Families
An image from the website of an American gay fathers' association
The family isn't one, it's many. Behind the curtain of roles lie each person's story. There are identities that can't be erased, at most "hidden," but with pain. The family we're talking about has faced homosexuality by seeing... three generations. A son has come out as gay, his father has come out as gay, his grandfather knows everything and doesn't approve. The boy's mother and wife of the gay husband are faced with powerful revelations and say they suffered especially for their son. The husband and wife have four children. They have chosen the path of sincerity because they consider it constructive. The children have understood and thank their father for his clarity. At Christmas, they will all spend the holidays together, each knowing about the other. There are no heroes in this story, only issues that need to be addressed. There are no preconceived truths touted as the only acceptable ones, fomenting hostility. What is needed is the ability to see life and love where they are found, and that is, as often happens, in difficult places.
THE HUSBAND – After four children I discovered I was gay
I'm already in my 50s, but I feel much younger inside and out. I've worked out extensively at the gym. I'm often tanned, I've shaved, I've had laser surgery to correct my myopia and stop wearing glasses. Why? To be more handsome, to like myself more. A bit strange for a professional and respectable family man. A perfect family, a beautiful, healthy, intelligent wife and children. We all love each other. But for some time, there's been a restlessness inside me, something I've been keeping secret.
I thought it would accompany me to the grave. For a long time, perhaps forever, I've been attracted to other men. I often went to the seaside, to the naturist beach, and to the gym, to be looked at and to be looked at in return. To be seen—me, a man—by another man. Life went on like this until I had the courage to try my first experiences. It changed completely when I found love. During my first flirtations, I wrote a lot, I wanted to remember everything. Everything is forgotten so quickly. Shopping, dinners, trips... I wanted to share every experience with the person I felt connected to.
When I was in the military, after graduating from medical school, I was infatuated with my bunkmate. He was also a gay nurse. I wondered if I was gay too. During those years, I met my wife, Ada. Once, she had doubts about being pregnant. She told me, "I absolutely want to have this child, even if we have to break up." I was worried; we had no home, no job, no money. But in a letter, I wrote to her, "I accept it." Her period came and she became very sad. She didn't give up. After four months, the first conception occurred. I was 25, I felt like a kid. We were the only ones in our company to have a child. It always went on like that. When she wanted to have other children, I always resisted: "The house is small, the car is small." The times when I remember her radiant were when she was pregnant or breastfeeding. When she wanted another, she sought me out so much. Sometimes I've asked myself, "Does my wife want me or does she want children?" Every time a child was born, however, we were all happy. Each time, I gave my wife the life she wanted, and I don't believe I've disappointed her. I see my children above all as friends; I don't feel a distance between us. Sometimes I scold them or get angry. When they were younger, she was more permissive. Today, having grown even closer to them, she's become more authoritarian. Over the years, from my 25th to my 40th, I've been happy with my wife, in every way.
It was after the birth of my youngest, ten years ago, that I began to change. She raised the children, hung out with couples with children, and the parents of our kids' schoolmates. I wasn't getting along. And I was looking for interests outside of the family: I worked out at the gym, and on weekends I went on trips to the mountains. She told me, "I'm leaving you free, go on your own, I prefer to think of you as being in a good mood." Taking care of my body became a priority. I wanted to make up for all the time I'd lost. With other men, the first glances began, the first fantasies and dreams, increasingly pressing.
Until I had my first gay experience, full of shame and fear. I was especially afraid of being discovered, but today I think my main fear was exposing myself to myself. After that, I had several flings, each time I fell in love like a child, always wanting to be with my boyfriend, hanging out with friends, going to pizza places, to parties, experiencing fantastic moments. It was as if I had a thirst I had never admitted to myself. And each time I felt more alive than ever, heartbroken by the lack of others, happy to please, moved, ecstatic at every encounter. I felt inside my body. For a year, I've had a deep and stable bond. In the love I give, I feel deeply reciprocated. Faced with this gratifying and fulfilling emotional reality of mine, I could no longer keep quiet about it to my family. So after my seventeen-year-old boyfriend came out as gay, I made up my mind too. Suddenly, I told my wife everything. We talked a lot, we cried together, we finally felt close again after so many months of coldness and lack of communication. Miracle: he didn't kick me out, he didn't say terrible words to me, he didn't look at me with hatred and disgust, but with love and so much sadness. We decided to separate, to tell everything honestly. These days I'm looking for a small place to move.
I'm close to all my children, I know their friends, I sometimes even go to their parties. I feel they understand me. For now, I'm particularly concerned about the gay boy. I wish him every happiness, I hope he finds love very soon, I share his joys. I had a completely different relationship with my father than I do with my children. He's a commanding man, he's always been the pater familias, he's solid. Even though he's 80 and retired, he's still interested in his profession as a lawyer. I've disappointed him; he didn't like many things about me. He sensed my homosexuality by asking me direct questions. With my mother, it's different; despite everything, she welcomes me. We'll all be together at Christmas anyway. Christmas Eve with my wife's brothers at their house. On the 25th, at my parents' house for lunch. All our children will be with us. With us is my father, the great old man who never granted me the blessing of protecting and helping him, as if I were an eternal child. Only when he's sick does he seek treatment and notice me. I am the doctor son. I intervene when all hope may be lost, where the body can suddenly betray us. I work in intensive care. I rescue lives hanging by a thread. In this I have not disappointed.
THE WIFE – I am a mother and a doctor, I dream of another love
Since I was a child, I've had a strong maternal instinct. I've always insisted on having children with my husband. But today I'm grateful for our four boys. A year ago, he told me he was gay. A fortnight earlier, we'd had my son's revelation. Yes, our boy, who is now 18, opened up to his parents and siblings—he's the most extroverted of them—and talked about his homosexuality. Outwardly, I forced myself to react well, but for me it was a hard blow. I'm a doctor, my first concern was for his health. Of course, unprotected behavior puts you at risk of contracting AIDS, but I still trembled. Then I worried he wasn't as happy as I hope my other children will be in starting a family. Finally, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to understand him, even though he opens up so much to me, easily describing his sexual approach, even telling me things you wouldn't tell a mother. After Marco, it was Alessio, my husband, who spoke. Another blow, but emotionally less severe than my son's revelation. Alessio had begun to distance himself from me for several years. I had also distanced myself from him. The moment he spoke to me, I realized I could no longer consider myself married.
The real impact: I realized my life was going to change. I felt emotionally detached, and since then, any mention of me and my body has felt like an intrusion. If he says, "Blank up, it's cold," or "Why don't you go to the gym? It would do you good," I feel annoyed. The kids were delightful. First, we talked to them about the separation, and they accepted, despite the pain of their parents no longer being a couple. But when Alessio told the three eldest about his homosexuality, they were welcoming. "Thank you, Dad," they told him, "for confiding in us, thank you for your clarity." Over the past few years, Alessio had become very distant, initially causing me the disappointment of being rejected. He often went to the gym, on weekend trips. Only once did I ask him, "Can't you go out with us?" "No, I'm sorry." A defense mechanism kicked in, leading me to live the rest of my life with the same intensity as always—children, work, friendships—without seeking him out. I wasn't entirely at peace, though; I felt vaguely guilty at realizing that things weren't going well. "Was it my fault he distanced himself?" I wondered. When he told me he was gay, I felt liberated. No, it wasn't my fault at all. Even though his family tends to blame me: "You didn't know how to hold on to your husband." Otherwise, they're delightful to me; they come to visit me often. They've understood everything because they've asked him so many questions about mutual friends: "Are you with Susanna?" "No." "So, Letizia?" "No." "Francesca?" "No." "So, you're gay." "Yes." Alessio's father is eighty, but he feels 40. He's always been the great father. I've strengthened my friendships: the friends we had as a married couple, the parents of my children's schoolmates, my coworkers. But I haven't found another love. Let's just say I'm faithful. I'm 50 and I don't think I'm very beautiful. If I see my colleagues in the hospital, I realize that separated women are often left alone. There should be plenty of separated men. Instead, they're either happily married or, perhaps, they're all gay! But finding another love is my dream. I'd like to fall in love again, to experience the feeling of total fusion, of having so many plans together. With Alessio, it was like that for a long time.
I wanted the kids. I told him, "I want a child." And he said, "No way." But then he never completely refused. Once, twice, three times, four times... We had a satisfying sex life, I felt completely connected to him. Only in the last year and a half has there been nothing more between us. When we met, he told me he'd felt a strong attraction to his peers, but given our relationship, I always thought it was just a brief moment. But no. Now he's looking for a place to go. At first, we tried to continue family life, but then I couldn't stand it. I thought I had to leave, because the house is his. He agreed to let me stay with the kids. I prefer him to leave home. I've been the father and mother to the kids. To him, they're friends. I'm the one who sets the schedules and dictates the rules. We even left together without Alessio. We live in a small town in Lombardy. One of the most beautiful trips the kids and I took was to Venice. They've become a bit of a compensation. I would never confide in them, but they provide me with so much warmth and companionship. Every time I grew one inside me and brought them into the world, I felt so happy. And that wasn't enough. I wanted to feel life inside me. Once again. Many times. My profession is like that, too. A doctor must bring life. Yet for a few years I've been accompanying people to death. I work in a hospice, working with terminally ill cancer patients. I provide psychological and soothing support. One of the most challenging moments is the interview, when you have to understand if the patient wants to know the truth. Not everyone wants to know. They ask unequivocal questions. "I don't have cancer, do I?", "Do you think you do?", "No, I just suspect." When I'm sure they know they're at the end, I provide the information. But without ever giving up hope on the possibility of at least not experiencing excruciating suffering, without ever saying how much life remains to be lived, also because no one can know. I must maintain detachment and clarity, and instill confidence. I am an optimist by nature. I am accustomed to difficult situations. I even instill hope in my own life. I am certain that it will change for the better.
