September 8, 2016. There I was, sitting at a mediocre Italian chain restaurant with a lukewarm pile of overcooked lasagna in front of me looking about as enthusiastic as I felt. Across the table was my mother, trying to lift the plastic grade molten cheese from her lasagna to find mushed up noodles in a sea of anemic red sauce. I had never felt this awkward in a kitschy eatery without the wait staff halfheartedly singing happy birthday to me, but there I was. Ready to say the words I had tried to say 10 years earlier but had somehow weaseled out of in exchange for a decade of conversion therapy.
I can’t say what goes through the minds of all queer people when they first decide to come out of the closet. But I do know the commonality of our trepidations keeps our teeth tightly glued together like Bondo to the bumper of a 1994 Honda Civic. My mom’s hysterics 10 years earlier had impressed upon me that if I was going to do it, then I better do it in a public place with plenty of witnesses. But I had also thought about what I would be losing, especially from my Mexican Culture if I came out. I had lived under the assumption that Super Macho Latino Culture would immediately see me as a queer pariah. And really, how would I talk to my uncles and cousins about the quiche I made while they were racing horses in Douglas, AZ. I knew the slang and slurs from growing up in a border town, and I could already hear them being shouted at me from paisanos as vividly as I could smell the garlic from my cold lasagna. But it would have to be my sacrifice, the ultimate “this or that” if I wanted to stop the charade. So, I prepared myself to lose everything.
“Mom…”
“Si hijo?”
“Mom, I’m…I’m bisexual.”
“Finally! It’s about damn time!”
I wish I could say that I didn’t lose anything that night other than my appetite, although ice cream after dinner helped me to feel better. In the end I did lose some relationships, some that I expected and others that I did not. But what I found most surprising was the well of support from my Super Macho Latino Community. The fears of being ostracized, never materialized amongst my fellow Mexicans, and my most ferocious defenders ended up being the people that I thought would have passed by and seen me as an undesirable. It turns out that bigotry can’t break the bonds of tequila, mariachi music and carne asada.
This being my 7th year celebrating Pride Month, I look back at that day back in 2016 and at the choices I made to live my life truthfully and how that has rippled through the years. I won’t lie and say that being queer in the construction industry isn’t intimidating. Back then the best I could hope for was being told I looked like the construction worker from The Village People. But the people that I work with daily have been nothing but supportive and inclusive, and I try to not sport a mustache when I wear my hardhat. Even though I love to see the rainbow pride flags and the honest joy of the queer community, I often wonder if I would have done anything different that night. Could I have been less fearful of the future? Perhaps. If I were to do it all over again, I would have probably written “Mom, I’m bisexual” in icing on a grocery store sheet cake instead.
Edward Molina Montoya is a Senior Estimator in our Phoenix Office. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Civil Engineering, a master’s in Architecture, and is a retired mariachi. He serves as co-chair of the Graycor Pride Employee Resource Group. Eddie is Bisexual.