By Stormageddon, Dark Tart of All
Posted Wednesday, June 22, 2016
“Do you even believe in the Church?”
My sister’s question was effective, bringing our heated argument to an abrupt, if temporary, halt. I was unable to answer yes; the realization of which stunned me to my core. Sensing victory, and with renewed vigor, Erica and Daniel resumed their attack. No longer invested, my silence achieved what my crying and pleas for compassion had not, their harsh words subsided. We parted, stinging with fresh wounds not to be soon forgotten.
A meme, a “joke”, was the catalyst. My journey through the tangles of losing my faith began with hate being flung at me through space, riding radio waves into my phone, forced into my life by my brother, Daniel, with a simple text. I never had found jokes about homosexuality funny but this time was different; I had had enough.
My reply was written in haste. I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen when I hit send. Perhaps I should have anticipated the inevitable fallout that followed, the natural consequence of blowing up the family secret. The message reached my five siblings simultaneously, the wonders of a group text, “It is not a ‘joke’ when you believe it. Let’s call it what it is, an attack on a discriminated against part of our community, a group that includes my best friend and my favorite teacher who had such a positive impact on my fatherless life. And yes, I don’t know about you guys, but of course I think gay men should be allowed to have and raise children, I like existing and believe our father was a wonderful, if confused man, and I would infinitely prefer him alive and living with a man, than dead. So in the future, please leave me off gay bashing ‘jokes’ texts.”
I was young, 12 maybe, when I found out our family’s deep, dark, terrible secret. We were both lying in our own beds, unable to sleep, sticky in the monsoon heat, when Erica whispered, “Every family has a secret…want to know ours?”
Afraid and curious, I said nothing, prompting Erica to proceed, and with a few startling words my innocence, my belief that people were good, was destroyed and the childish image of my long dead, perfect father, forever altered. You see, my dad’s mom was evil, a drunk, who molested, and would let others molest, him. Horrified, I was not ready to know this, I asked to hear no more. Not hearing, or perhaps ignoring, my whispered plea, Erica imparted the last part of the secret, something I would spend years trying to pretend that I did not know, “Dad had an affair. With a man. He was excommunicated and went to church the next Sunday and the Bishop told everyone in sacrament meeting exactly what he had done.”
Sleep alluded me that night. Long after Erica had fallen asleep I was tortured, unable to stop these new revelations from coloring cherished stories of my father, how he had found the Church and my mom. Walking along the streets of a small town in Minnesota at the age of 18, he overheard two Mormon missionaries speaking to a stranger. Intrigued, he asked to know more. He took the missionary lessons, was baptized, and the Church helped him escape his family and his former life. Fleeing to Arizona, a nice elderly Mormon couple took him. My parents met at an Institute class (college level Mormon religious studies course), had their first date at Pioneer Park, the train park, across the street from the Mesa LDS Temple, and became engaged after a short courtship, in typical Mormon fashion.
Sweet and innocent, my mom was left shocked, her heart broken when my father abruptly broke off their engagement a few months later. He believed himself to be unworthy, tainted, unlovable. On the evening of what would have been their wedding day, my father called my mom and asked her if she would like to see a movie, just as friends. After the movie, he asked if she would like to have dinner, just as friends. And then, after dinner, he asked if she would like to go to Vegas and be married, just as friends. Yes, my mom wanted to say yes, but she hesitated, insisted on speaking with her Bishop before she committed herself. Righteous Mormons must be married in the Temple for time and all eternity. A year is a long time to wait before being sealed in the Temple, what if one of them died and they were barred from the Celestial Kingdom? Their case was special, the Bishop reassured her; if they were to die before making their covenants and being sealed in the Temple, others would do the work for them. Their admittance into the Celestial Kingdom assured, my mom agreed and they eloped to Vegas.
22 years, that is how long I kept the secret. Never admitting I knew about the affair. Never admitting my father was gay. My wonderful father, who would read me Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe; who one day appeared as if out of nowhere with a huge, pale blue box, a beautiful doll with blinking eyes under the layers of tissue, because I had begged, “If I say thank you very nicely, will you get me a doll, too?”; who would put on my socks just right, like no one else could; who was cruelly tortured but never laid a hand on his own 7 children; he was unfairly taken too soon, and he was gay. 22 years of silence was broken with the ease of pressing a button.
The argument was long and arduous. Their archaic beliefs were laid bare that day. Daniel believes being gay is a choice, the gay “lifestyle” is an abomination, and that homosexuals are deviants who should not be allowed around children. Erica believes being gay is not a choice but a biological fluke, a way for nature to end an unhealthy line. Nonetheless, according to Erica, everyone is given a trial in this life and to be righteous homosexuals must overcome their sinful urges or they will be damned to one of the lower Kingdoms of heaven, the ones reserved for sinners, cast out of God’s presence for eternity. She also believes their “lifestyle” is deviant, and would not allow a homosexual man to watch any of her 6 children, all of whom she’d rather “live a short, righteous life, than a long sinful one”. Another sister, Isabelle, informed me that, while she thinks gay men should be able to foster and adopt, she would be heartbroken if one of her children left their marriage and children to “be gay”. Isabelle left her husband, the father of her children, for another man. All of them disagreed with my original assertion. They believe that my father is better off dead than alive and living with a man. My dad, they argued, hated that part of himself; his sin had caused him much suffering in this life. After a lot of effort, counseling, and personal growth, they insisted he had found forgiveness. God had mercifully taken him home, where he waits in the loving arms of Heavenly Father, guaranteed an eternity with my mother. How could I be so selfish as to rather have him here, living in sin, estranged from a family who would never forgive him for his sins and barred from the Celestial Kingdom for eternity?
None of my arguments moved them. When I insisted that no life was without sin, therefore I would rather my children live a long sinful life, than die prematurely, I was told I was “wishing sin” upon them. I countered that Erica would rather her kids be dead than gay. Yet, I still endeavored to make them see reason. Would it have been better for our other sister, Kathleen, who abuses alcohol to have died before taking her first sip to ensure her entrance into the Celestial Kingdom, or was that sin not big enough? I asked if my niece would have preferred for Isabelle to have died rather than have left her family for another man. Repeatedly, I stated my main point: my dad, if he had accepted who he was and had found happiness with another man, would not be condemned by God, therefore his death was not preferable to life. All fell on deaf ears, my intelligence and my motivations were disparaged: stupid, retarded, selfish.
“Do you even believe in the Church?”
No, I don’t.
Over a year has passed since the day I blew up our secret. For them, the secret is back in the dark recesses, wherever secrets hide, but for me, I’m free. Finally, at 35, 31 years after my dad died, I am able to seek without fear, what I truly believe, who I truly am.
About the Author:
Former daughter of God, current desert dwelling heathen, engineer, wife, and mother.
