| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 7, 2017 | Chapters: |
...5 6 -7- 8... 
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...being the mother of a gay son
A chapter in the book Grammy's Memoirs 2018
A Memoir of Love
by Mustang Patty
Being the mother of a gay son isn't always easy. When my son came out when he was fifteen, I was in shock. While everyone around us said they always knew, I never put my son into any kind of a role. Yes, he was a sensitive boy. Yes, he liked to sew, crochet, and watch me do my makeup. But, I didn't automatically assume he was gay. Sexual orientation is more than those things – it's all about who you love.
It was Mother's Day of 2002 when Gregory told me he was gay. By this time, he had already come out to his sister, and the Youth Pastor at our church. Those reactions had been completely different. His sister told him she would always love him—no matter what. The Youth Pastor told him it could be 'fixed.'
I went into my own kind of shock. I hugged him, but my mind was in turmoil. My son was going to have so many issues. There were too many people who hated homosexuals. I wasn't worried about judgement on our family—I was worried about the kind of life my son would lead. My pain was all about his pain, and all he would be forced to endure.
My reactions to everything that was thrust into my life were to hit the books. I wanted to learn everything I could about how to support my son. I joined PFLAG—Parents for Lesbian and Gays. After reading many articles and books about what had happened to other teenagers who'd come out, I knew I had to fight for his rights in school and any other environment. Taking on our church and their upcoming plans to 'fix' him was the first item on my agenda.
Much of my free time was spent in the church office. I oversaw the budget and giving records. Every Monday, I spent at least three hours counting money and recording checks. I would put together the deposit and prepare a budget report for the Senior Pastor. On this Monday, I requested a meeting with the Pastors of the church.
I was told they had planned to send Gregory to a camp that coming summer. They explained the camp would help him to come back to the Lord. Gregory's leadership roles in the youth ministry would be taken away from him until he was 'fixed.' My horror grew with each remark made by each of the Pastorial staff. I couldn't believe what they were proposing.
I believe in Jesus Christ, and I've been a Christian since I was a small child and came to love the Lord as my Savior. When Christ was on earth, He gave us one commandment—to love one another as He loved us. The blood He shed removed the old Covenants and washed away the sins of anyone who would believe in Him. There is not one word in the Bible quoted from Jesus that deals with specific sins. Sin is sin—none are greater than any other. God created every one of us, and we are all subject to sin. It is our belief in Christ that will allow us into Heaven—not our deeds or acts here on earth.
Attacking the Pastors of this small church probably wasn't a good choice. I didn't physically abuse anyone; I simply stood up for my beliefs and my son. I tried to express myself, but my temper was hot, and the volume of my voice went up. Their faces were in shock because no one had ever seen me as anything but pleasant, but this Mamma Bear was fighting for her cub.
Branded a heretic, I was asked to leave the church and never return. This did not diminish my belief in God, and I still pray every day. I continued to support my son, and I'm so glad we didn't turn against him, or ask him to be anything but himself. Our family continued to be a unit, and we all left the church home we'd made for ourselves. To be honest, none of us have belonged to any church since that time.
I realize many of you reading this story will disagree with my opinion. Some of you may not even continue reading or give me a review based on the subject matter. That's okay; we are all entitled to our beliefs, our personal creed, and to live our lives as we see fit.
My story is one of tolerance. I try not to judge anyone, but it is human nature to judge people. So, I do my best to try and understand the heart of the person. The color of their skin or their personal politics simply do not matter. Loving my fellow travelers on earth is what was asked of me by my Lord, and I will do my best to honor His request.
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Being the mother of a gay son isn't always easy. When my son came out when he was fifteen, I was in shock. While everyone around us said they always knew, I never put my son into any kind of a role. Yes, he was a sensitive boy. Yes, he liked to sew, crochet, and watch me do my makeup. But, I didn't automatically assume he was gay. Sexual orientation is more than those things – it's all about who you love.
It was Mother's Day of 2002 when Gregory told me he was gay. By this time, he had already come out to his sister, and the Youth Pastor at our church. Those reactions had been completely different. His sister told him she would always love him—no matter what. The Youth Pastor told him it could be 'fixed.'
I went into my own kind of shock. I hugged him, but my mind was in turmoil. My son was going to have so many issues. There were too many people who hated homosexuals. I wasn't worried about judgement on our family—I was worried about the kind of life my son would lead. My pain was all about his pain, and all he would be forced to endure.
My reactions to everything that was thrust into my life were to hit the books. I wanted to learn everything I could about how to support my son. I joined PFLAG—Parents for Lesbian and Gays. After reading many articles and books about what had happened to other teenagers who'd come out, I knew I had to fight for his rights in school and any other environment. Taking on our church and their upcoming plans to 'fix' him was the first item on my agenda.
Much of my free time was spent in the church office. I oversaw the budget and giving records. Every Monday, I spent at least three hours counting money and recording checks. I would put together the deposit and prepare a budget report for the Senior Pastor. On this Monday, I requested a meeting with the Pastors of the church.
I was told they had planned to send Gregory to a camp that coming summer. They explained the camp would help him to come back to the Lord. Gregory's leadership roles in the youth ministry would be taken away from him until he was 'fixed.' My horror grew with each remark made by each of the Pastorial staff. I couldn't believe what they were proposing.
I believe in Jesus Christ, and I've been a Christian since I was a small child and came to love the Lord as my Savior. When Christ was on earth, He gave us one commandment—to love one another as He loved us. The blood He shed removed the old Covenants and washed away the sins of anyone who would believe in Him. There is not one word in the Bible quoted from Jesus that deals with specific sins. Sin is sin—none are greater than any other. God created every one of us, and we are all subject to sin. It is our belief in Christ that will allow us into Heaven—not our deeds or acts here on earth.
Attacking the Pastors of this small church probably wasn't a good choice. I didn't physically abuse anyone; I simply stood up for my beliefs and my son. I tried to express myself, but my temper was hot, and the volume of my voice went up. Their faces were in shock because no one had ever seen me as anything but pleasant, but this Mamma Bear was fighting for her cub.
Branded a heretic, I was asked to leave the church and never return. This did not diminish my belief in God, and I still pray every day. I continued to support my son, and I'm so glad we didn't turn against him, or ask him to be anything but himself. Our family continued to be a unit, and we all left the church home we'd made for ourselves. To be honest, none of us have belonged to any church since that time.
I realize many of you reading this story will disagree with my opinion. Some of you may not even continue reading or give me a review based on the subject matter. That's okay; we are all entitled to our beliefs, our personal creed, and to live our lives as we see fit.
My story is one of tolerance. I try not to judge anyone, but it is human nature to judge people. So, I do my best to try and understand the heart of the person. The color of their skin or their personal politics simply do not matter. Loving my fellow travelers on earth is what was asked of me by my Lord, and I will do my best to honor His request.
It was Mother's Day of 2002 when Gregory told me he was gay. By this time, he had already come out to his sister, and the Youth Pastor at our church. Those reactions had been completely different. His sister told him she would always love him—no matter what. The Youth Pastor told him it could be 'fixed.'
I went into my own kind of shock. I hugged him, but my mind was in turmoil. My son was going to have so many issues. There were too many people who hated homosexuals. I wasn't worried about judgement on our family—I was worried about the kind of life my son would lead. My pain was all about his pain, and all he would be forced to endure.
My reactions to everything that was thrust into my life were to hit the books. I wanted to learn everything I could about how to support my son. I joined PFLAG—Parents for Lesbian and Gays. After reading many articles and books about what had happened to other teenagers who'd come out, I knew I had to fight for his rights in school and any other environment. Taking on our church and their upcoming plans to 'fix' him was the first item on my agenda.
Much of my free time was spent in the church office. I oversaw the budget and giving records. Every Monday, I spent at least three hours counting money and recording checks. I would put together the deposit and prepare a budget report for the Senior Pastor. On this Monday, I requested a meeting with the Pastors of the church.
I was told they had planned to send Gregory to a camp that coming summer. They explained the camp would help him to come back to the Lord. Gregory's leadership roles in the youth ministry would be taken away from him until he was 'fixed.' My horror grew with each remark made by each of the Pastorial staff. I couldn't believe what they were proposing.
I believe in Jesus Christ, and I've been a Christian since I was a small child and came to love the Lord as my Savior. When Christ was on earth, He gave us one commandment—to love one another as He loved us. The blood He shed removed the old Covenants and washed away the sins of anyone who would believe in Him. There is not one word in the Bible quoted from Jesus that deals with specific sins. Sin is sin—none are greater than any other. God created every one of us, and we are all subject to sin. It is our belief in Christ that will allow us into Heaven—not our deeds or acts here on earth.
Attacking the Pastors of this small church probably wasn't a good choice. I didn't physically abuse anyone; I simply stood up for my beliefs and my son. I tried to express myself, but my temper was hot, and the volume of my voice went up. Their faces were in shock because no one had ever seen me as anything but pleasant, but this Mamma Bear was fighting for her cub.
Branded a heretic, I was asked to leave the church and never return. This did not diminish my belief in God, and I still pray every day. I continued to support my son, and I'm so glad we didn't turn against him, or ask him to be anything but himself. Our family continued to be a unit, and we all left the church home we'd made for ourselves. To be honest, none of us have belonged to any church since that time.
I realize many of you reading this story will disagree with my opinion. Some of you may not even continue reading or give me a review based on the subject matter. That's okay; we are all entitled to our beliefs, our personal creed, and to live our lives as we see fit.
My story is one of tolerance. I try not to judge anyone, but it is human nature to judge people. So, I do my best to try and understand the heart of the person. The color of their skin or their personal politics simply do not matter. Loving my fellow travelers on earth is what was asked of me by my Lord, and I will do my best to honor His request.
 Recognized |
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My son Gregory, when he was fifteen years old
I realize many of you have opinions that differ from mine. While I hope I do not lose any friends or readers, I can accept it might happen. What will hurt is the knowledge that people do not accept me for me.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. I realize many of you have opinions that differ from mine. While I hope I do not lose any friends or readers, I can accept it might happen. What will hurt is the knowledge that people do not accept me for me.
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