A year later, 1994, my mother drove me to school one morning. At that time, I was probably the only student in the school who was picked up by an imported car. When I was a child, I didn't understand why my mother had to pick me up every day. I can take the bus like other children. Later, I learned that maybe the nearly ten minutes in the car were our rare time alone.
One morning in 1994, she told me that she was gay. Strange to say, at the age of eight, I don't know why I am already familiar with that word, as if it had already appeared in my life, and I was not surprised at all. I didn't even have any special reaction. I continued to talk to my mother about studying.
However, my mother is in a hurry. She didn't know whether I was scared or what homosexuality was, and didn't understand what she said. Actually, I understand. I have been used to their strange relationship since the day she married her father, but I just don't understand why they did that.
Shortly after my mother told me that she was gay, she told me that an aunt was moving into our house, and I didn't object, as if it had nothing to do with me. After she came, my father and I lived on the second floor, and my mother and aunt lived on the first floor. Apart from two aunts cooking and cleaning, now this is a family of four. I remember one day, when I went back to my room, I saw my father cut out the wedding photos of her and her mother, and my aunt's head was cut off and smashed all over the floor.
I thought they would get divorced, but they didn't. In fact, until now, more than 20 years have passed, and they have not divorced. I have never told anyone about it. I have been used to many things since I was seven years old. I am like a bystander in this family, a complete bystander. The story between them seems to have nothing to do with me. I never asked, and I don't even want to ask.
However, I don't hate that aunt very much. In fact, at a later opportunity, she made me want to know her. That was when I was in high school, my mother sent me to a private international school, hoping that after I graduated from there, I would go to the United States to study. In 2000, 14 years old, I entered this high school. I have never told anyone about my family before, and I have never made friends because I am special. These specialties may be reflected in the economic conditions and the hospitality of class teachers and principals, so no one in primary and junior high schools wants to be near me. They think I am an alien, and I am used to being an alien.
However, this high school is different. Their family environment is similar to mine, and even many parents are my mother's business friends. Soon, everyone knew about our home. They all say that I live in an abnormal family, with two rich mothers and a father who eats soft rice.
At first, I didn't care what anyone said behind my back. I naturally feel that I have a shell to protect the world. In other words, I built a protective layer for myself to protect myself from others' eyes and words. However, that time, my protective layer was broken.
It was Mother's Day, and the foreign teacher asked each of us to give an impromptu English speech and tell the story of ourselves and our mother. My mind was blank, I didn't want to say anything, I just wanted to walk out of the classroom through the back door, but as soon as I got together, the person sitting on my left began to boo.
"Look, the people who live in the circus are gone ..."
"A pervert."
"Hey, I guess you should give a speech twice."
The whole class laughed. They just looked at me and smiled insolently. I can clearly see the teeth exposed by each of them, as if they could eat me in the next second. That kind of laughter, like a fuse, exploded everything I had hidden in my heart since I was seven years old. That was the first time I knew what it was like to be angry. I like this feeling very much. I was in a stagnant pool, and suddenly I could hear my blood flowing.
I picked up a table, raised it above my head and threw it at them. They screamed, and all of them started to run outside, one, two, three, until I was exhausted and they all escaped from the classroom. I stood in the classroom and wanted to laugh. It's like an adolescent nirvana, which makes me understand that I can't be silent and I can't want to stay out of it.
At that time, my mother was away on business, my father was away in Tibet, and only my aunt handled these things. That is, from then on, I noticed that she is a very skilled person, a person with both rationality and sensibility. She can tell many well-founded things to the school and the parents who take the lead. I know I was wrong, too, but in her mouth, I became a complete victim. The headmaster even apologized to me and apologized for the bullying I was subjected to at school.
But she is as warm as the spring breeze to me. From that day on, I felt that I never wanted to know them again. We have lived in the same house for so many years, but I always try to keep myself out of it. I didn't ask my dad why, I didn't ask my mom why, and I don't know the cause and effect of menstruation moving here. I used to think that I was living in a sick family, just like those classmates who laughed at me.
Actually, I thought I didn't ask. Everything seems to be a story that happened in one place. I thought I didn't ask. Everything seems to be just a painting. Now I understand that my choice is not because I am mature, but because I am escaping. Whether my mother is gay or not, I am running away from our family.
20 17, I am 3 1 year old this year. I have been married for five years and live happily with my wife. I have a three-year-old son, and I love him very much. In my own marriage, I gradually began to understand my parents' marriage and the life of my mother and aunt. Maybe it's helplessness or compromise. I had my own answer in my heart, but I still didn't ask the three of them. I began to learn to love them. Maybe one day I love them enough and they will tell me.
Uncle wall said, thank you for sharing the story. In this world, many things are not as clear as blue, red, soap and white. The more you try to figure it out, the less clear it is. Participants, bystanders, we all live in other people's stories and our own stories.