When I was young I realized that I was gay pretty much like many others did. I grew up in a medium size suburb in the mid-west where being gay was shunned, abnormal, shameful and to be gay meant to be ostracized by everyone. Kids that were bullies called me fag, and other terms that were meant to hurt, but they did that to anyone that they did not like or couldn’t find any compassion for. But with me they were right, I was actually gay. However, I never acknowledged it and I actively sought to dispel those labels.
I had a distorted idea of what it meant to be gay. At the time it meant you were a sissy, acted feminine, were not manly, muscular, or any of the traits that were associated with being a hyper masculine Jock. But that was not me, and I rebelled against being called a fag because I was not any of those things I just happened to like or prefer guys.
I was lucky to be able to experience an active healthy sex life while growing up. I did so with other boys in the neighborhood that were willing to experiment and try things of a sexual nature. Almost all of them turned out to be heterosexual in the end and none of them ever complained or blamed me for their experimental choices. I was lucky I guess. But I knew that while they were experimenting I was being my true self. There was a bit of shame associated with the activities we engaged in and in their own time each of them chose to stop engaging in those activities. I of course did not, as it was my orientation and I knew that. But I had to hide that fact or be labeled a fag, and have rumors spread about me that I feared would have significant consequences.
When I was 16 I reached my limit for dealing with being gay, and I seriously thought that there might be something wrong with me. Everyone and everything around me was telling that gay was wrong. I had no role models, I had no support. I was alone I did not know anyone else that was gay. So having reached my limit I borrowed my father’s insurance card giving him the impression that I had caught an STD from a girl and needed to see a doctor. In actuality I needed counseling and needed to talk to someone that was a professional that could help me and give me a definitive answer as to whether or not I was normal, and whether or not I was capable of proceeding with my chosen education path to become a doctor. I looked in the phone book and found several clinical psychologist that were listed and I called their offices and asked if they dealt with issues concerning sexual orientation. When it was apparent from just asking the question and receiving a NO answer, that it was not going to be an easy task, I started to worry. Then I found one that did, and the person I talked to was seemed like it was a normal question, so I made an appointment.
Over the course of two weeks I spilled my guts out to this therapist. I took five psychological tests and an IQ test. I remember some of them being the MMPI, WAIS, PP-something. Then I had to wait. The therapist had to send the tests out for analysis and once he got them back I would be able to return for the results. The three weeks that it took were agonizing. I remember thinking what if it comes back saying that I was abnormal. What if I were not smart enough to be a doctor, what if, what if, what if.
I was very fortunate to have found the right therapist. He was not judgmental, he was kind, he was very professional and he was up to date on the current findings on the issues surrounding sexual orientation. My doubts about whether I was smart enough to be a doctor came from psychological abuse from my parents due to their repeatedly asking me “what’s wrong with you, why can’t you do anything right”. I don’t blame them, they did not know what they were doing was abusive, and I am sure that it was not meant to be abuse, but it was. Having recognized this my therapist taught me how to punish my parents. How I could change their behavior, and it worked. Every time they did something that was wrong I refused to talk to them. I would answer questions yes or no, but that was it. No communication, no doing things for them that were not expected or in addition to make their lives easier. My parents learned quickly that I was disappointed with them and they caught on. They eventually changed their behavior and I became the adult teaching them how to be better parents.
When the 14-page computer printed test results came back I went to the therapist office and listened carefully as he said that my IQ was well above the average and was 133, borderline genius. The scales have changed since then but I was happy. He said that I could do anything in my life that I set my mind to doing and that the only thing that I should be aware of is that things that take an extended period of time may not hold my interest. He reviewed all the test results with me and said that I was in fact 100% normal and that my sexual orientation was normal just not one that is as common as the other orientations. That was the first time I felt Pride. I was normal and everyone else that thought that I was not was wrong.
After that day I understood that for me being gay was not to be a sissy, not be feminine, not to feel the need to do things that were associated with what society had determined were gay stereotypes. I was a man, I liked men, I was my own type of gay, and I was normal. I still had trouble with coming out. I still had to deal with small minded people, I still had family that I did not trust to tell that I was gay. But life was better. Until the day that my sister-in-law called and asked for me to meet her for lunch. I was in college, doing my pre-med studies and getting my prerequisites out of the way in preparation to apply to graduate school. My sister-in-law had something she needed to talk to me about. So, I met her for lunch and she proceeded to tell me that my Aunt had discovered thru another family member that I had trusted with my sexual orientation that I was gay. My Aunt had made the statement that she “did not want a fag in the house for Christmas”. My sister-in-law further told me that my Aunt had asked everyone in the family to not tell me that Christmas was at her home and that I was not invited.
This presented a problem. Nobody had told my parents, and it was going to be noticed that I was not there and this would be the very next time that the family had come together since my orientation had become public knowledge, and everyone else in the family already knew. They were going to find out. The question was who was going to tell them.
I decided it was time for me to formally come out and tell my parents that I was gay. I had to travel to another state where my parents were living at the time and I took along my best friend and at the time my girlfriend with me for moral support. She of course knew that I was gay, but we were sleeping together at the time, probably because when I was young I liked the idea that I might be bi-sexual. I chose to tell my mom first. I remember sitting in the kitchen as she was preparing something for dinner and I told her that this was not the ideal time for me to do this, and that I was being forced to do it and I told her the whole story. I was gay, her sister did not want me at her home for Christmas and that I would not be attending.
My mother’s reaction was very surprising. First she asked me if I really thought that she did not already know. I had worked as a bouncer at a gay bar in Cleveland and she knew the name of the bar and had discovered that it was a gay bar. She told me that was when she actually figured it out. Then she washed her hands, went over to the phone, picked it up and called her sister. She proceeded to tell her sister that she was not going to allow her to choose who was invited to Christmas and that if she had a problem with it, she asked how she would feel if their mother found out about the three abortions she had as a child. My jaw hit the floor. Not only was my mother not upset, she didn’t disown me, she stood up for me in the most spectacular way I had ever seen and fought for me. I was in shock. But then my mother turned to me because I had already told her that was not going to go because I did not want to be somewhere where I was not wanted, and she said, “You are going, even if for only 30 minutes. But you will be there, and I dare anyone to say anything”. That was the second time in my life that I felt pride.
Pride is the opposite of shame. When someone asks me why I have to celebrate gay pride I ask them when they have ever felt shame for being heterosexual. Gay people are shamed all the time by others around them, it comes in a dirty look, a mean statement, a shouted out hateful word. Shame is overpowering and only Pride can overcome shame. It’s hard to be proud when everyone else around you is trying to shame you. So when you display your pride you have to do it in a manner that can drown out the shame. That is why pride is so colorful, so sexual, so shocking to many. It’s because it is a push back against shame and it is needed now more than ever.
I am older now, I don’t go to the parades, I rarely go the bar, but when pride month comes around every year we display our pride flags. We have three that we like, the leather pride flag, the traditional gay pride flag, and the bear pride flag. This year for the first time, one of our neighbors has felt secure enough to display a pride flag. I am proud because I am sure that if we had not been doing it for the past 10 years, they would not have felt comfortable enough to do so, and in some way I feel that we have done our part to make the world a better place. So if you have a family or friend that is part of the LGBTQ community, why not support them and get a flag and show them that you care.