I Was Brought Up By Gay Father

Writer Jo Willacy, 44, was nine when her family unit changed after her dad came out. She writes about how the experience shaped the person she is today

- Jo Willacy

I don’t remember my dad’s exact words, nor my mom’s. But I do remember how it all came about with such clarity that I could be sitting at the dining-room table in our family home right now. Having dinner, I was chatting about my school day. ‘Poof’ was the playground word of the moment. I had no idea what it meant, just that it was something my grandma asked for when she wanted to rest her swollen ankles. I must have said it one too many times for my usually calm, quiet dad. Without warning, the contents of his glass of water came flying towards me.

That moment is freeze-framed in my mind, my face in shock at the water, not the revelation. It was 1981, I was nine, my sister Kate was 10, and my dad had just told us that he was gay. I’m not sure if he intended to tell us that night, but I had inadvertently forced the issue.

In some ways, my parents had a ‘way in’ to a difficult subject. They’d already been forced to have another difficult discussion with us when they’d had to explain how Kate and I were different from our friends. Both born with cystic fibrosis, our life expectancy was short. Eight, my parents had initially been told, then 11 (I’m incredibly lucky that, thanks to medical advances, I haven’t yet needed a lung transplant, and I’m amazed and proud to have recently reached the age of 44). So, even before Dad told us about his sexuality, the word 'normal' was banned in our house. They used the word 'different' again to explain that he loved men.