Confession - by John Lauzon
from a Usenet post
2004-Nov-18
tor.general
THE NIGHT I TOLD MY PARENTS THE TRUTH
I'll never forget the night I finally broke down and told my parents
the truth about me. I was sixteen, and I had known for the past year
that I was different from all the other kids...but actually, I think I
must have known my whole life, but was unable to admit it to myself.
For weeks, I paced my room -- racking my brain for just the right
words to say to my parents. I'd stretch out on the bed and stare at
the posters on the walls: Ollie North testifying to Congress with a
red white and blue caption below him reading, "A Real American Hero;"
a naked blonde emerging from a Jacuzzi with soap suds covering her
private parts with the caption, "Your Tub or Mine?" and, my favorite
painting: the luxurious white mansion on a hill overlooking a sunset-
tinged ocean with a five car garage stocked with Lamborghinis,
Ferraris, and Rolls Royces with the caption: "Justification for a
Higher Education." They were no help. Every time I tried working up
the nerve to talk to them about it, I chickened out.
Would they still love me, and accept me for who I am? Me? Their only
child?
Finally, I knew I could remain silent no longer. I resolved to come
out to them the next time we sat down to dinner, to tell them the
truth, because that's what they, we, deserved.
When I took my seat, Dad had just gotten back from his job at the
dental floss factory, and Mom had set the corn, potatoes, and turkey
tetrazzini on the table. In accordance with Jesus' teachings, Dad sat
at the head, and Mom meekly sat at the foot.
I prepared for my confession by making a point to not cover my mouth
over the exposed plates of food every time I had to sneeze. I also
chewed my food with snorts and smacks like I was chewing gum. My
parents pretended not to notice and conversed.
How's the turkey tetrazzini?" Mom asked, peeking at Dad across the
table over the centerpiece stocked to the brim with ripe bartleberries
and cocoplums.
"Aw, honey, it's turkey tetrazesty!" Dad answered, mixing the
potatoes, corn, and turkey tetrazinni into one giant entree. "Wait'll
I tell the guys at the dental floss factory what I ate for dinner last
night!"
Mom laughed. "Now dear, don't rub it in. Speaking of: How was work
today?" While Dad, as always, reenacted his day at work --
gesticulating the goings-on with fork and knife in hand, imitating the
voices of his co-workers with "Duh" dumb guy voices while he, the
all-knowing voice of reason, was the only employee smart enough to
keep the dental floss factory from going under -- I mentally rehearsed
what I would say to them.
The nervousness killed my appetite.
"John?" Mom asked, lower lip protruding out of deep concern. "You've
been awfully quiet tonight. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," I sighed, "I guess so." I sat hunched at the table, right
hand holding up my face, left hand poking the turkey tetrazzini with
the fork. "Yeah, son," Dad said between chomps of dinner.
"Why the frown, little buddy?"
"Well..." My heart went into bossa nova palpitations, and I knew I
had to tell them, and it would change everything, but I could live the
lie no longer.
"Mom. Dad. There's something I must tell you. It's important." Mom
turned towards me. "What is it, dear?"
"I... I... I'm sorry this is tough for me," I blurted.
"It's okay, John," Dad said, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder,
"We're your parents. You can tell us anything."
"Okay." I half-smiled, inhaled, exhaled. I stared at my food, unable
to meet the stares of my parents. I repressed the urge to remain
silent and hide. "I'm... just... different, that's all. Different."
"Different?" Mom repeated. "Son? Are you gay?" Dad asked.
I laughed and finally met their concerned gazes. If only it could be
that easy! "Gay? No! I mean...God, if I was gay, I would've told you
that years ago! You guys are hip about that stuff, right?"
"Oh sure, son!" Dad chuckled, "You can be as gay as you want, if you
are."
"Yeah," Mom agreed. "You could be Liberace gay. You could be the
gayest gay guy in the whole gay world, and we'd still love you."
The three of us were laughing. Why couldn't I just be gay instead of
what I was, what I am? "I know you guys would, but I'm not gay."
"Oh," Mom said, no longer laughing. "What is it then?"
"Well..." Flustered from trying to think of the right words, I
blurted it out. "Look: There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm
just gonna tell you.
"Mom. Dad. I, John, your son, am...an Annoying Asshole."
I felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders. My
parents stared at me, silent and shocked. The dining room was so
silent I could hear an airplane flying overhead, and I wished I could
have been on that plane, seat propped back all the way, kicking the
seat in front of me, instead of sitting at that table.
Finally, after what felt like 1000 years, Dad cleared his throat,
turned to me, and said, "Son? Now, are you sure you're not gay?"
"No Dad--"
"...because you know," he continued, "that kid who mows our lawn,
David, he's as gay as they come, and I'd be more than willing to drive
you two into the city to Boystown, maybe buy you guys some pop at the
Manhole. I mean that would be no problem, and--"
I laughed to myself, thinking about that limp-wristed homo prancing
around our front lawn in pink shorts. Ha! What a fairy!
"Dad," I said, "I'm not gay. I'm an Annoying Asshole, and I've
accepted that, and I want you and Mom to accept me too."
Mom let out a sob, tears falling into her mashed potatoes. "But...
but... John... how do you know?"
"Mom -- look at me. Take a good look at me. You can't deny it." I
was wearing a white backwards ballcap pulled over my forehead, a gray
Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt, brand new khakis, and brown hush
puppies. I mean -- I couldn't have looked any more like an Annoying
Asshole stereotype if I tried. I tell you, I was positively radiating
"a-dar," which, for those not in the know, is a slang term used in the
Annoying Asshole Community meaning, "Annoying Asshole radar."
"Oh... God!" Mom cried. "It's true. You are. You, my son, are such
an Annoying Asshole!"
Dad scowled at me, shaking his head. "My son. An Annoying Asshole.
And now I suppose you're gonna move to an Annoying Asshole
neighborhood like Riverdale when you're old enough, and you'll hang
out in Annoying Asshole bars like the House of Blues, and you'll
attend Dave Matthews Band concerts..."
He broke down crying, repeating over and over, "My son. My only son.
An...Annoying Asshole."
"Can't you just be nice?!?" Mom pleaded between sobs. "Can't you just
be a considerate nice guy? Girls like nice guys, not Annoying
Assholes!"
I chuckled. "Oh Mom... so naive! Ever since I admitted to myself that
I'm an Annoying Asshole, the girls are all over me. They love it,
'cause they think they can change me, but they can't, and you can't.
This is how the Good Lord made me."
"Aw bullshit!" Dad yelled, slamming his fist on the table, shaking
the food bowls and centerpiece with the impact. "I read 'People
Magazine.' I watch 'Dateline: NBC.' I've been to Scarborough!" He
rose from his chair and pointed. "You made a conscious choice to
become an Annoying Asshole. Well, young man, you better get nice, or
I'm gonna make you nice!"
"Dad, Come on!" I yelled, rising from my seat and shaking my head in
frustration. "Considering all the persecution we get from Annoying
Assholephobes, why on earth would I possibly choose this? I tried the
Kind Life. I tried consideration, thoughtfulness, tolerance, common
decency. I can't do it, Dad!" I started to cry, joining in with my
parents. "I can't. This is me. I'm here. I'm an Annoying Asshole.
Get used to it!"
The three of us were sobbing uncontrollably. Dad walked over to Mom
and embraced her, saying, "We're gonna get through this dear, we're
gonna get through this."
"Mom. Dad." I blubbered. "I just wanted to say that...I love you."
"Get out of this house, you Annoying Asshole!" Dad screamed, Mom
wailing in front of him even louder. "You are no longer my son."
"But Dad--"
"Out!" He yelled, pointing at the front door.
I left the kitchen, but before I left, I turned around and yelled,
"Fine! I'm leaving, but you'll be sorry. While you're still making
dental floss, I'm gonna be somebody! I'm gonna be the biggest, most
Annoying Asshole this world has ever seen!"
I packed my bags, left a big floater in their toilet (to show that I
was who I said I was), and left home.
I haven't looked back. I immediately found a job telemarketing for
the Medjugorje Benevolent Association. In 1990, at the age of 18, I
got my picture on the front page of the Sun, taking part in a march
supporting the Gulf War with a sign reading, "100,000 Dead Iraqis and
It's Miller Time!"
Two years later, I was finally accepted into the brotherhood of Kirby
vacuum cleaner salesmen, so that just goes to show you that annoying
assholes can be productive members of society.
In fact, there are many prominent Americans who are proud of their
Annoying Assholeness. For example, did you know that Cokie Roberts, a
nationally known television journalist, is a real Annoying Asshole?
So is Charles Barkley. So are Bruce Vlanich, Tony Robbins, Francine
Prose, Henry Kissinger, Katherine Harris, Courtney Love, Jim Carrey,
and Queen Latifah.
I guess you can say that I'm in good company.
To this day, I remain very active in the Annoying Asshole community.
I march in Annoying Asshole parades. I give my time and money to
Pro-Annoying Asshole candidates for elected office (so many choices!),
and I get hammered at church bingo games.
Together with my beautiful annoying asshole wife Ashley, and our two
cute Annoying Asshole children Kyle and Stacy, we do all we can to
show society that we will never go back to the days when Annoying
Assholes were faced with intolerance at every turn.
As for my parents...I can only hope and pray that they will one day
love and accept me for the Annoying Asshole that I am. Oprah Winfrey:
if you're reading this, please contact my parents and let them know
that I'm still their son, Annoying Asshole or not, and they should
love me and buy me knickknacky Crate and Barrel crap all the time, no
matter what.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to drive in my Ford Expedition on the
highway while chatting idly on my cell-phone.
