Coming Out

Where I left off yesterday, my friend Bob was in the bathroom waiting for my Mother to leave my apartment.  She had made an unannounced visit to my ground floor, garden apartment in Coatesville, PA  on this early summer  Saturday morning.

My Mother had been suspicious of why I insisted on having an apartment after I moved back from a three month stay in Pittsburgh after I got out of the Army.  She couldn't understand why I didn't live at home.  The reason I didn't live at home was because I was a closeted gay.  I wanted to live my life without the restrictions of living at home.  However, I did not tell my Mother that this was the reason I wanted an apartment.

So on this Saturday morning my married boyfriend and I were in bed doing what comes naturally.  My Mother knocks at the front door.  I don't hear her.  She goes around to the back of the building and says through the screened window "Ronnie, are you in there?"  Her voice startles us.  Thank goodness I had the shade pulled.  I say "Yes, I'm in here.  I'm still in bed."  She said "I'll go around the front door."  


I do a quick mental calculation and decide that there is not enough time for Bob to put his clothes on and escape through the front door before she is at the front door.  I tell him "Hide in the bathroom until she leaves."  


Bob grabs his pants, shirt and shoes and dashes out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and through the area where the heating unit of the apartment building is located and into the bathroom.  He closes the bathroom door.

I quickly put on my clothes and go to the front door to let my Mother in.  She is suspicious.  As she enters my kitchen through the front door she has a concerned look on her face.  It's like she wants to ask me a question but doesn't know what to ask.  She knows something isn't right.

She stays for about two hours visiting.  As she is about to leave she says "I have to use the bathroom." m Oh no.  My mind is in a panic.  What to do?  I think of several explanations why I have a 29 year old married man, father of three in my bathroom.  None passes the smell test.  Finally I arrived at the obvious solution.  I will tell her exactly who is in my bathroom.  No more lies.  No more hiding.  No.  Right at the moment it was if the clouds had parted from the sky and the clear sun shone through.  I will tell her the truth.

I told her "You can't go in the bathroom.  There is a man in there."  Upon hearing this her jaw drops open and she screams "What? Why is there a man in your bathroom!"  I shouted back at her.  "He is my boyfriend and he was visiting me this morning.  You caught us in bed!  As traumatic as this statement was, I felt a huge weight go off of my shoulders.  I also knew at that time that my life from here on out would be changed forever.  I was at a crossroads in my life and I decided to take the path of Truth and Freedom.

Poor Bob.  I don't know how much he heard up until the shouting began but I knew I had to get him out of there.  I go the bathroom and open the door.  Bob has a look of sheer terror on his pale skinned face.  His pale blue veins were very visible on the side of his forehead.  He looked to me for direction as to what to do.  I told him he had to leave.  I told him I would call him later.

Bob rushes past my stunned Mother in the kitchen and out the front door.  Bob closes the door gently behind him as he leaves my apartment.   I remember to this day how gently he closed that door on that summer, Saturday morning.  This wasn't like it  is in the movies where doors are slammed for dramatic effect.  It was almost like if he showed this courtesy everything would be alright.  Bob was like that, a very gentle and caring person.  That was just one of the many things I liked about this sweet man.

Now I was alone with my Mother.  She had started to cry.  In between her gasping sobs she  demanded to know "What did I do wrong?  I tried to raise you and your brothers the best I could.  Why are you this way?  I told her I was always "this way" and that she did nothing wrong.

She continued to cry said  "You are sick!  You have to go to the hospital.  They will cure you!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  I knew I wasn't "sick."  If anything, those around me were "sick" by not recognizing what comes naturally to me.  Even then, as an inexperienced 21 year old I knew that I wasn't "sick."  I wasn't buying into that lie.  I knew the only people who had a problem were those who feared being embarrassed by having a queer in the family.  Yes, that's what they called gays back in the Fifties and Sixties......QUEER.  Mom had a QUEER son and she was going to get him fixed.  Uh huh.  That wasn't happening.

This story will continue on my next blog posting.  It is very emotional for me to live through this time.  Even though it occurred 47 years ago, I can remember it like it was just last week.  After 21 years of hiding who I was, I was now exposed for all the word to see.  I was the queer son of Ike and Betty Tipton.  To them (at that time) it was a fate worse than death.

My new life was about to begin. A life of freedom from the oppression of others to hide who I was.  It was my life and I was going to be honest with myself and honest with those I care about.  To me this was my only choice.  I chose not to live a life of lies and deception. Ironically, the man I have to thank for that freedom was a man who chose to live his life in the closet.  Life abounds in ironies.  This was a fact that would become all too familiar to me during the next 47 years of my life.

To be continued.

Father's Day 2009

April 18, 1920 my Father was born in the hills of western North Carolina. His name was Isaac Walter Tipton. He was named after his maternal grandfather, Isaac Ledford Lewis. His middle name of "Walter" was taken from the doctor who delivered him. My grandmother named the middle name of most of her sons after the doctor who delivered them. My Father was born and brought up in an Appalachian community, or as it is more commonly known, "hillbilly country."

He and his parents and eight of his brothers moved to southeastern Pennsylvania in the late 1920's to seek a better way of life. The family was hired as migrant farm labor on my grandfather's brother-in-law fruit and vegetable farm near Unionville, Pennsylvania. Two more of his brothers were born in Pennsylvania, for a total of eleven Tipton boys to pick the fruits and vegetables on their Uncle Don Byrd's farm.

My father met my Mother when he was 19 years old (she was 16 years old.) It was love at first sight. They eloped and got married a few months after they first set eyes on one another. The year my Mother was to graduate from school, 1941, she instead delivered a fine and healthy baby boy. That fine and healthy baby boy is the writer of this blog. In subsequent years my parents produced two more children, my brothers Isaac, Jr. and John.

In August of 2000 my Father died from complications of lung cancer. He was a lifelong smoker and it finally caught up with him despite the many warnings from his doctor.

When I got the news of my Father's death I was shocked. He was a major force in my life and now he was gone. Hearing my sister-in-law tell me over the phone "Ronnie, Pop died last night", I felt like someone punched me in the stomach. All the air went out of me. I didn't immediately feel sadness, only a sense that my life would be forever different now that this towering and intimidating presence was gone forever from my life.

My Father and I were never close. I'm not ashamed to admit that nor am I proud to make that statement. It is just a fact. While I envied some of my classmates and friends who had close relationships with their fathers, I knew it was never to be with me. Sure, I would have liked to went to a ball game with my Father. He was a big Phillies fan. It never happened. I can still remember the pain of participating in high school activities like band, chorus or high school plays and being one of the few students who did not have a parent attend the event. My father didn't even attend my high school graduation despite the fact I was the first person in our family to graduate from high school. I could cite many more instances of his neglect and indifference to me but it would only be redundant. I felt that my Father wasn't interested in me.

I think the greatest hurt I ever felt was sometime after I had left the service (U.S. Army, 1960-1963.) My Mother casually mentioned to me one day "Pop was surprised that you made it though." I said "What? Made it through what?" She said "The Army." I felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart. While I did have some initial problems in basic training (mainly due to a malfunction rifle which caused me not to qualify on the rifle range), it never once entered my mind that I wouldn't "make it" through the Army. I never debated it because the question never came up in my mind. As a matter of fact, once I got over my initial problems in basic training, I did quite well. I left my three year tour of duty with the U. S. Army with the rank of E-5 and had served 2 1/2 years in the Army Security Agency at the National Security Agency in Ft. Meade, Maryland. One month I was even selected soldier of the month. And my father didn't think I would "make it." I was very disappointed when I learned of his lack of confidence in me. I didn't know it went that deep.

Sometimes I'm surprised I have done as well as I have in life. I certainly didn't get any encouragement from my Father. In fact, he often told me that I was stupid and had a big nose. The one thing that was consistent on my report cards in grade school has "Lacks confidence." Gee, I wonder where that came from? It wasn't until I got away from home that I realized that I wasn't stupid and had some worth. I even found out that my nose wasn't all that big and some people even considered me attractive (remember, this was when I was young, not the old geezer I have become approaching my 70th year.) As the years rolled by I gradually gained more self confidence and lost my sometimes crippling shyness.

The purpose of this Father's Day blog posting is not to complain about my Father but to tell the reader what my dad was like. In many ways he was a good Father. By the way, we (my brothers and I) never called him "Dad." We called him "Pop." I don't know where that came from but that's what we all called him, including my Mother. My Father raised me and my brothers in poor but comfortable circumstances. We had a good childhood. No one was abused. Oh sure, we got the occasional whipping as did most kids who misbehaved themselves did back in the 40's and 50's before political correctness forbade parents using corporal punishment to discipline their children. My Father only punched me once and that was when I was 17 years old and wanted to borrow his car for my Senior Prom. He said "No" and I gave him some lip back. I got it right across the head with a closed fist for that remark. I remember I was cleaning the bathtub and almost fell in the empty tub when he whacked me. I decided then and there I would leave home as soon as possible and never be under his control again.

Over the years since I left home there were some tense times (like the time I came out about being gay), and other less dramatic events. I never argued with him again. If we had a difference I would walk away. I found out many years later, after his death, that he was quite proud of me and what I had done with my life. My Mother told me this. I asked her why didn't he ever tell me. She said "Pop couldn't say those things." Of course he never said he loved me either. Nor did I tell him I loved him until the last time I saw him alive, the Saturday night before he died.

My father was alone in his hospital room, hooked up to an IV and oxygen breathing apparatus to his nose. I was visiting him. I don't know what we were talking about but I do remember it was awkward as it always was all during my life whenever I talked to my Father. After awhile he had to get up to go to the bathroom (his pride wouldn't permit him to use the bedpan.) I turned away. After his finished (a Number One by the way), he sat on the edge of his bed looking out of the hospital window at the lights in the parking lot on this Saturday night. I remembered all the many previous Saturday nights when I lived in Center City Philadelphia, and seeing those Saturday night lights indicated that it was my time to go out clubbing at the gay bars. This was a different Saturday night. I was with my Pop near the end of his life. I knew it and I think he knew it. He was exhausted. I came up behind him as he sat on the edge of his bed and lightly kissed him on the back of his head and said "I love you Pop." He said nothing but he didn't push me away either. I think in his own way he wanted to tell me he loved me but was unable to do so. I understood.

I gathered my things up and left him alone in his hospital room still sitting on the edge of his bed. That following Monday morning as I unlocked the office door to the bank where I worked in Downingtown, and rushed in to answer the phone which was urgently ringing. I knew it was bad news. I picked up the phone and heard my sister-in-law say "Ronnie, Pop died last night. Could you come home and tell Mom?" I caught my breath and then said "Thanks Barbara. I'll be right home."

I called my boss and told him that my Father had died and I had to leave immediately. I arrived home and there in the kitchen she and my Father shared for over sixty years was my Mother, my two brothers and my sister-in-law. I broke the news to Mom. She nodded her head as if to say "It is finally over." She had been through a lot the past eight months with his health problems. She was near a nervous breakdown herself. His death was a relief in a way and yet she knew her life would never be the same again.

Every year at Father's Day I remember "Pop." I used to make him his favorite cake for his birthday. It was German Chocolate Cake. I haven't made it since. Whenever I see a jelly doughnut I think of him. Raspberry filled jelly doughnuts were his favorite. I used to bring him left over ones from the Hampton Inn where I worked. That was one of the few times I would get a smile from him. I treasured those moments.

I have to honestly say I miss my Father. There are times when I would like to talk to him. His interest in gardening was as great as mine. While he didn't have much of a formal education he was a very intelligent man. While he could be very selfish and mean spirited at times, other times he was very generous and funny. If you caught him in the right mood, your day was made.

Now that I am older and losing whatever boyish looks I use to have, more and more people are telling me "You look just like Ike." They tell me that not only do I physically look like my Father but that I have many of his same mannerisms like the way I leave my mouth open or grind my teeth. Even the way I walk. So there you go, the final irony. I'm turning into my Father. He would like that.

Coming Out

My nephew recently was informed by his 16 year old niece that she was gay. This information stunned and shocked him. Of course the first thing he thought was "What did I do wrong?" That's what all parents think when they are faced with the knowledge that one of their children is gay. My Mother has the same reaction when I came out to her in April of 1963. Her first words were "What did I do wrong." I told her "You didn't do anything wrong, this is who I am. I've always been this way as long as I can remember." I realize that this is a lot of information for any parent to process. But it is a fact of life that is becoming more prevelant these days as more and more young people refuse to live their life as a lie and are coming out to their parents, relatives and friends.

Since my grand niece told me that she had informed her father she was gay, I've been debating if and how I should post this information to my blog. I have decided to post this information but I will withhold their names out of respect for their privacy. Anyone who knows me personally, knows who I am talking about. I only have one nephew (I have four nieces.) He has two daughters and is a wonderful father to both of them. He is divorced from his daughter's mother and know lives with his second wife and her teen aged son. Both of his daughters (my nieces) live with his former wife. He has an amicable relationship with his former wife and sees his daughters frequently. They both adore him and I can understand why. My nephew is a smart, funny, laid back kind of guy who is strong yet gentle. All the attributes that anyone could want in a dad or a nephew. He's also a pretty good looking guy too but that's no surprise, he has the family gene.

Below is my response to him after I read his comment this morning on Facebook that said "I'm going back to work today. I hope there are no more surprises."


(Nephew),

I think you got hit by the Big One. You shouldn't get any more surprises unless you got one like I got back in 1998. My boss at (bank) called me in. I thought I was getting a raise because I was doing such a great job (which I was by the way). Oh no, he gave me a written warning for POOR JOB PERFORMANCE. Talk about a shocker. Of course I eventually got fired.

It wasn't until two years later I found out he was a homophobe and he had a track record of manufacturing "evidence" to fire gays like me who were out. How did I know? I found out quite by accident when I was talking to a co-worker at (bank) a couple years later who worked for him in Philadelphia. He also fired her because she was gay. Made up evidence of course. He got away with it both times. She told me he had fired three other guys who he knew were gay. They eventually got rid of him at (bank).

When I was fired I told Bill that he wouldn't last long at (bank) because they knew what he was doing. He didn't last. He was gone in less than a year. The president of the bank told me that he liked me but had to end the "conflict" between me and my boss and that's why he "terminated my employment" as he put it.

I had heard of gays being fired from their jobs just because they were gay but I didn't believe it could happen that easily. Especially, since I had done such an outstanding job of bringing the trust operations department back under control. But it happens (nephew). Imagine my surprise when I was talking to Terry D. (who used to work for him at (bank) in Philadelphia) and when I told her I used to work at (bank) for Bill E. she said "Oh him, he's a homophobe who fires gays." Now, she didn't know I was gay and I didn't know she was gay. I asked her how did she know that and she said "I'm gay and he fired me by manufacturing evidence that I was performing my job poorly. He's very clever how he goes about it but he does fire any gays who he finds out that are working for him." That's when I told her what happened to me. She then told me of three other instances she knew of that this guy fired gays. She said (bank) eventually got rid of him because they were afraid they were going to be sued. I tried to sue (took it all the way to the Human Relations Commission in Philadelphia for a hearing) but lost because I couldn’t produce any witnesses to his homophobia towards me.

Now I'm realistic enough to know that most straight people don't care about gays being fired just because they are gay but it is a life changing event if it happens to you. I prefer not to live my life as a lie and this is the risk that I take. I now work for an gay man at my present part-time job. I didn't know he was gay when he hired me, and I seriously doubt if my sexual orientation didn't have anything to do with why he hired me. We both just happened to be gay which we discovered through the course of several casual conversations over the next few months after I was hired. Neither one of us hides the fact that we are gay but we don't walk around with a sign on our necks saying we're gay either. But, I don't have to worry about being fired for being just who I am. I don't have to lie to keep my job.

Thought you would be interested in the greatest shock I ever had in my life. I hope I don't have any more like that just as I hope you don't have any more shocks. At least this year anyway.

Have a great day!

Uncle Ronnie