Family Disgrace
by Cheyenne

I couldn’t live with it anymore - the yelling, the screaming, and the fighting that went on within my home on a daily and nightly basis. The emotional drainage from just being within these walls. The self-blame.

I had learned long ago that it was all my fault. Well, maybe not all, but most of it. My father was a tyrant. He wanted everything to be done his way, and on his time. Mother and I tried our best to please him, and usually things were fine, but I knew that every time he looked at me, his eyes burned through me with contempt, disgust over the fact that I had never been the perfect son he wanted me to be.

Yes, I was a good student, and a generally good kid. I volunteered at a hospital on weekends, was the star of the football team, was rather popular at school, and although I had my flaws, wasn’t much worse of a screw up than anybody else’s kid. I point this out not to say that I’m so wonderful that nobody should dislike me, but to say that whatever I’ve done, I don’t believe I deserved my father’s hatred.

I realize that hate is a strong word, but it seems an appropriate label for what I felt radiating from him whenever he and I were in the same room. He rarely spoke to me anymore, but one icy look at me showed just how he felt about his only son. ‘Only son’ is what he always called me, whenever he introduced the family to strangers. "My only son," he would add casually, and only we understood the underlying implications of the comment, that he was pointing out how I was the only chance for him to raise a man and be made proud- and I had failed him, because every little thing I did was not good enough. Everyone has little things between they and the people in their lives that has a double meaning. This was ours. You’ve disappointed me.

I was the topic of Mother and Father’s argument downstairs. They were screaming at each other. My heart wrenched and tied up in knots- I hated when they argued. Hearing it was possibly the worst thing in the world. I wondered if I could find a way to calm Father enough to speak rationally. I didn’t know why they were arguing about me, but as usual, I heard my name uttered more than once. Since it was my fault, I knew I should somehow distract Father’s anger away from Mother.

Outside of my room, I could hear their argument clearly.

"He’s your son, your child, for goodness sakes, he’s only fifteen-"

"He is NOT a baby, and apparently thinks he’s grown, making his own big decisions, so he can decide between-"

"See, that’s your thing- you think it was a decision for him, but nobody I knew would ever say they woke up and decided-"

To be gay. My cheeks flushed and my face grew hot. My stomach seemed to flip, and my heart started beating so fast I thought I must be dying, having a heart attack. I feared my father’s wrath above anything, and always had. When he was angry, he was capable of doing insane things, things he already didn’t have must restraint from doing even when he wasn’t mad. He was going to kill me. He would hide my body and tell the cops I was a runaway, and nobody would ever find me.

Okay, my father wasn’t that crazy, but I knew he would be outraged once I faced him.

How did they know?

Oh, I’m sure they’ve suspected. I was always that strange child, the one they could never get to act like the Jones’s kid next door, the shy, one, the one all the girls found precious. Among my peers, we know the ‘gay’ stereotype, the ‘fairy’ stereotype enough to understand how much it doesn’t apply, but... Yes, I was always THAT child. I could at least be free at school, where people are accepting, and I can be open to be myself - me and Nathan...

Oh. Suzn, it must have been Suzn. She always carpools me home and today I walked out and kissed Nathan goodbye, and she must have seen and told Mother and Father. I should’ve have kissed him in front of the school, I should have been careful.

My stomach was going berserk as all the hormones for ‘absolute panic’ went off in my body.

"Well then, we’ll ask him. I don’t care if he’s asleep, he thinks he needs twenty fuckin hours like some kinda beauty queen, well I’m waking him up and he’s gonna talk!"

Father’s voice drew closer, and his last words were spoken at the bottom of the stairs, his head turned to yell back at Mother.

"I’m right here," I said, after fighting the urge to run and hide.

He looked up at me, sitting on the top step. "Come down here."

Mother appeared beside him and held his arm, as if getting ready to restrain him. I wasn’t horribly abused, but he had a tendency to take his anger out on either of us.

I stood and walked slowly down the steps, one by one, my eyes averted from the anger in his gaze.

"FASTER!"

I hurried to the bottom stairs, and as soon as I was close enough, he reached out and harshly grabbed my ear, yanking it, and causing me to let out a cry that filled the house.

"Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him!" Mother begged him, trying to pry his fingers off of me while he dragged me to the living room and I struggled to keep up.

"He’s fine, don’t baby him," he spoke over her, and all I could do was whimper because he was practically pulling my ear off.

In the living room, he let me go, tossing me away from him, and I fell into Mother’s arms. I found my feet and stumbled backwards to the couch, but he shouted, "Don’t you dare sit on my couch, get your ass off my couch!"

I stood and looked into his eyes. "Father..."

My mother’s arms went around my shoulders, and immediately he went into an outrage.

"Stop babying him, bitch!" He kicked over the coffee table, and grabbed Mother.

"Stop!" I shouted to him, wrenching her arm away from his grasp, knowing it wouldn’t hurt as much as whatever he might do to her. "Mom, go upstairs," I begged. "Go... Please."

"How dare you talk to your mother like that-"

I cut off his words with my own. "Father, you don’t need to hurt her because you’re mad at me, so whatever you do, do it to me, not her. Just stop." Mother was standing near, keeping her distance from Father but refusing to step out of the scene and leave me to him. "I heard what you guys were arguing about when I was on the stairs. I wish it didn’t have to be a big thing, but whatever you heard, it’s all probably true."

He stared at me for the longest time, his eyes burning into me. "You’re gay?" he asked finally, somewhat calmer.

I nodded. "Yes, Father."

"And you have a... a..."

"Boyfriend?" I provided, shyly. He rolled his eyes, and nodded.

"Yes."

"What’s his name?" He demanded.

"His - His name?"

"Yes, that’s what I asked you, he shouted angrily. "What. Is. His. Name?"

I hung my head and tried to imagine a way to answer him.

"WHAT’S HIS FUCKIN NAME?!" He screamed, grabbing me by the hair and shouting into my face, ignoring my mother’s cries, as she jumped forward and tried to get between us.

"Eh... Isaac," I whispered.

"Isaac? Isaac?"

"Yes!"

"Isaac What?"

"I don’t know."

He yanked. "You answer me when I ask you a question, do you hear me? What’s his last name?"

"I don’t know, I never asked. I’ve only been with him for one day."

Father looked at me and decided I was telling the truth. "Well at school you’re gonna find out and you’re gonna tell me and don’t you dare try to lie. Until then, don’t let me see your face. You’ve complicated this family since the day you were born. Stacy is more of a man than you are, and this only proves it!"

I so badly wanted to say, "Well you know what? Stacy likes girls!" But I knew it was not my place to tell him that. She had been so much smarter than me, had expertly kept it a secret until she went off to college and escaped Father. He still didn’t know, and I assumed she would tell him after she graduated, which was amusing, but clever. I envied her, but I wouldn’t tell my sister’s biggest secret, the one that kept us as close as ever.

"What is a real man, Father? Does that mean somebody who hits his wife? Someone whose own children think he’s crazy? Are you a real man because you can be loud and mean and overpower people to make them fear you?"

"ENOUGH!" He roared. "That’s enough!" He picked up the overturned coffee table and threw it in my general direction as a warning. I dodged it and headed to end up the stairs while he yelled about respect.

"Go in our room! Now!" he ordered Mother, and she knew not to defy him, somehow making herself step out of the scene because she knew making him madder would make it worse for me.

Father followed me into my room, and looked right into my eyes, saying, "You are a disgrace to this family. Don’t think you’re welcome in this home, because you’re not. I don’t care where the hell you go, but you better find a place, because I don’t want to see your face another day. I don’t care if I never see you again. So do the only thing you’ll ever do to make me proud, and disappear."

I silently pleaded for the tears not to fall, as I returned his glare. As soon as he exited my room, I sunk to the carpet and quickly wiped away my eyes.

I got up and found an old backpack, walking around the room and planning what would fit in it, before throwing in a few clothes, all my money, which couldn’t have been more than fifty dollars, a little paperwork, and a photo album. I put on several layers of clothes, and looked at my room for the last time before creeping down the stairs. I used the last bit of room in my backpack for food, and then went back upstairs to my parents’ room. I tiptoed in, and it appeared that they both were sleeping, but Mother opened her eyes and whispered, "Go to bed, sweetie," sitting up to look at me.

I went over and hugged her, kissing her cheek. "Goodnight, Mother. I love you."

She smiled. "Love you too. Goodnight. And... Don’t let your father’s words hurt you."

Downstairs, I put on my things and slipped silently away from the house that had been my bittersweet protection for sixteen years.