source:
RIDGEWOOD, N.J. — When
Tyler Clementi
told his parents he was gay, two days before he left for Rutgers
University in the fall of 2010, he said he had known since middle
school.
“So he did have a side that he didn’t open up to us, obviously,” his
mother, Jane Clementi, said, sitting in her kitchen here nearly two
years later. “That was one of the things that hurt me the most, that he
was hiding something so much. Because I thought we had a pretty open
relationship.”
In her surprise, she had peppered him with questions: “How do you know?
Who are you going to talk to? Who are you going to tell?” Tyler told a
friend that the conversation had not gone well. His father had been
“very accepting,” he wrote in a text message. “Mom has basically
completely rejected me.”
Three weeks later, he jumped off the George Washington Bridge after
discovering that his roommate had used a webcam to spy on him having sex
and that he had sent out Twitter messages encouraging others to watch.
An international spotlight turned the episode into a cautionary
coming-out story, of a young man struggling with his sexuality and the
damage inflicted by bullying. His roommate,
Dharun Ravi,
was tried and convicted of intimidation and invasion of privacy; he
served a short jail sentence. But the trial never directly addressed the
question at the heart of the story — what prompted a promising college
freshman to kill himself?
It is that question that lingers over the household here on a tidy street in this prosperous suburb.
The Clementis continue to blame the bad luck of a roommate lottery and
the cowardice of students who failed to step up and say that the spying
was wrong.
But their son’s suicide has also forced changes, and new honesty, upon
them. They have left the church that made Ms. Clementi so resistant to
her son’s declaration. Their middle son, James, acknowledged what the
family had long suspected and said that he, too, was gay. The family is
devoting itself to a foundation promoting acceptance with the hope of
preventing the suicides of gay teenagers.
Most of all, Ms. Clementi has had to grapple with her own role in Tyler’s death.
“People talk about coming out of the closet — it’s parents coming out of
the closet, too,” she said. “I wasn’t really ready for that.”
At the time Tyler sat down to tell his parents he was gay, she believed
that homosexuality was a sin, as her evangelical church taught. She said
she was not ready to tell friends, protecting her son — and herself —
from what would surely be the harsh judgments of others.
“It did not change the fact that I loved my son,” she said. “I did need
to think about how that would fit into my thoughts on homosexuality.”
Yet it did not occur to her that Tyler would think she did not accept
him. She had long talked with him about how his brother James was gay —
though at the time James had not said he was. “Tyler knew we weren’t
going to reject him or stop
paying for college for him or not let him come home, because James had done all those things and we had a good relationship,” she said.
Tyler’s father, Joe Clementi, characterized the last month in his son’s
life as a “rough spot.” But Ms. Clementi said she believed he was
“confident, comfortable” in his decision. He left for Rutgers telling
his parents about plans to attend events for gay students. He reported
having gone to New York with new friends to see plays; his parents took
this to mean he was adjusting well.
During a phone call one afternoon he sounded different. “A little sad,”
Ms. Clementi said. “I thought maybe it was adjusting to being away. I
told him how much I missed him, he got a little teary and told me he’d
missed me, too. I thought he’d been away too much.”
That evening, Joe Clementi was awakened by a call from the Port
Authority police, saying they had Tyler’s wallet and phone, that he’d
been seen — then not seen — on the bridge.
In the months after Tyler’s death, some of Ms. Clementi’s friends
confided that they, too, had gay children. She blames religion for the
shame surrounding it — in the conversation about coming out, Tyler told
his mother he did not think he could be Christian and gay.
“I think some people think that sexual orientation can be changed or
prayed over,” she said now, in her kitchen. “But I know sexual
orientation is not up for negotiation. I don’t think my children need to
be changed. I think that what needed changing is attitudes, or myself,
or maybe some other people I know.”
She decided she could no longer attend her church, because doing so
would suggest she supported its teachings against homosexuality. And she
took strength from reading the Bible as she reconsidered her views.
“At this point I think Jesus is more about reconciliation and love,” she
said. “He spoke more about divorce than homosexuality, but you can be
divorced and join a church more than you can be gay and join churches.”
What has troubled her most is the thought that Tyler believed she had rejected him.
Joe Clementi argues that his son was speaking with classic teenage
exaggeration to a friend, that the remark was taken out of context by
people who did not know the family, or the facts. “Just to be clear:
Tyler had two parents, and I didn’t have any problem with it,” he said.
“He had support.”
But Ms. Clementi can’t dismiss it that easily. “Obviously he felt that way, he needed to tell his friend that.”
Sitting in the courtroom every day during Mr. Ravi’s trial this winter,
the Clementis often looked brittle, and rarely spoke. But here in their
home, next to the elementary school that all three of their boys
attended, they spoke openly. They have also been speaking to school and
corporate groups about their experience. And though she supports the
prosecution’s appeal of the 30-day sentence Mr. Ravi received on the
ground that that it was too short, Ms. Clementi said, “It won’t change
my life one way or another.”
It is a relief to have come out of the closet, she said. “It is not something I would have done on my own.”
She thinks often about her last phone call with Tyler, hours before he went to the bridge.
“I was sitting right over there,” she said, pointing to a corner of the
kitchen. They had what seemed like an innocuous discussion about whether
his parents should take Tyler’s bike to Rutgers for him. It was
expensive and beloved, and he had not wanted it stolen.
“He got very teary and wistful — ‘Oh, my bike, I forgot about my
bike,’ ” she recalled. “After the fact I think about it in different
terms, but at the time, I didn’t. He said, ‘No, keep it at home.’ ”
She cannot recall how they said goodbye.
“It was probably the way we said goodbye all the time,” she said.
“ ‘Goodbye, I love you,’ ‘I love you more.’ That was the way we usually
ended it. I’m sure that’s how we ended it that time, too.”