Had a nasty surprise on Wednesday night: Rich and I were watching TV upstairs in bed; it was late; then we heard a loud smashing sound. At first we weren’t sure were it came from, if is was a car outside or something inside the house. I went to the landing to listen and Rich, looking out through the bedroom window curtains, shouted back that he couldn’t see anything. After a minute or two, we were reasonably certain there wasn’t an intruder and turned on all the lights and checked upstairs – all fine – so we both crept downstairs, me first, brandishing a tennis racket. It didn’t take long to discover the source of the noise: a cool wind was shifting the curtains in the front room, behind them a splintered window, glass everywhere and a brick on the floor.

The police weren’t very interested and it was clear they had no intention of investigating – they just gave us a crime reference number in order to claim on our insurance. It was a real shock and leaves you feeling like a sitting target, constantly on edge, waiting for the next violent sound. Then you start to question why it happened: is it because we’re gay?

It’s a fairly nice neighbourhood were we live; there are some rougher parts around us, but our road is away from the main thoroughfare and very quiet. I’ve never heard of a house being targeted on our street, so why was ours picked out from the rest? It’s really hard not to conclude that it was a homophobic attack, because there’s no other obvious explanation. We haven’t upset any of our neighbours, in fact people keep themselves to themselves around here, and we only know the people directly next to us. As I said, our road is slightly off the beaten track and a close with no cut-through for cars, so it couldn’t have been a person or group just passing, it had to be premeditated.

Having been selling the delights of living in the suburbs, seamlessly slotting in with all the families and conservative convention, it turns out things aren’t as rosy as they seem and there might be a dark lining to the green lawns. It’s not as if we have been flying our rainbow flag at full mast, but I guess two young men living together is pretty obvious and gossip spreads like lightning behind those twitching nets and someone obviously has a problem with gays on their doorstep.
We are overlooked at the back of the house and I’ve been falling into the trap of thinking back to times we might have shown affection to each other while out in the garden, or maybe we’ve had the curtains open at dusk and given a public display of gay kissing, but it’s ridiculous to think like that. If you can’t be yourself, what’s the point?

It makes me think of a gay ‘glass ceiling’ – maybe, even if we get every legal equality, we’ll never be completely socially accepted, and even when you think you’re on a level playing field, someone will tackle you to the ground. I’m reminded of a phone conversation with my mum a few weeks back. She was telling me about a married couple who offered her a lift home from church: turns out they have a gay son too, and were soon to meet his boyfriend’s parents for the first time. And this was just the tip of the iceberg, as Mum was finding out, with plenty other members of the congregation having gay sons and daughters – it’s almost common!

So, all well and good, and Mum was relaying this as a very positive thing, even if she seemed surprised that having homo offspring is as common as it is. This is the telling thing, however: even after all these years, Mum still uses the term ‘partner’ when talking about same sex couples, to the point that I sometimes have to clarify if she’s talking gay or not; it’s never ‘boyfriend’, as in Rich is my ‘partner’. It’s subtle, but it also keeps it discreet, a code that is safely hidden to the unwise, and a nod to those in the know. So if even someone as close as my own mother still hasn’t normalised my sexuality, how can I expect anyone else to? Or maybe I’m just pissed off because some fucker through a brick through my window!