Ella Simm
Coming out can stir up a whirlwind of different emotions–happiness, fear, disappointment, relief, unease, regret, etc. In fact, it is unusual for a coming out story to be purely positive or negative; oftentimes these stories include a variety of conflicting emotions, either happening simultaneously or in succession of one another. This makes for a lot of queer folks with interesting lore and fragile emotions (myself included). The quality of relationships that queer people are born into and able to maintain significantly influences the experience they’ll have when being introduced into a new, closetless world. Ocean Vuong’s On Earth, We’re Briefly Gorgeous features precisely such a coming out story. In this novel, Vuong explores how familial relationships shape coming out experiences in a scene where his semi-autobiographical protagonist, Little Dog, comes out to his mother. Alongside his gut-wrenchingly beautiful story, I will also intertwine my own coming out story, examining the lasting impacts of family dynamics on my life. In this essay I will delve into these two distinct stories, analyzing how the unique familial relationships shape the initial coming out moments and how these moments can contribute to long-term psychological impacts for all those involved.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous follows Little Dog, a nickname from the narrator’s childhood. Little Dog is a smart, hard-working, queer boy living in America with his mother and grandmother. Having immigrated to America when he was only two years old, he navigates a world where his peers are oblivious and indifferent to his cultural background. Growing up, Little Dog learns to associate the smell of acetone with home, as his mother worked in a nail salon which became a place he would grow to spend most of his childhood. The cultural barrier between Little Dog and his peers drew him closer to his mother and her work; he would spend a majority of his childhood under her wing, enduring the soft blows of her frustrations from being a mistreated immigrant in the United States. As he matures, Little Dog excels in school, allowing opportunities to forge meaningful relationships, but these new social integrations cause a fade in the relationship he has built with his mother throughout his childhood. The cultural barriers that once isolated him from his peers seem to relocate themselves between him and his mother, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.
This evolving dynamic of emotional distance between Little Dog and his mother is an important context leading into Little Dog’s coming out moment. The scene is set in a Dunkin’ Donuts. Little Dog and his mother sit at a table with nothing but their company and a cup of black coffee. At this point, Little Dog has been deep into a heavily intimate relationship with his coworker Trevor, and his mother has not a clue about the slightest existence of this relationship. Little Dog leads with “I don’t like girls” (#). There’s no anger from his mother, only pondering silence followed by a quest for understanding—her questions pouring out one after the other: If not girls, who? How can he be sure, being so young? What does this mean? Is he going to start wearing dresses? Does he know how dangerous that (wearing dresses, not being gay) is?
The moments that follow are a blend of fear and relief for Little Dog. Fear, as the silence stretches between them, thick with potential judgment; relief, as it becomes clear that she holds no desire to hold judgment, only concern. Confusion then arises, why is she so fearful of him wearing dresses? In trying to match her son’s emotional intimacy shared during this moment Little Dog’s mother follows up with an intense confession about an abortion she went through. Although this moment can feel as if she was trying to ‘steal the spotlight’, in reality she was trying to relate to Little Dog in the only way she knew how. It is this small and divine moment when Little Dog comes to recognize the irreplaceable bond he and his mother have in the midst of a complex world filled with chaos and hatred.This coming out story is a beautiful definition of a truly complex and intimate swirl of emotions. Despite her limited exposure to the queer community, Little Dog’s mother meets his openness with a tender, if imperfect, form of support as well as an intimate confession. This interaction truly exemplifies a deep-rooted connection and love between a mother and son. It isn’t a perfect story, but it is a gorgeous one.
Similar to Little Dog, I was lucky enough to have a coming out story that, while not perfect by any means, exemplifies an underlying theme of love and support. The relationship I have with my parents is not nearly as intimate as that of Little Dog and his mother. I grew up with divorced parents who each remarried, leading to a complex family dynamic marked by varying levels of affinity to each parental figure. I grew up in the same home as my mother and step-father, but had an emotionally challenging relationship with this set of parents, particularly that of my step-father. There were levels of emotional distrust and manipulation that led me away from them and brought a sense of longing to my birth father, who was in the picture, but very distant.
The longing of an intimate relationship with my birth father tended to manifest itself into a series of emotional confessions, things I would never feel safe discussing in the place that I called home alongside my mother and step-father. From the young age of 15, I started to ‘drop hints’ to my birth father of my gayness (by dropping hints I am referencing deliberate and specific confessions of having being gay… i.e. “Dad I am gay”). And while I never received any tinge of anger, resentment, or judgment from my birth father, I never got the support or visibility that I craved. Instead I got laughs, bantering back and forths of “no you’re not”. For years, I rationalized these responses, convincing myself that perhaps my hints weren’t direct enough, but deep down, I knew it was just a way to cushion the blow to my self-esteem. There came a point where I decided to cut my losses and keep these things to myself, because the fact was: I hadn’t been in a queer relationship up to that point, so maybe my birth father was right, maybe I wasn’t gay. After years of keeping my true self hidden, I fell in love with a woman, which felt like undeniable proof of my identity. He had to believe it now, right?
I decided to officially come out to my mother and step-father first, rip the band-aid off. They never expressed any negative connotations regarding gay people in the past, but the conversations around that topic were always lighthearted and superficial. I was scared, but knew I would likely be fine. The responses from the two of them were nothing but supportive. They asked me questions to further understand how these parts of me intertwined with the areas of myself they were already familiar with, and told me they loved me. Easy. But how do you come out to someone for the 5th time? How am I going to make this time stick? Spoiler alert: I didn’t. My birth-father’s reaction to my repeated coming out attempt remained unchanged—laughter and disbelief, coupled with a refusal to acknowledge my relationship to my younger siblings.
Six months into my first queer relationship I found out that my birth father and step-mother were hedging bets on whether I would ‘end up with a man’ or not. It wasn’t until over a year into this relationship did my birth father start to ease off his disbelief jokes. I don’t talk to my birth-father about his previous dismissal of my sexual identity, and he now supports me fully and even built a lovely relationship with the girlfriend aforementioned. The consistent lack of acknowledgement of my queerness can be explained by Jack Halberstam’s essay, “The Queer Art of Failure,” where he writes, “Heteronormative common sense leads to the equation of success with advancement, capital accumulation, family, ethical conduct, and hope. Other subordinate, queer, or counter-hegemonic modes of common sense lead to the association of failure with nonconformity, anticapitalist practices, nonreproductive life styles, negativity, and critique” (#). My birth father relates my ‘nonreproductive lifestyle’ to the failure of his family, and in refusing to acknowledge and talk about my ‘failure’ it might just disappear. As I have grown I have realized that this fear of ‘failure’ is entirely unrelated to my queerness, and lies entirely on the insecurity my father has about not coming across as ‘normal’. While my coming out story isn’t nearly as beautiful as I would have liked it to be, similarly to Little Dog’s experience, our parents didn’t respond perfectly. Both my birth father and Little Dog’s mother have limited emotional resources that inhibit their ability to deeply understand where our feelings lie and what they mean. Regardless of the imperfection, I feel very safe and supported by those close to me and I have learned to laugh at and embrace the flaws of my story.
There is a vast world of coming out narratives, each showing off a rainbow of complex emotions including happiness, fear, disappointment, and regret. These stories, like that of Little Dog’s and my own, are rarely monochromatic: they are painted with a variety of emotional hues that are majorly shaped by familial culture. Little Dog’s coming out journey is one filled with complex relationships and cultural gaps, but he is able to transcend the horrifying narrative of fear and confusion with the warm embrace of his mother’s understanding and deep-rooted care for his well-being. While his mother’s response isn’t elegant or entirely politically correct, it is undoubtedly filled with a raw and unfiltered love that emphasizes the complicated role of familial bonds in the coming out process.
Similarly, my story unfolds with its own unique imperfections. Growing up in a blended family environment with my attempts to communicate my own identity being met with laughter and dismissal from a parent who I adored and looked up to, versus the unwavering love and support from parents who previously made me feel so small, brings a significant emotional complexity to my coming out story. I am now living in a world full of blossoming support from all those who love me, and I am left with unwavering happiness and gratitude.
This world is full of unique coming out narratives–whether similar to the intimate beauty of Little Dog’s moment or the prolonged struggle for acknowledgement in my own–and each story has something peculiar to teach us: resilience, familial love, chosen family, or the ongoing quest of acceptance in authenticity. While many stories carry scars of imperfection, they are proof that there is hope for understanding and acceptance to all queers in this world. In sharing our unique stories, we bring the world closer to a path of familial support, understanding, and inclusion.
Works Cited
Vuong, Ocean, 1988-2019. On Earth, We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel. New York, Random House Large Print.
Halberstam, Jack. 2011. The Queer Art of Failure. Durham: Duke University Press, 89.