Hi there:
First, I hope everyone is adjusting well to the “new normal,” as differently as that may be defined depending on your location. It appears that this pandemic has some staying power.
Our latest selection comes courtesy of PFLAG China, which, as the acronym suggests, serves as a support group for parents and friends of the local LGBT community. PFLAG China recently commissioned a series of stories from mothers of gay men. This particular installment was published by The Story Plan on July 3.
What’s striking about Junxiang’s mom’s account is her brutal honesty. She has no qualms about sharing her rawest emotions about her son’s coming out, describing in detail her journey from disgust and disbelief to trained indifference to genuine acceptance.
Lastly, a quick note on the looming U.S. action against WeChat. For now, the matter is tangled up in federal court, but in any case, Gushi will continue publishing without interruption because I am not based in the U.S.
Take care and see you soon. My goal is to put out at least one more translation by the end of the year.
—ML
A Mother’s Slow Road to Accepting Her Gay Son
By Junxiang’s Mom
Junxiang and mother. Courtesy PFLAG China.
In August 2018, my son went abroad for a training session. I told his dad he must be doing quite well to be sent overseas only shortly after starting his job. That felt very comforting to both of us.
In late October, my son returned home to Guizhou Province on a business trip, taking the opportunity to deliver presents he bought during his earlier trip to the U.S. His dad and I were delighted. He only stayed for a few days before returning to Guangzhou. Little did we expect him to drop a bomb after his departure.
My Husband Knew Before I Did
Just half an hour after my son left, his dad grabbed his phone and mumbled: “Hey, he just left. Why is he sending us a message?”
I was busy writing. Junxiang’s dad read in silence.
“What did he say? Hey, I just asked you what he said!”
“He said he’s gay,” my husband responded gently.
I froze, then snatched his phone. In our family WeChat group, I saw the following message: “Mom and Dad I’m gay. I’m currently working at PFLAG China. I hope you’ll be understanding. Stop telling me to get married.”
My son was on the road, so he was in no position to write a long message. No wonder something didn’t feel right during his visit. He had an agenda. I went numb and my brain turned blank.
After I caught my breath, I started thinking.
What happened to my son? What the hell is PFLAG? Just one trip abroad and he picked up homosexuality and fell victim to the ways of western countries. Does he not feel any shame being gay? At that point, being gay in my mind entailed the decadent lifestyle of those hippies in the west. I associated that with bums and the promiscuous. My son always practiced upright morals and acted in a very gentlemanly fashion. I could never in my wildest imagination tie him to the gays of my perception.
I was extremely calm back then—so calm I didn’t have a thing to say. I didn’t turn hysterical. Yet my heart was filled with resentment. A torrent of anger cluttered my chest and blocked my throat. My thoughts and my bodily reactions were a contradiction in terms.
The news was undoubtedly a ticking time bomb. It dashed our hope as a family the moment it exploded.
I couldn’t sleep that night, quietly shedding tears throughout the evening. I also wondered how on earth my son turned gay in the two years he left home. He had flushed our good name down the drain. How were we supposed to raise our heads going forward?
I got up bright and early the next morning.
“Why are you up so early? It’s not even 6,” my husband asked. Typically I get up after he leaves the apartment.
“I didn’t sleep. Kept thinking about your son. What should we do?” I was near tears.
“Aiyo, look at you, overthinking things.” My husband has always acted indifferently.
“So that means you’re OK with it. What kind of comment is that? How could you sleep?” I fumed, sounding like I was about to cry.
“Try to take it in stride. I knew back in June, when his aunt passed. I knew when I made the trip to Hangzhou with him.”
“How come you knew back then? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your elder sister had just passed. I didn’t know for a fact that he was gay. I just thought he took part in related activities. I was looking out for your feelings, after all.”
In June 2018, my elder sister died. My husband attended the funeral in Shanghai, as did my son.
After the funeral, my husband and son spent the night at our second home in Hangzhou. My husband noticed a rainbow flag in the apartment emblazoned with the letters: “PFLAG.” My son returned to work the next day. My husband left him a note that said: “Your parents broke their backs raising you in the hope that you will become a useful person—and yet you have taken part in homosexual activities, at the very least violating China’s most basic morals and ethics. I hope you abandon this community. Don’t take part in their events again. Don’t forget.”
At the time, I was still mired in the sorrow of losing a close family member, so my husband didn’t share the development with me. So it turns out PFLAG is an organization involved in homosexuality. When I was briefed by my husband, I kept complaining that he should have told me sooner, so that I could enlighten my son to the error of his ways.
“This won’t do. I thought about the situation all night. We can’t let him work there anymore. Tell him to come back. I can even support him financially,” I told my husband. “Head over there right now and order him to resign and come home.”
“Whether he listens is a different story. I think he left home to work so he could join this cause.” My husband always goes with the flow.
Furious, I responded with an earth-shattering rant. In the end, I could only concede: “Fine, be like that. He’s your own son. If you don’t care, neither will I.” My husband still didn’t show any emotion.
I was outraged by how selfish my son was, how he had cost us our dignity. How were we going to explain the matter to our friends and relatives? I’ll act as if I don’t have a son then. In the heat of the moment, I deleted my son from WeChat and my address book.
My son kept trying to call and add me on WeChat again. I ignored him. It was up to father and son to sort things out.
The Tug-of-war of Blind Dates
My mood hit rock bottom during that period. I was constantly on the verge of collapse. I didn’t want to do anything during the day. The tears poured down non-stop. At night, I howled away under the comfort of my blanket.
It’s impossible to put in words the utter heartache and the pain, which had no outlet.
As time passed, the pain dissipated. Even though I had disowned my son in name, deep down I couldn’t let go. The sadness from that phase derived more from worries about his future more than anything else.
Seeing that I was in a more stable mood, my husband started forwarding me articles about homosexuality that our son had posted to our family WeChat group.
After reading about sexual orientation, I realized that my son didn’t choose to be gay. The son that I thought I had known so well was born that way.
There had been signs early on. I just didn’t pay attention.
Thinking back to when my son turned 30, we were very concerned about his personal life. Our daily conversation revolved around his lack of a love life. I even joked that I had given away so much gift money at the weddings of our friends’ and relatives’ kids and that it was time to earn it back. All he said at the time was: “You’ll never get it back.”
Once a classmate of mine wanted to introduce my son to a young woman who worked at a bank. The woman had reached marriage age and her parents were also stressed out. I agreed readily and geared up to sell the proposal at home.
During dinner, my son was watching a TV show while eating dinner as usual, something along the lines of Modern Family, 2 Broke Girls or Vicious.
“Xiang, Auntie Peng wants to set you up with a girl…”
“Forget about it.” My son interrupted me before I could finish.
“You’ve turned down the proposal before I even finished. Their family is worth some 100 million yuan (US$14.7 million)! You still aren’t interested?” I wanted to tempt him with wealth.
“Forget about it, forget about it.” There was no room for negotiation.
Shortly after that, one my singing buddies, Auntie Guo, sent another potential my way. The young woman studied in Italy and had returned home at her parents’ urging, so they could marry her off. She also worked at a bank, bagging an annual salary of 400,000 yuan.
I gave my son the low-down, only for him to retort:
“Mom, the thing with highly educated women like this is it’s hard to find a good match. She’s not going to bother with ordinary men. Even if you want me to get together with someone like that, I don’t want to reach beyond my league, right?”
“How do you know she’s not willing if you don’t even take a look? She said she’s looking for someone who also likes to travel. Isn’t that right up your alley? Plus we know her parents. They approve of you!”
“Uhm… forget about it. She’s out of my league.”
My son passed on a few more prospects over the next few years. I ran out of options. I was awfully anxious, but there was nothing I could do.
I was at a singing club gathering in October the next year when a singing buddy who hadn’t showed up in ages joined. She said she was there to see me. She had a 26-year-old daughter who worked at the National Medical Products Administration. She said admired my character and liked my son.
I was resolved to make it work that time. My son had to meet her. He was 31 already. There was no time to waste.
“Xiang, I want you to meet a girl this Saturday afternoon. She works at the National Medical Products Administration,” I commanded.
“I’m busy.”
“You have to go even if you’re busy. Sort out your schedule.” I was determined. “I’ve set up the date already. I can’t break my promise.”
My son could tell that I was speaking in a different tone and in no mood to be defied. “OK then. Why don’t you invite her mother as well?”
We finally met on Saturday. The moms knew each other well, so the conversation wasn’t awkward. The young lady was quite easygoing too, gracious and presentable. The moms felt that both parties were happy with what they saw. Before we parted, my friend said: “Why don’t you add each other on WeChat, so you can stay in touch?”
When we left, I told my son: “Remember to ask the girl out frequently.” He responded with a nod.
Seeing that things appeared to be going smoothly, I thought to myself that I could start planning my son’s wedding after Lunar New Year.
When I called my friend again to make plans, lo and behold she told me over the phone that my son never contacted her daughter again.
After dinner that night, I ordered my son to shut the TV while his dad and I went to work, urging him to visit the young woman at home during Lunar New Year. “I want you married after Lunar New Year,” I said.
“I haven’t signed on yet,” my son said.
“I think she’s OK. She’s quite pretty and has a decent job.”
“That’s your take.”
“Didn’t you say she was OK that day?”
My son didn’t respond.
I proceeded with a lecture, which Junxiang’s dad echoed. I was resolute that time. I refused to budge. I told my son to visit the young woman at home with me over Lunar New Year.
“If you want to go, go ahead. I’m out.”
“What’s wrong with you? This one’s a no go and that one isn’t a good enough. What kind of goddess do you have in mind?”
“I never said I wanted to get married!” my son fired back. He was running out of patience too.
“What, you think you’re still young? If you stay single, people are going to start calling you uncle.” I started raising my voice.
“So be it then. I’m not getting married even when I become an uncle.” My son hurled the book he was reading onto the couch and stormed upstairs.
And so we fought. Thus my plan to set him up went bust.
Flight over Fight
As I just got through the extended Lunar New Year holiday in 2017, with much of my discontent still lingering, my son dealt me yet another blow.
My son told me: “Mom, I quit my job.”
“You were doing such a good job. Why?” My heart leapt.
My son held a position in charge of HR for Guizhou at a foreign company. His salary had doubled after just over a year on the job. It was a lofty springboard to a bright career.
I was extremely puzzled by his decision.
“I want to see the rest of the world. I’ve spent my entire life here.” There was a trace of yearning in my son’s voice.
He had already quit his job, so whatever I said was moot. I could only give in. “Where do you plan to move?”
“Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou or Shenzhen won’t do. I want to check out Hangzhou.”
“Use your best judgment. Just come home if things don’t work out in a year. If you meet the right person, take care of your personal life while you’re at it.” In 2018, my son returned home twice, coming out during his October trip, which led to our falling out.
With the 2019 Lunar New Year around the corner, my son said on WeChat: “I want to spend New Year’s at home this year.” Even though I had ignored my son for some time, I missed him dearly. He had stayed home since he graduated from university, after all. We had yet to discuss his coming out, so I responded: “Why don’t you explain this homosexuality business to me properly during Spring Festival? I still can’t wrap my head around it.”
In retrospect, my son had been dropping hints about his sexual orientation when he was still home. In 2015, Taiwanese pop diva A-Mei performed in Guiyang. My son invited me to attend the concert. The audience of some 10,000 people was quite the spectacle. The crowd went berserk when A-Mei performed Rainbow. Many concertgoers were waving rainbow flags and moving to the beat. Moved by the atmosphere, I joined in the flag-waving and yelling as well. The noise was deafening.
I was still quite high for some time after we got home. I had no idea the song was about sexual minorities.
My son was trying to give me some exposure, but it simply didn’t strike me at the time I was living with a full-fledged homosexual.
PFLAG Workshop
When Spring Festival arrived in 2019, apart from letting my son hang out with a few cousins, I refused all other invites from friends and relatives. I couldn’t face them. I was afraid that everyone would find out my son was a homosexual and that I couldn’t handle questions about his marriage prospects.
With my son as home, we talked constantly. My son also worked hard to educate me about homosexuality.
Even though we had no choice but to accept the fact that he was gay, I still didn’t get it. I asked him if it was because he watched too many homosexual videos during early puberty. I remembered seeing pictures of half-naked men on his computer when he was in junior high. I thought they had to do with bodybuilding.
My son shook his head and confided: “In junior high, I had feelings for a male classmate and wanted to be with him. But I was ignorant back then and had a limited understanding of what was going on. Only when we bought a computer and I got online did I realize that was homosexuality, that a boy could get together with another boy.”
“So did working at PFLAG, being in that environment, increase your level of homosexuality?” My son shot down misconception after misconception of this nature.
Over the long holiday, no matter how stubbornly I clung to glimmer of hope, I never got the answer I was looking for. My son started persuading me to join PFLAG. He said many parents learned how to accept their children after joining PFLAG, even helping others handle their pain. He insisted that I add another parent on WeChat. I responded: “I have already accepted you. I don’t need lessons. I’m not going to add anyone on WeChat. I’m just not going to get involved. Let’s leave it at that.”
By October 2019, my son still hadn’t given up. He sent me a message on WeChat urging me to sign up for a PFLAG workshop in December. He said in his message: “Mom, I feel like you have accepted me only in name and that deep down you’re still spooked. You really need to take part in a workshop, otherwise you won’t be able to overcome your mental block. Just treat it as a vacation. The workshop is already open for registration.”
Even though I had accepted my son’s sexual orientation, I was still constantly confused during that period. My son kept nagging me to attend a workshop. Why not check out what his job was all about and come up with a way of converting him? That’s the fantasy I harbored when I signed up for the “Rainbow Partners” workshop PFLAG held in Changzhou.
The sun was out in full force the day I arrived in Changzhou. My travel companion, Beibei’s mom, and I reached our destination at noon.
Beibei’s mom was assigned to share a room with a mom from Hubei Province. My roommate hadn’t arrived yet.
I was resting in my hotel room when the phone rang. It was Beibei’s mom. “Sister Zhou, can you come over here? My roommate, Xiao Xiang’s mom, is heartbroken. Can you help console her?”
How come she cried in front of a stranger? When I got to the room, Xiao Xiang’s mom was a wreck. Between sobs, she told us her story. Her son is gay. Her husband was in denial and blamed her, even demanding that mother and son kill themselves.
Considering the father’s attitude, I overflowed with empathy when I thought of her son. I felt an injustice had been committed. It seemed like this mom suffered more than I did. As we spent time talking sense into Xiao Xiang’s mom, Beibei’s mom and I became influenced by her mood. Our sons were also gay. We shared a common history.
My roommate didn’t arrive until dinner. Unlike most moms, she was very young. Initially, I thought she was a lesbian. Only in our conversation did I learn that she was a mom too. A native of Hangzhou, she was in her early 30s. Her daughter was only 11. She was transgender.
I was blown away that the parents became aware of a child’s sexual identity at such a young age. I asked for her thoughts on my son’s sexual orientation. She said she and her husband were at peace with her daughter’s sexual orientation, perhaps because they hailed from a younger generation.
She said her daughter enjoyed playing with boys since she was young and liked to keep her hair short. She felt she was a boy and didn’t identify with her biological gender. My roommate did extensive research online and learned that sexual orientation is an inherent quality. It felt like I had met my soulmate. I told her my son was similar, except he fell under a different category.
I cried quietly that night. I had held onto a last silver of hope, but now my final fantasy had been dashed. My son was simply born this way. It was indisputably innate. Somehow I survived until the morning without any sleep.
During the three-day workshop, Xiao Xiang’s mom cried constantly and kept sharing her story. Perhaps each telling provided additional relief. The odd thing was I didn’t shed a single tear over those three days.
By the third day, Xiao Xiang’s mom was in a much better mood. I suggested that her husband sign up for the workshop as well.
I was in denial before, more concerned about my child’s future and parental face. I consider myself lucky that my stubbornness didn’t win out. Mindful of the difficult path that lay ahead of our children, we all said we would go back and become our kids’ biggest cheerleaders.
Outing My Son on His Behalf
Back in Guiyang, I started posting articles and news reports about homosexuality on WeChat from time to time.
Seeing how open I was, my son also started fearlessly posting photos and pieces about our involvement at PFLAG on social media.
One day, I got a WeChat message from a friend in Shanghai. She enclosed one of the articles I had written, Keeping My Son Company on the Road to Legal Same-sex Marriages. It came with a photo of my son and I.
My friend said the woman in the photo looked like me and she wanted to make sure. I said unequivocally:
Yes, that’s me.
My friend said: “You’re so brave!”
The weekly meeting for my singing club takes place on Mondays. One day, a singing buddy asked: “I noticed your post yesterday. What’s this foundation you volunteer for?” Responding with a smile, I said I volunteered for PFLAG, an NGO for gays and lesbians.
I think she knew what PFLAG is all about. She just wanted to segue into the issue.
Over dinner, a friend asked about my trip to Changzhou. I took advantage of the line of questioning to “come out.” I said: “My son is gay.”
My son’s aunt said: “We’ve all known for some time. It’s just hard to raise the matter. When my husband noticed Brother Xiang (term of endearment used by relatives) posting related stories on WeChat, he started doing research online after pondering for a few minutes. He also got in touch with First Auntie, Second Auntie, Third Auntie and other family members, urging them not to discriminate against Brother Xiang when he came home. He said we shouldn’t discriminate against outsiders, let alone family. This is something that can’t be changed. Being alive is a blessing. As long as Brother Xiang can lead a happy and healthy life, it’s a blessing. First Auntie also ordered the younger members of our family to show more affection toward Third Uncle and Third Auntie (my husband and I).”
Before my son’s auntie could finish, I was already near tears. The friends sitting next to me started comforting me instantly. I quickly explained I wasn’t sad. Auntie’s comments moved me. With these folks backing him up, perhaps my son will suffer less going forward, I thought to myself.
Before I knew it, two years passed since my son came out. Initially, I unfriended him and tried to coerce him into leaving PFLAG.
Little did I expect that I would become a volunteer for PFLAG myself. Helping other young gay men and their parents feels like traveling in time to help my son and I cope with the pain we experienced back then.