I’d been preparing to tell my parents that I was gay for four years. There were these constant questions: “When are you getting married?”, “When are we getting grandkids?”. It was harder and harder to hide the fact that the guy I lived with was my boyfriend and not just a friend. 

I came to visit my dad and decided that it was now or never. We were sitting at the table — me, my dad, and my aunt — and eating soup. I awkwardly blurted out: “By the way, Andrew, the guy I live with — he’s my boyfriend.”  My words were met with heavy silence. Then my father turned red and yelled, standing up: “I will hear no such thing in my house!”  He then said that it was only a phase, that I just needed to find a nice girl, and other stereotypical stuff. I stared at the floor in silence, waiting for him to finish with the lecture. 

Then my aunt stepped in and started arguing with him. I didn’t expect such support — I was convinced that she was also homophobic. She said that I was still a part of the family, and as long as I was happy, it didn’t matter who I was with. Of course, my father didn’t listen and stormed out of the room. We didn’t speak at all for about a month afterwards. I didn’t text, he didn’t call. I had almost resigned myself to being the black sheep of the family. 

Until one day, I got a message from him saying: “Sergei, forgive your old man. Come to our barbecue with Andrew some time.” It was a shocker, I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

Since then, everything’s been great. I started coming over with my boyfriend. It was awkward at first, but still nice. 

Later, I found out that my aunt had sent dad a bunch of articles and books about sexuality, about the difficulties of being gay in Russia, and so on. Andrew and I are endlessly grateful to her for that. 

I am sharing my story to show other LGBTQ+ people that support can come from where you least expect it. And happy stories still exist despite the homophobia in our society.