It’s a sunny day in Antwerp, Belgium, but I’m outraged. Like you may or may not know: I’m gay, living in a committed relationship with my male partner (who I only wish I’d see more often these days: he has a place of his own and his life has become hectic). Belgium is one of those rare countries offering its gay citizens full equal rights: gay marriage, gay adoption, legal protection against bigotry, along with a tolerant, liberal population without the classic overwhelming “it’s a sin” Christian religious attitude. Sure, we have right-wing bigotry and migrant Muslim intolerance towards gay citizens, but in general, most people adhere to the live and let live attitude.
Unfortunately, my parents broke that “in general” rule. While long having accepted my male partner, they recently decided that my late grandfather’s 300,000 euro ($400,000) house, a part of my expected future inheritance and originally for sale, “could serve best” as the home of my straight brother, since they totally adored watching his ever growing family live near their suburban home. To make it all legal, they came up with a waterproof “he’s renting it” construction, but let’s face it: my granddad’s house won’t be sold anytime soon. Upon confronting my folks with this unequal treatment, my father smiled and claimed he was convinced I felt just fine in my (rented) historic downtown home, totally ignoring reality: I’ve had it with downtown living and long to return to green suburbia. I didn’t push to get to the bottom of it all, my parents had made a very clear, not to be discussed choice.
So here I am, still somewhat stunned, wondering how to react when being invited by my charming ’straight’ brother to check out his new home and enjoy the company of his (quite adorable) family, as if nothing had changed. You know, this hurts, watching how my parents made clear they prefer having their grandchildren close, even if it means basically ignoring the needs of their gay son.
Like a gay friend of mine used to say: “no matter how many laws, no matter how much tolerance, we will often remain second class citizens”. This “second class citizen” was last visited by his parents 8y ago, although I do visit them every month at their place.
[Update: I got a message from a fellow blogger urging me to post more upbeat, more 'positively entertaining' write-ups. With countless great summer pictures/memories I'm quite able to follow that road, but when reality bites I feel the need to blog about that reality. Upbeat, 'positively entertaining' write-up coming up. But I grew up in the green suburbia and had intended to return there now that I'm 'all grown up'. The incident above will make that virtually impossible. Update 2: "what made you happiest all these years", my partner asked me, "the houses you lived in or the people who cared about you?". Guess I'm OK now."]