Things Straight People Don't Have to Understand - Part III
Title: Things That Straight People Don't Have to Understand - Part III
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: It was hard to hate his father for wishing things were different, because sometimes Blaine did too.
Word Count: 807
Author's Note: More thinky stuff about coming out and family, because I have thoughts, man. Lots of thoughts. Part three of four.
It was hard to hate his father for wishing things were different, because sometimes Blaine did too.
He didn’t wish to be straight, exactly, but he could see the point about it being easier. There was the bullying, of course - everything from blatant slurs and violence down to the wide-eyed looks of astonishment, quickly masked, when he took Kurt’s hand in public. And there was coming out, which had to happen far too often, and watching people’s perceptions of him shift with alarming speed.
What most people didn’t realize was that he’d had to do it first. He’d had to stare in the mirror at himself and wonder if anything was different. He’d had to take a good, hard look at the American dream and realize it would never exactly be his. He’d had to adjust to a life where movies didn’t tell his story, where Hallmark didn’t make a card to describe his love, where even the government couldn’t decide if he were a second-class citizen or part of a minority deserving protection. He’d never be normal, whatever that was. And even though he’d pretty much embraced his differences, sometimes it was still hard.
So when his father had said he wished things were different, and what he’d really meant was I wish this was going to be easier for you, Blaine got it. He knew that who he was had caused all their dreams of easy normalcy to warp a little. And yeah, there was beauty in that, but that was because beauty was sharpened by struggle. He was walking a difficult path through no fault of his own, and he understood that his father wished he could make it smoother.
His mother’s approach was all about PFLAG and activism and talking about what fun she and her son and his boyfriend had at the flea market last weekend when her friends and relatives called to catch up. He appreciated it, he really did, particularly because it meant she took care of coming out to his entire extended family. It was good to be out and proud, but the process of getting there got pretty tedious after a while. But sometimes when she got a little overzealous - like that time she tried to put a rainbow sticker on her BMW - Blaine and his father would share a long-suffering look. Being gay might have changed him a little, but he was still an Anderson. And Andersons - gay, straight, or whatever - just weren’t that out there.
Which made it increasingly ironic that he’d fallen for Kurt, of all people. Kurt, who within five minutes of meeting his parents had been whisked away by his mother for the ‘grand tour,’ leaving Blaine and his father to stare bemusedly at one another over their coffee. When they came back twenty minutes later, chattering happily about some designer Blaine vaguely remembered reading about in last month’s Vogue, his father had swallowed a smile and said, “looks like your mother’s found a new best friend.”
“Apparently,” Blaine had replied, with a tiny, bitten-off smile of his own.
“We Andersons need a little bit of energy in our lives,” his father had said, and Blaine knew that was his version of approval, and of recognition. He watched as his mother sat down beside his father, her hand reaching out to smooth down the back of his hair. And he grinned when Kurt slid down next to him and absently reached out to straighten his collar. Some things, it seemed, transcended sexuality. Family was one, and love was another.
“What?” Kurt whispered, in response to his grin.
“Nothing,” Blaine replied. “I just…they like you. It’s nice.”
Kurt hummed in agreement, his fingers sliding over to link with Blaine’s as he launched back into conversation with Blaine’s mother.
Blaine watched Kurt for a while, and then watched his father watching his mother. He saw the love there, the quiet affection, and the wonder. He knew his father didn’t totally understand his mother, or always agree with her, but he loved her for the difference she made in his life. And now Blaine could see that Kurt had the same purpose in his. Like father, like son, he thought, and almost laughed out loud.
Yes, the Anderson men liked order and simplicity. They liked things to go smoothly, to be easy, to make sense. The loves of their lives offered none of those things. They created beautiful chaos and gave impassioned speeches and added color and life to every room they entered. And Blaine and his father, Andersons though they might be, wouldn’t have it any other way. Because the lives they led with these amazing people they loved might not be easy, but they would be theirs.
Blaine knew that authenticity beat out simplicity every time. Kurt and his mother had taught him so.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Summary: It was hard to hate his father for wishing things were different, because sometimes Blaine did too.
Word Count: 807
Author's Note: More thinky stuff about coming out and family, because I have thoughts, man. Lots of thoughts. Part three of four.
It was hard to hate his father for wishing things were different, because sometimes Blaine did too.
He didn’t wish to be straight, exactly, but he could see the point about it being easier. There was the bullying, of course - everything from blatant slurs and violence down to the wide-eyed looks of astonishment, quickly masked, when he took Kurt’s hand in public. And there was coming out, which had to happen far too often, and watching people’s perceptions of him shift with alarming speed.
What most people didn’t realize was that he’d had to do it first. He’d had to stare in the mirror at himself and wonder if anything was different. He’d had to take a good, hard look at the American dream and realize it would never exactly be his. He’d had to adjust to a life where movies didn’t tell his story, where Hallmark didn’t make a card to describe his love, where even the government couldn’t decide if he were a second-class citizen or part of a minority deserving protection. He’d never be normal, whatever that was. And even though he’d pretty much embraced his differences, sometimes it was still hard.
So when his father had said he wished things were different, and what he’d really meant was I wish this was going to be easier for you, Blaine got it. He knew that who he was had caused all their dreams of easy normalcy to warp a little. And yeah, there was beauty in that, but that was because beauty was sharpened by struggle. He was walking a difficult path through no fault of his own, and he understood that his father wished he could make it smoother.
His mother’s approach was all about PFLAG and activism and talking about what fun she and her son and his boyfriend had at the flea market last weekend when her friends and relatives called to catch up. He appreciated it, he really did, particularly because it meant she took care of coming out to his entire extended family. It was good to be out and proud, but the process of getting there got pretty tedious after a while. But sometimes when she got a little overzealous - like that time she tried to put a rainbow sticker on her BMW - Blaine and his father would share a long-suffering look. Being gay might have changed him a little, but he was still an Anderson. And Andersons - gay, straight, or whatever - just weren’t that out there.
Which made it increasingly ironic that he’d fallen for Kurt, of all people. Kurt, who within five minutes of meeting his parents had been whisked away by his mother for the ‘grand tour,’ leaving Blaine and his father to stare bemusedly at one another over their coffee. When they came back twenty minutes later, chattering happily about some designer Blaine vaguely remembered reading about in last month’s Vogue, his father had swallowed a smile and said, “looks like your mother’s found a new best friend.”
“Apparently,” Blaine had replied, with a tiny, bitten-off smile of his own.
“We Andersons need a little bit of energy in our lives,” his father had said, and Blaine knew that was his version of approval, and of recognition. He watched as his mother sat down beside his father, her hand reaching out to smooth down the back of his hair. And he grinned when Kurt slid down next to him and absently reached out to straighten his collar. Some things, it seemed, transcended sexuality. Family was one, and love was another.
“What?” Kurt whispered, in response to his grin.
“Nothing,” Blaine replied. “I just…they like you. It’s nice.”
Kurt hummed in agreement, his fingers sliding over to link with Blaine’s as he launched back into conversation with Blaine’s mother.
Blaine watched Kurt for a while, and then watched his father watching his mother. He saw the love there, the quiet affection, and the wonder. He knew his father didn’t totally understand his mother, or always agree with her, but he loved her for the difference she made in his life. And now Blaine could see that Kurt had the same purpose in his. Like father, like son, he thought, and almost laughed out loud.
Yes, the Anderson men liked order and simplicity. They liked things to go smoothly, to be easy, to make sense. The loves of their lives offered none of those things. They created beautiful chaos and gave impassioned speeches and added color and life to every room they entered. And Blaine and his father, Andersons though they might be, wouldn’t have it any other way. Because the lives they led with these amazing people they loved might not be easy, but they would be theirs.
Blaine knew that authenticity beat out simplicity every time. Kurt and his mother had taught him so.