At a recent family dinner, I was suddenly reminded of why I hang my head in shame around my family. Dinner had just ended and the only people still sitting at the table were my step dad Harley, Granny and I. We had been discussing the band RockStar recently joined which somehow reminded Harley of Lady Gaga.

“You know, I like Lady Gaga, but that one song is crap.” Harley blustered. “Gay people are not born that way, it’s a choice.” I slowly shook my head at his Neanderthal thoughts, but I didn’t argue. After all, it’s about as worthwhile to argue with him as it is a rock. He believes what he wants and nothing will change his mind.

After a long debate from my enlightened Granny (who said it wasn’t a choice, who the hell would choose a life where they have limited freedoms compared to other people and are often stigmatized?), we all decided to drop the issue. One point that Granny wanted addressed was the tune for Born This Way – she wanted someone to sing it to her. Since my singing resembles a dying yak with a sore throat and Harley refused to sing a song that was “morally incorrect”, Granny decided to make up her own version.

“I’m gay, I’m gay, I was born this way.” Granny sang, doing a little dance and waving her jazz hands.

Just another day in my life.

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