The Last Exit to Normal by Michael Harmon Page B

anything to do with masculinity? Got me there, Dad.”
    “I don’t wish to be a girl, Ben, and you know that. I enjoy being a man.”
    “Good. Are we done? It’s a little early for one of your philosophical lessons on life and
how different you are as a gay guy.”
    He eyed me, trying to hide his anger. “Where is this coming from?”
    “Where is what coming from? You’re not Mom, and I don’t need you to act like
it.”
    He narrowed his eyes, defensive. “I know that, but apparently you believe being homosexual
means somehow being less of a man.”
    I stared at him. Fine. He wanted it, he’d get it. “What if I do think that?”
    “If you do think like that, you have to answer for it.”
    I shook my head, rolling my eyes. Back to the same old thing. Dad does whatever he wants, Ben has to
answer for it. “That, coming from you. Great advice.”
    Anger lit his eyes. “What does that mean?”
    “It means you don’t have to answer for anything.”
    He knitted his brow, confused. “Like what?”
    I threw up my hands, frustrated and ashamed and embarrassed. “Like what?” I thought
back to the arguments we’d had and counted off just a few of them. “Okay, let’s see. We walk
down the street with you and Edward holding hands and I have to answer for it because everybody stares at that poor kid
who must be messed up because his dad is gay. I walk in the living room to see you kissing each other and I have to
answer for it because we all know it’s perfectly normal to see your dad giving tongue to a guy. I have to answer
for not liking my dad acting like some kind of flamer about my hands in front of Miss Mae and the bank lady.” I
stared at him, nodding. “I think I got it, Dad. I have to answer for everything you do, because you don’t
have to answer for anything. Great deal.”
    He frowned. “I think I behaved like a parent concerned about his child. Nothing more and
nothing less, and I can’t understand where this anger is coming from.”
    “Of course you can’t understand.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Forget it.”
    “What don’t I understand? That because I’m gay I can’t see that you
were embarrassed inside? You think that I don’t know what it is to be a man? I am a man, Ben, and I’m
proud of it.”
    “Why don’t you act like it, then?”
    “That’s homophobic and ignorant.”
    “So what? It’s the truth, and you just proved it inside.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you. After everything we’ve
talked about and gone through, I’m standing here listening to my son say this.”
    I shook my head. As far as I could see, he’d done whatever he’d wanted and I’d
gone through it with counselors and shrinks and teachers and cops. I smirked. “You’ve told me that if I
look like a punker and act like a punker, people will treat me like a punker. Except for you. Oh, no, you can’t
treat a gay dude like a gay dude. Nope. No way. Sorry. It’s
homophobic
to say you act like a woman
when you act like a woman? Bullshit.”
    “Son, we’ve talked about stereotypes before, and the negative connotation is what makes
it homophobic.”
    “It’s homophobic when you embarrass me in front of people? Edward is like a walking
advertisement for the gay stereotype, but you know what? He’s not.” I shook my head. “He laid
off inside, Dad. Didn’t he? He didn’t sit there and push it, because he understood that this
wasn’t about him. It was about me, and he respected it. I told you I was fine, but you have to shove it down my
throat every single fucking time.
Accept it, Ben. Paul Campbell is gay, and that means he can be the most selfish
asshole in the world, because everything is about him.”
I glared at him. “Why don’t you
stop hiding behind it, for once?”
    His eyes flashed, and we were back in the same routine. “Let’s see . . .” He
counted off on his fingers. “So far it’s that I’m not a man, I’m a hypocrite, I’m