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I was thinking of a son

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When Kurt was thirteen and thought himself dreaming, he told Mama, “I’m gay.”

At least once a week, Kurt dreamed about his mother. They would do normal things, like bake cookies, or go on walks, or shop till they dropped. He told her everything, and he thought he should tell her this, too.

He always felt better after his dream-conversations, like a thousand-pound weight dropped off. Like the fire rising in him banked a little. He knew it was crazy – Mama was dead. But still, he had conversations with her every week.

So he told her, “I’m gay.”


In three years, when he’d tell his father the same thing, Dad would say the same thing.

“I know.”


In the dream, Mama sat him down on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa and said, “You love who you love, sweetie.”


Religion had never been important in the Hummel household. Kurt knew that his father’s parents went to church every Sunday, but Mama never talked about hers, and instead of sitting down for boring lectures about being good or going to a terrible place (like Mickey from next door said his family did every week), Mama (and sometimes Daddy!) would go on adventures on Sunday – to the park on the other side of town, or to the lake, or to Columbus or Cincinnati.

Kurt has never believed in the god his grandparents worship.

After he accepts just whose son he is, he realizes why.