who were, in turn, running away from me, over the hills into the distance.

Then he changed the subject and told me a joke about a plane crashing in an Irish cemetery.

Maybe they’re happy for me. I can’t really tell. I’m pretty sure they never thought the first kid to marry a man would be their youngest son, and it must be a shock to them to know that after 3 years I still haven’t grown out of this ‘gay phase.’

But like it or not, I do feel a little let down. It would have been so much more dramatic and sympathy inducing if they’d slammed the phone down on me, phoned their solicitor, and started sewing an effigy.

Previous Posts

• The interview
• Pre-marital Blitz
• Love-Drunk