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I usually don't double post like KEE, but sometimes things just happen.

Tonight I went to the Orioles game with my dad.  It was sort of a last minute decision since my mom couldn't go and they have season tickets, so we headed out.  As a backhistory, I should explain that my relationship with my father is more or less non-existent.  From the age of eleven, until I turned eighteen, our conversations could be summed up to volleyball, goal-setting, and grades.  When I started college, I passed up the opportunity to play volleyball in order to focus on my studies and, admittedly, free myself from the pressure put upon me by my father.  So, then, our conversations were focused on how the volleyball team at school was doing, goals, and football.  Since then, we talk about football, and occasionally he gets on my back about finding a job.

On the way to the game today, it was a relatively normal conversation.  The Redskins won last night, so there was a cause for celebration.  Likewise, the Cowboys lost to the Jets.  In response to his surprise that the Cowboys lost, after leading by fourteen; I agreed that I was happy that the Cowboys lost but not so thrilled about the Jets winning.  Once upon a time, I would have been happy about this, but now the Jets hold no significance in my life.  My father--not so astute--asked why I don't like the Jets.  I responded very shortly that it was because of my ex.  As I said, my father and I don't talk about things outside of sports and the future.  Needless to say, interpersonal relationships fall outside of the realm of normalcy, most especially regarding my ex-girlfriend.  The words that came out of my father's mouth were so simple and yet so meaningful: "Oh, she like them?"

In the four years since I have come out to my parents as bisexual, this is the first time I have heard him acknowledge my attraction to women or any relationship that I have had with a woman--at least in front of me.  Even when I had my then-girlfriend visit a year and a half ago, he barely said more than two words to her.  My mother has always been the supportive one.  She has always accepted my sexuality for as long as I can remember, saying that it's only a small piece of who I am--so insignificant to the big picture.  While my dad isn't waving around a rainbow flag or attending PFLAG meetings, it just means a lot to know that he's not pretending that part of me doesn't exist, because that's how I usually feel when he says, "Emily, that boy over there's kind of cute," or "Oh, you have a date with a boy?"

I don't expect anyone to say, "What do you think of that girl?"  I don't need someone to ask me these things, but I don't like pretending to be straight.  Even if I date a man--hell, even if I marry a man--I will still be a bisexual woman.  I will not go back into the closet.