Why My Mom Took Me To A Gay Club

Never in a million years could I have predicted this.

When I came out to my Catholic mom fifteen years ago, I’d never imagined the day when she’d take me to a gay club. I also didn’t foresee her learning how to twerk, feeding an alligator or giving a lap dance ― but it all happened. During one weekend in, of course, New Orleans.

It took my mom a few years to become comfortable with my gayness. Her religion said one thing, but her heart said another. Alas, she sided with her heart and has now made it her personal mission ― much to my horror ― to find me a husband. Since my own efforts have proven less than fruitful, she decided to take things into her own hands ― and suggested that we visit a gay club. Together.

Of course, if you’re going to do something... do it right. So we partnered with New Orleans Tourism, charged our batteries, packed our cameras and headed to the Big Easy in search of Mr. Wavey.

And even though (spoiler alert) we didn’t find the man of my dreams, our trip was a butt-shaking, heart-warming, soul-charging adventure of a lifetime.