By Tanya Bowers
Spring break 1991, I flew home to Los Angeles from Connecticut. My mother took me to lunch at a neighborhood sushi restaurant. I planned to make the most of our time together by delivering the lines I’d rehearsed my frosh year.
We both ordered chirashi. In my nervousness, I summarized what had transpired thus far second semester… not that I hadn’t already told her. We spoke biweekly over the phone.
“Mommy, I just want you to know that I’m questioning my sexuality.” I cut to the chase.
The smile on her face disappeared. The nodding of her head stopped. Her blanched color contrasted with the darkness of her dyed hair. In the awkward silence, my brown-skinned hand reached across the bleached-wood table for the glass of Coca-Cola. I gulped down the syrupy liquid. The waitresses’ kimonos swished between the customers and the chefs.
“Don’t tell Daddy.” Her thick eyebrows raised for emphasis. “This will not make him happy, and I don’t want him to start smoking again.”
Per usual she was trying to control my father. My new status might trigger his cigarette addiction. She put his emotions first.
“Don’t say anything to your sister either. She is too young to have to worry about this.” Mommy paused. “… Though, I think she knows. A feature on bisexuals ran on the five o’clock news, and she said, ‘I think Tanya’s bisexual.’”
What gave me away to the perceptive nine-year-old? Was it the navy Levi’s cinched with a thick leather belt, the black Doc Martens, or the white V-necked undershirt swiped from our father’s chest of drawers? Could my obsession with Madonna have tipped off my sibling?
Mommy worried about everyone other than me. I needed her to make me her priority.
If I explained, maybe she would understand.
“Look, your marriage to Daddy crossed racial, religious, and class lines. You both taught me to love people for who they were on the inside, not for what they looked like on the outside.” Noticing that the blood hadn’t returned to her face, I continued, “I’m just following in your footsteps…but around gender. Be proud of me for breaking new ground!”
No response. Dang! I had thought my mother was more evolved. She and my father were liberal; they had a few gay friends. I had hoped this announcement would go over better.
Defeated, I placed my wooden chopsticks across the top of the ceramic bowl of bean sprout salad.
As disappointing as her inability to embrace my new status was, at least I’d gotten it out. Now she knew my truth. Telling her had been half the battle.
I had anticipated some resistance in broaching the subject, but in my heart, I knew Mommy would eventually come around. She had always been my confidante.
There was nothing to be ashamed of in exploring who I was. I wouldn’t lie about hitting gay or lesbian clubs in West Hollywood. I wanted to be seen, unlike my father who couldn’t admit to losses in his battle with nicotine.
Whenever he picked up, he snuck behind our backs. Breath Saver mints and Juicy Fruit chewing gum sticks mingled with spare change in the indented section next to the gear shift in his red Honda Prelude. We never knew if he sucked and chewed the candies to mask the tobacco on his breath or simple, chronic halitosis.
Breaking the news to my more-traditional parent would be the next hurdle. Daddy was bound to personalize my rejection of heterosexuality. My upcoming pronouncement would be easier for him to bear with Mommy on board.
I could hold off from saying something but not indefinitely. The whole point of telling my mother was to no longer hide my attraction to women.
Tanya Bowers lives in eastern Washington state, in the U.S. Her most recent writing can be found in Minerva Rising’s The Keeping Room and BWQ. Previously her pieces have been published in VIBE and YogiTimes as well as The New York Times and Los Angeles Times. She has been featured in Mademoiselle and appeared on the Wolf Blitzer and Connie Chung shows. Read more or subscribe to her Substack: https://tanyabowers.substack.com/