Eighteen months ago, on a brilliant fall day, the sky cerulean with nary a cloud visible, my 16-year-old son was driving, while I rode shotgun on the way to his step-sister’s softball tournament. I was still getting used to him driving with his learner’s permit while I did my best to remain calm in the passenger’s seat. Unlike my mother who had screeched and sucked in her breath sharply at every turn when I learned to drive. Suddenly, my son leaned forward and turned off the music. That was my signature car move over the years when I needed to discuss something serious with him; answering the ‘where do babies come from’ question, warning of the dangers of drugs and alcohol when he was a pre-teen, wading through the murky waters of custody and divorce from his dad. These discussions began in the car with me leaning forward to turn off the music. The enclosed, quiet privacy of the car combined with my eyes facing forward, always lent itself well to tackling tricky conversations. I knew this gesture signified he was about to say something heartfelt and important. I tried to squelch the internal panic I felt give rise in my belly. Utoh.

“Mom, I have something to tell you,” he hesitated.

I knew his hesitation wasn’t fear-based; I was confident our relationship transcended the inability to speak about difficult things. Tough conversations, while not always comfortable, came with an ease well-cultivated from a long-trusted, loving, calm, relationship between us.

“Ok,” I said trying to sound nonchalant.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story about why Meg and I broke up,” he said about his recent girlfriend of nine months.

Please, please, please don’t let her be pregnant.

“I really don’t know how to say this,” he struggled a bit.

“It’s ok, whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” I assured. Except if she’s pregnant, don’t tell me that.

A long silence ensued. I tried not to let the lull panic me.

“Mom, I think I’m gay,” he said, “No, actually, I know I’m gay,” he quickly corrected.

“Oh, ok,” I shrugged and sighed with relief. No premature grandchildren for me.

We talked more about how and when he came to the realization about his sexuality. While I had a few inklings along the way, I’m not one of those moms who can solidly say I knew my son was gay. He said I could tell a few, trusted people, and everyone else he would tell when it felt right. By the time we arrived at the softball tournament, we had covered a lot of ground about the reveal. My head was spinning, to be honest. I took a few minutes to call my best-friend-since-sixth-grade. She was on the shortlist of trusted people. I wasn’t shocked or disappointed or anything of that sort but needed to talk it over with someone close to my heart. My world suddenly felt a bit off-kilter, not because my son was gay, but because everything I thought I knew about him was suddenly different. Not different in a negative way, just different in that I thought I knew my son inside and out. It’s strange as parents how we see our children one way, but our view may not always be accurate.

As days went by, I was overcome with a bevy of emotions, but the weightiest one was pride. I am proud my son is secure enough in himself to come out. I am proud of the relationship I have built with him, which allowed him to know he would be fully embraced and loved in the same manner he’d always been. I had to do a little mental shift in thinking when it came to his future. I had long assumed the heterosexual social constructs of traditional marriage and kids would apply to him. Now, my vision for his future involves a husband instead of a wife and as a bonus, no unplanned pregnancies.

Shortly after coming out, he began seeing someone or as the teens call it ‘talking to’ someone. There was a shift in our household rules. Previously, friends of the opposite sex weren’t allowed in the teens’ rooms unless the door remained open in hopes we quelched the temptation to explore. Suddenly, guys were not allowed in my son’s room with the door closed, but when he asked if a female friend could stay over, I had to think for a minute. It was similar to my step-daughter asking to have a girlfriend sleepover, right? The waters became a little muddy in that regard, but we all adjusted fairly easily. There were other adjustments in thinking and in rules and in discussion, but nothing earthshattering or difficult to embrace.

As more time passed, a fear I didn’t anticipate began to grow just beneath my surface, almost reaching a panicked crescendo. I was a teenager in high school during the height of the AIDS epidemic when discrimination, violence, and misconceptions about the LGBTQ community often made headlines. I remember watching a gay high school classmate being shoved hard against a locker by four upperclassmen while they vehemently called him a faggot. As a society, we have come a long way from those days, yet the LGBTQ community remains marginalized. I deeply thank all the brave souls who went before my son, clearing the way for him to openly embrace his sexual orientation. He is proudly out and about among most of his family, friends, and classmates without having experienced any negative reactions. Gen Z is much more open and accepting than my Gen X was about sexual orientation, gender fluidity, and sex as a whole, which is a beautiful thing.

Since my son’s coming out, members of marginalized communities have moved from my peripheral vision into my direct line of sight. There are no longer six degrees of separation between me and any marginalized community. I am suddenly seeing things from a very different perspective. I should have been seeing things differently all along, but experience has a way of teaching us new lessons. It’s hard for me to hear off-color gay jokes. I cringe when people use the word gay in a derogatory manner. These things irritated me before, but now they hit me in a completely different way, equivalent to a gut punch. Hey, you’re talking about my SON.

Then there is the fear that someday someone may treat my son differently simply because he is gay. In my head that sounds a lot like, oh my fucking god, someone may want to hurt my son because he likes guys! As the college acceptance offers roll in, and I think of him being away from home next year with new friends and a new environment, my fear rolls in, as well, like a dense fog. When I express this fear to him, he waves me away with a hand, “Mom, it’s not like that anymore,” he says rolling his eyes. I know he is partially right, but he is also somewhat naïve at almost eighteen. There are still biases and hateful people in the world who act upon those biases. When I bring it up to my friends, they often say the same and assure me there is no need to worry. Yet, I do worry. As parents, we want nothing more than for our kids to be ok. Thinking of my son going away to college feels like putting him on the kindergarten bus for the very first time. Please world, be good to my son.

I do have confidence in my son’s ability to navigate these waters, despite my concerns and fears. He is a well-grounded, smart guy who I’m sure will make his way in this world even with a worrying mom in the background. I look forward to the day when and if he falls in love and finds a life partner and maybe decides to have kids.

As for me, I have told a handful of people my son is gay. Previously, I was selective in who I revealed this to for fear of judgment or lack of acceptance but screw that. I’ve since realized it’s important for me to come out as a gay teen’s mom in support of my son.