A Guide For Mothers On How to Make Their Sons Gay From A Gay Son
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A Guide For Mothers On How to Make Their Sons Gay From A Gay Son

Most of my friends are women, and many of these women are getting pregnant. On purpose. Which is great, and I imagine at 34, fairly normal. But after most of these ladies tell me their joyous news, they tend to put one of their well-manicured (albeit swollen) hands on mine and say something like, “if it’s a boy, I hope he’s gay like you!” Well, ladies, I believe in making your dreams a reality, so I’m going to give you a little help by breaking down exactly how my mother made me into the proud homosexual I am today. Take notes, and do it in a fun color!

I was born via Cesarean-section. This is imperative. Instead of being yanked through my mother’s downstairs Dutch door, I was lifted out gracefully by a handsome Jewish doctor who slapped my ass until I screamed. That’s how you make an entrance.

Mother chose not to breastfeed so that I’d have zero relationship with the breast. And let me tell you, I really don’t. Plus, I don’t care how old you are, I think it’s unsightly to suck on your mother’s nipple. And it really puts a crimp in Christmas dinner.

I was first educated at Taste of Honey Preschool, which was named in honor of Winnie the Pooh – a pants-less bear in a too-tight top. My teacher, Miss Judy, encouraged me to dress like a princess during playtime because I loved doing so. FYI, the gays love all women named Judy: Garland, Holliday, Jetson – it doesn’t matter.

Mother let me watch The Golden Girls once when I was seven, and that show is the gayest. I adored it, and then promptly called her a slut (a word I picked up from the show) when she tried to turn it off. She sent me to my room, but I know the old hooker loved her cheeky new nickname.

She was always asking me queer questions like “where’s your crotch?” in department store dressing rooms while I was trying on pants. I learned very quickly exactly where my crotch was, and thus became hyper-aware of where every other man’s crotch was, too!

Sophomore year of high school, when I played Queen Eurydice in a non-traditional production of Antigone, she said encouraging things like “I don’t get it” and “I could see your foot moving when you were supposed to be dead”. She knew I could do better, and wanted me to strive for greatness. Very still greatness.

When I finally came out of the closet junior year of high school, she asked if I “wanted to do anything about it”. Yes, Mother, of course! I promptly frosted my tips and started fooling around with my best friend, Trevor. And she knew when Trevor and I were hanging out in the room above the garage that we weren’t actually “watching The Facts of Life” ‘cuz honey, we were learning them!

After high school, she allowed me to study drama (ha!) at NYU for one semester before I realized I was never going to stop sucking in my stomach to breathe properly (I guess you have to do that to do acting?). I then transferred to Emerson College in Boston, where I received my MFA in G-A-Y.

And after all that queenly care and effeminate education, I had the resources to be as gay-as-a-butterfly-caught-in-a-window-scarf on my own. And truly, what better glittery gift can one give to their child?

Well, I hope you’ve found my guide insightful, and I wish you the best of luck in making your yet-to-be-born son gay. If you follow these steps, in a few years time you’ll be enjoying shopping trips, manicures/pedicures, and watching Lifetime movies while commenting on the almost lethal-level of Botox the actresses have injected!

It’s gonna be a gay ol’ time! TC mark

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