Fathers and mothers need to be treated differently when it comes to certain issues about being gay. Stereotypically, it's the mother that tends to be more understanding while the father goes against hisdefinition of what a man is as he struggles to understand his son's sexuality.

Papa is no different. My nerves were turning to ice as I sat in the restaurant with Drew, our closest friends gathered around the large banquet table as we waited for my parents to arrive.

Fran reached across the table, pouring me another glass of wine.

"Eric, relax." She said, filling the glass to the rim.

The ceremony rehearsal at Hillary's home had come off like clockwork, with Greg pretending to be my father as he walked down the aisle with my Mother.

But now we were waiting for my real father to arrive, picked up by Mama at the airport, and brought directly to the rehearsal dinner. While Dad knew Drew and I were committing to each other, what he didn't know was the level of the ceremony-- the level of the commitment.

Seeing my friends gathered at a rehearsal dinner would certainly solidify the reality check that he was going to be part of a gay ceremony. An old Bostonian fisherman was going to be acknowledging the fact that not only was his son gay-- but that he was getting MARRIED to another MAN.

I knew this would be hard for him. I knew this would go against everything he believed-- and yet, I was his son and he would be here any moment. Mike smiled at me, handing me an appetizer plate of fresh shrimp, motioning for me to eat, trying to calm me down.

I couldn't eat. I couldn't drink. All I could do was watch the front restaurant doors.

And then I heard my mother's voice, "Oh, c'mon, quit your complaining!" as the front door opened and there was my father standing behind her. I rose from the table; my father's eyes staring me down.

In that instant I saw a giant smile widen across his face as he stepped forward and greeted me with open arms. We embraced.

"My Luigi." He said, holding me firm.

"Everyone, this is my Dad."

"Call me Papa." He announced to the table. I could feel my worry begin to dissipate as we all sat back down and another round of appetizers filled the room.

My stern, conservative, and Portuguese father was joining in the table conversation with glee and acceptance. I remained quiet, or rather, mesmerized.

And then it happened. In a brief respite from the never-ending table conversation, he gently took my hand, leaned forward and said, "Mama says you're suing your boss. Do you think that's a good idea?"

At that moment, Hillary stood up, and announced, "For all those people that keep asking me about my 'boyfriend,' all I will say is that he'll be at the ceremony." Fran and Greg applauded, as did Drew.

But I couldn't stop thinking about my dad. Was he accepting the ceremony because he was rallying against my decision at work? Was it a decision based on the lessor of two evils? One thing was for certain, our marriage ceremony was the iceberg and my Papa was on the Titanic.