Instructions for Coming Out Gay in a Pentecostal Southern Family
A Southern Family Guide 🌈
Begin at Sunday dinner, post-service, when Granny speaks in tongues,
in a key that would make angels cover their ears and spiders applaud.
🌈
Wait until cousin Dale has finished running laps
around the living room, muttering Revelation like it’s an Olympic sport.
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In a low tone say your announcement between bites of casserole.
Something modest works best.
"Pass the green beans. Also, I’m gay."
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Or announce it during dessert.
"This pecan pie hits harder than my ex-boyfriend."
Timing does not matter. Everyone is vibrating
from prophecy, prayer, and slightly burnt cornbread,
and probably thinking about the apocalypse anyway.
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Stand ready for Aunt Martha. She faints at air,
good news, bad news, and shadows that look vaguely suspicious.
Keep ammonia capsules nearby. She treats them like tiny holy trophies.
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When Uncle Junior comes at you, speedwalking, arms raised,
he may be casting out demons.
He may be overcome by God’s love.
You have a fifty-fifty chance. Let him decide.
Do not run. You are not a demon.
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Granny will ask if you have prayed.
Say yes. Just not for what she thinks.
She will demand certainty.
Tell her you are as certain
as she was when Y2K threatened to destroy all microwave ovens.
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Your daddy will grip his sweet tea like it’s a weapon,
but by Wednesday he will text,
asking if your “friend” wants to fish with him.
This counts as progress.
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Expect shouting. Someone will inevitably yell “TESTIFY!”
as though the casserole itself were miraculous.
If someone faints who isn’t Aunt Martha,
note it quietly. This is rarer than a cat that pays rent.
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Survive. You will.
Laugh when laughter comes, loud enough to scare the fainting people.
Love these ridiculous creatures anyway,
even when they insist you need deliverance
from whatever makes you complete.
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Bring your boyfriend next Christmas.
Watch everyone pretend scandal never happened.
Accept Granny’s gift, bedazzled Jesus' sweatshirts for you both.
She means it with the purest intentions.
Wear them. Dance in them.
Consider adding a dramatic twirl for extra points.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Beautiful and Brutal Things, his latest book.
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Franklya day ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
Love this story. Yes, that is the way a Pentecostal family lives. It is odd to me but my brother was almost there.
So clever & fun! Go Tim! 😁🫶🏾💕
Such fun! And so tongue-in-cheek. 💜
I'd have given top marks for the title alone but then what followed went beyond all marks & titles. I know enough about this culture to appreciate the humour & the reality on which it's based - but no one says it quite like you!
This is rad— excellent poetry and so wholesome. I feel the uncertainty of admitting something “scandalous” to a family that seems to be, on the surface, culturally opposed. But I think it’s necessary to be true and honest to yourself, so the message here is important. And I appreciate the sense of relief that you’ve written into the ending Great work :)
This is full of comedy and heart. It feels hopeful above all else. a beautiful view of family life that can have room for every sort of character if given the chance.👏👏✨
I’m dead because you slay. This might be the best thing ever. I’m Episcopalian, but I know from southern pentacostal, and this is so much funnier than most will realize. Absolutely smashing. "This pecan pie hits harder than my ex-boyfriend."