This weekend I visited my home town of Wollongong, an hour or so south of Sydney where my parents still live, to go to my 20 year high school reunion. In the ten years since the last reunion I have come out to myself, my friends and to my family, all with relatively little drama.
My mother is getting there and has always loved me but has struggled with it at times. She did laugh when she was doing our family tree and I joked that she should put that the family name dies with me, after all it’s not her family name, just the one she married into.
Walking into the reunion was both exciting and nerve wracking. I knew that a lot of people knew, via the wonders of facebook, that I was gay and anyone important didn’t have any issues with it. But what about all the people that I had lost touch with that I got on with? As it turns out, no one cared. It was spooky how familiar it felt chatting to these people, some of whom I’d known since I was 5. To most of them it was either a total non issue, or just another tick box on the list of life’s events.
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