Before then, I had little knowledge of what sexuality was. Fifth Grade was the big year where boys got to learn what boys had downstairs and girls got to learn what girls had downstairs. (Sixth Grade was the big year where boys got told what girls had and girls got told what boys had) Of course the videos were corny and outdated. Of course everyone was awkward and inappropriate about it. Puberty happens when it happens.
I was nice. I wasn't an asshole. I wasn't a jock who cared about sports. I was smart. I loved learning about space and science. I loved the little trivia games we had. I loved playing oboe (a "girl's instrument") in band (I never practiced, but I loved playing it). I didn't pick on anyone, I made dad-jokes even then. Somehow, all of that, meant that I was gay. When it happened, I did what every curious child would do. I looked the word up.
When I looked it up in a dictionary (before wide use of the internet), this is similar to what I saw:
So, I wasn't a schoolboy in Britain, or anything pertaining to one, and I wasn't a cigarette. It led me to the last definition and thus the following word, Faggot. There it was, right underneath. Faggot: A male homosexual. (can't be female of course...)
Fifth Grade. My sexuality was first questioned when I was too young to understand why.
From then on, it was continuous. As I grew up, the teasing didn't stop, they were just more inventive. Butt Pirate was my favorite... There was a kid from Texas who would call me a gay fucker in Spanish. There were kids of all ages calling me a gay fucker. I knew I wasn't, so it didn't make sense to me why they knew something I didn't. There were cute girls, and I had long-lasting crushes on a few of them, but I never asked any girls out until much, much later. We lived 10 miles away, I was too young or unable to drive, and we were poor. There was no point.
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| California Sunrise... In January... |
My parents divorced and I moved to California with my younger brother and my mother. I joined choir, and met some really cool folks. After our first choir concert, the nice ones asked if I would like to go out to Denny's with them. It was the first real social engagement I had had with multiple people who weren't related to me. So I went out with them, and during the conversation, one of them asked what I thought of gay people. I told them that they were cool ordinary folks and I kinda knew a couple from working at McDonald's... They nodded and went on talking, and then a note came to me and it said, "Bryan's gay." Oh. I smiled. It was then that I knew I was in. I was cool. I was a trusted friend, and that knowledge was good.
From that point on, I had a trusted friend that was part of the LGBT community. It was then that I knew I had to fight for their rights alongside them. That was when I proudly wore my 'ALLY' Button on my heart (figuratively of course). Gay was no longer a label of fear, but a friendly, smiling face. I wasn't gay, but I had a trusted friend who was, and that was important to me.
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| Remember that dude? |
Either way, the discussion was printed out and given to the principle. People were talked to, but no recourse was done. Then, sometime in the course of that year, the liberal kids showed up in school with shirts from UMM that said, "Gay? fine by me..." Which of course provoked the conservative kids to show up wearing shirts that said, "Gay? NOT fine by me..." Both shirts were soon banned from the school... Soon after that, I started placing DFL and LGBT-Ally propaganda on my locker, above my locker, anywhere for people to see that I was lamb in a pack of wolves. I wanted to get out of that town, and get on with my life...
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| Christmas Day 2009 |
Life... funny how it all worked out. I bounced around for a few years after graduation, and wound up working at the Flying J Truckstop in Fargo. I was a server in the restaurant (above) there for a year or so, and whilst I was there, I met a handful of lovely colorful characters. I also got to hear all the conservative banter from all the truckers. One night, I was alone up front with no customers when a driver came barging in.
"Are you the only waitress?", he exclaimed. "No," I said, "I'm a waitER, and yes, I'm the only one." He replied, "NO, you're a WAITRESS, you're working up here, you're a WAITRESS." "Alright sir," I sighed, "I'm the only server yes. What can I get for you?" He huffed, turned around and proceeding to stomp out of the restaurant. He met my coworker, a female server at the door, and talked with her for a while. Then, he left. I heard later that he complained to both my coworker and to the C-Store next door about how the restaurant DARE hire a fucking faggot. How DARE they allow one of THEM to work. I was so mad... I went to the back room and yelled. A lot. I almost quit. I saw the man again, a few times. I wasn't allowed to serve him, for fear I might 'get the gay on him' or something... The manager never kicked him out...
I'm not gay. I have wonderful, brilliant and inspiring friends in the LGBT community. I fully support, fight for and insist on their full rights guaranteed to them and every other person in this country. But that's not what I'm getting at. That's not why I'm telling you these harrowing tales. I'm telling you because I can't tell my youth. At least, not yet.
You see, I feel it is very important to inform my youth about this, because I'm sure they or their friends have been picked on. I'm sure they know of someone who's been bullied for something they're not. And I know they hear the conservative rhetoric about LGBT folk, especially after the Duck Dynasty crap. It's current, it's relevant, and I wanted to talk to my 7-12graders about my stories and what the Bible really says in the 4 or so verses that mention something resembling homosexuality. But I can't.
It was suggested to me that I need to be obedient to the church. I need to learn my context, and feel it out. I need to take it slow. I was told that I can't be put in a box like I should be. That little box on the Shelf... My point, my friends, is this, and it's a recurring theme: Can my past experiences be put in a box, high up on a shelf... all for the sake of my church? Does my calling hinder my past? Where do my advocacy and activism boxes go? When does doing the right thing take a side to... political pressure?
CAN I NOT BE MYSELF?
CAN I NOT ADVOCATE AND FIGHT?
Where is the line between right and wrong when I cannot do the right without being in the wrong? I feel like I'll face this dilemma frequently in my future calling... The church is meant for more than playing nice.
One last thought: I think I've told this story before, but I think it's prudent now. My rabbi always told the story in class about the time in his rabbinical office when a man asked him if the rabbi would accept the man for his homophobia. If the rabbi was so accepting of LGBT folks, would he accept the man for being homophobic. He never told the end of that story, and I think that's the point. It's always the question. We must seek the answer, but probably never receive it.
Amen
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