When I was in my early 20s, one of the people I came out to was my cousin. My cousin, in a thoughtless fit of selfish honesty (also called gossip) told my aunt and uncle - her parents. My uncle, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with his mother, outed me to Granny, using phrases like “dutty, stinkin’ bullerman” and “fuckin’ faggot”.
My grandmother was silent for 2 weeks. I was devastated. I spent most of that time curled up in bed.
After 2 weeks, Granny phoned me. “Dorian,” she said, “I need to go to the grocery store. Come and take me.”
I drove to her house, collected her, drove her to the grocery store, walked around with her, carried the bags back to the car, and drove her home again. We spoke of inconsequential things the whole time. I thought she was going to ignore the entire episode.
After my cousin (another cousin, not the same one as earlier - this cousin was the one who told me what my uncle had done) took the groceries out of the car and carried them inside, Granny turned to me and said, “I will always love you. No matter what you do, or who you are. You are my first grandson. I am very proud of you. Don’t ever worry that I don’t love you. And pick up the fuckin’ phone and call me once in a while.”
We never spoke of it again.
My uncle went on to out me to anyone who would listen. Most people ignored him since he’d been calling me a pansy for as long as many of them could remember. Plus, my granny loved me, so nothing else mattered.
Family. Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them. And yes, grannies rock.
