Instructions for Coming Out Gay in a Pentecostal Southern Family
A Southern Family Guide 🌈
Begin at Sunday dinner, post-service, when Granny speaks in tongues,
in a key that would make angels cover their ears and spiders applaud.
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Wait until cousin Dale has finished running laps
around the living room, muttering Revelation like it’s an Olympic sport.
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In a low tone say your announcement between bites of casserole.
Something modest works best.
"Pass the green beans. Also, I’m gay."
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Or announce it during dessert.
"This pecan pie hits harder than my ex-boyfriend."
Timing does not matter. Everyone is vibrating
from prophecy, prayer, and slightly burnt cornbread,
and probably thinking about the apocalypse anyway.
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Stand ready for Aunt Martha. She faints at air,
good news, bad news, and shadows that look vaguely suspicious.
Keep ammonia capsules nearby. She treats them like tiny holy trophies.
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When Uncle Junior comes at you, speedwalking, arms raised,
he may be casting out demons.
He may be overcome by God’s love.
You have a fifty-fifty chance. Let him decide.
Do not run. You are not a demon.
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Granny will ask if you have prayed.
Say yes. Just not for what she thinks.
She will demand certainty.
Tell her you are as certain
as she was when Y2K threatened to destroy all microwave ovens.
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Your daddy will grip his sweet tea like it’s a weapon,
but by Wednesday he will text,
asking if your “friend” wants to fish with him.
This counts as progress.
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Expect shouting. Someone will inevitably yell “TESTIFY!”
as though the casserole itself were miraculous.
If someone faints who isn’t Aunt Martha,
note it quietly. This is rarer than a cat that pays rent.
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Survive. You will.
Laugh when laughter comes, loud enough to scare the fainting people.
Love these ridiculous creatures anyway,
even when they insist you need deliverance
from whatever makes you complete.
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Bring your boyfriend next Christmas.
Watch everyone pretend scandal never happened.
Accept Granny’s gift, bedazzled Jesus' sweatshirts for you both.
She means it with the purest intentions.
Wear them. Dance in them.
Consider adding a dramatic twirl for extra points.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Let your becoming be louder than your fear, and your smallest steps become the road you once thought impossible to walk. An Appalachian poet and cookbook author my book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇
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