This painful episode preceded, by only a few months, the momentous announcement from the American Psychiatric Association that removed homosexuality from its roster of psychiatric disorders-December 15, 1973. (The psychiatrist gave up on me after one visit and no, I did not change my name.) They loved me, and love eventually prevailed. My parents, who, trust me, were excellent people, died many years ago, having long since repented their bigotry. After a late-night scene of tears, insults, reproaches, and rage worse than anything I had imagined, they implored, then insisted, that I see a psychiatrist to be “cured.” My father, a gentle, mild-mannered man, very proud of me, suggested that I change my name to spare him a family scandal. Rather, they confronted me with the “evidence” of a phone bill. My parents’ learning that I’m gay triggered a family trauma.
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