by Saeed Amirian

Yesterday morning I spent an hour and a half engaging in a one-on-one conversation with an elderly religious lady. One of those uncomfortable conversations that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. A painful and somber session of preparing someone for bad news. If I ever doubted the wisdom of the few cliché quotes such as “the truth hurts” or “the truth shall set you free”, those doubts are no longer with me. I hope God will forgive me if I took the wrong path, for shattering someone’s glass house, for destroying a mother’s dream. The future will tell if I chose wisely.

Sitting in front of this fragile, old-school mother, a widow, I was trying to break the news to her about the love of her life, her only son, her prince, the apple of her eye, this handsome twenty-something-year-old Yeshiva student on his way to becoming a doctor, that, he might be gay.

It was not easy, sitting knee-to-knee, hand-in-hand, eyes interlocking when I broke the news to her. I tried everything I could to be, a friend, father figure, Rabbi, historian, and philosopher, all wrapped in one for her in that moment.

What made it more difficult was that I was not completely convinced by her account of her son’s behavior (his demeanor, moving in with three other boys in a shady neighborhood, no talk of any girlfriend). Part of me saw a shade of the truth, a sliver of evidence, and part of me stubbornly refused to accept it. What if he was shy, had an introverted personality, or is just busy with his work? I was walking on a tightrope like an amateur magician and I was sweating. I chose to prepare her for the worst (or should I say inevitable) not even sure that would be the case. Word by word, I softly tried to peel away her old beliefs, traditional values, her understanding of human sexuality, and knowledge of the human body. I dove into DNA, family upbringing and background, genes, and touched upon all the factors that still baffle experts who are trying to pinpoint the cause of this fast-growing phenomenon (or whatever you want to call it). In the end, we both were exhausted.

“You know Saeed,” she said with a low voice, “my son once told me I should be happy with whatever makes him happy.”

“And you should love him no less,” I added, throwing more salt on her wound.

I’m not sure if she wanted to cry, she hesitated for a while, let out a big sigh, got up, turned around, and started walking toward the door. After taking two steps she turned around, “you know, God has never let me down before, He won’t let me down this time either.” She turned around and kept walking. With her back to me, I noticed her shaking shoulders. I wasn’t sure if she was crying, there was no doubt about me.

Here come a few more sleepless nights!