The Crap That Straight But Not Narrow Folks Don't Know
A friend recently posted about a musician being attacked and it got me thinking. All my friends and almost everyone I know is totally supportive; these are the people who think the way they should - that being gay is no big deal. Shruggable. They don't blink when they find out someone is gay. The Fiancee recently had this wonderful experience at work.
But these people, the ones who think exactly the way I want them to, are often the most ingnorant about how bad things really are. They don't care that people are gay. Most people they know don't care that people are gay (especially around here). So things must be getting better for gays and lesbians. Right?
Wrong. My own mother thinks we're fine and dandy. I've given up trying to tell her about how close we are to losing everything and going backward forty years. Check out 365gay if you want to know what is really going on. Look it up every day for a week. For every one positive article there are three negative ones.
But my point here is that I want to share the not-so-happy events in my homosexual life. I came out at 14 and with relatively few exceptions was well-received. For your education, and my therapy, here is some of my story, emphasis on the negative.
It occurred to me that I might be gay one day around my thirteenth birthday (seventh grade). I spent six months in a suicidal state, battling with myself over whether I was straight (didn't think so), bi (maybe) or gay (uh oh). Even for kids like me, raised in a liberal household with gay aunts, it was terrifying to think that I might like girls. This messed up all my ideas of what my future would be like. It made me wonder who my friends would be once they knew. It made me want to know what the hell being gay meant anyway. I have one very special teacher to thank for my not killing myself.
The summer after eighth grade I went to camp. There were three girls who were friends in my cabin. I was very homesick. I could not sleep. My bunk was squeaky. So when I rolled around not sleeping all night, they decided I was watching them. Their little boyfriend called me dyke all week. I came about two inches away from a fist fight with him. It was one of the worst weeks of my young life.
I came out at a diversity training meeting at school. It was just before my fifteenth birthday, beginning of freshman year of high school. I had told a few close friends before that, but that day I came flying out of the closet, screaming at the top of my lungs. I didn't face anything directly, homophobia in the liberal town I grew up in was always behind my back. It was the slow distancing of certain people. It was the car driving by me at night, with an unidentified teenager screaming dyke out the window. It was the kid at the dark beach party screaming to me and my friends "which one of you is the dyke? wanna suck my dick?". And even the best of my friends replying "not me".
Before The Fiancee and I were living together we would go down to the beach at the bottom of her (now our) street a lot. That is until one day, when we were standing there holding hands. Not kissing. Holding hands. There was a little old man who always watched us out his window. That day his wife stuck her head out and screamed "You can't do that here! Get the hell away from here! You're sick!". We were so dumbfounded we stumbled away and never really went back. We've had sticks thrown at us. Snickering at the mall, the grocery store. She gets it worse than me. She has short hair, and therefore is more dykey to your average straight white male. She gets snickered at. Pointed at. Even when I'm not around. It's the worst right after she gets a hair cut. When it happens while I'm with her, I want to kill someone and cry at the same time.
We're careful not to call each other honey in public. We know when and where not to hug, kiss, bump hands against each other. I've felt very, very unsafe in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart in Maine. One day we were driving to the liquor store from Market Basket, and a white trash bitch in a jeep ended up stuck in traffic right in front of us. I think she expected us to go right, but we wanted to go straight. When we just sat there she leaned out the window and screamed. "What? You fuckin dykes. What? You wanna go? You wanna go you fuckin dykes?" The Fiancee turned right and decided to get the fuck away, to go to another liquor store. We ended up driving toward the main road, parallel to her in the parking lot, with a median in between. She kept right up and kept screaming. I looked right out my window, eye contact all the way to the street, and had my eyebrows up, mouth wide open in a "are you for fucking real? this is hysterical" face. But it wasn't funny. I laughed at her, which pissed her off more. I thought she was going to have a heart attack in that trashy little jeep. But when we got home I felt so unsafe. It took a long time for that feeling to wane.
I would have short hair but I don't want to get snickered at. Is that giving in? I had short hair in middle school and was asked if I was a boy or a girl every fucking day. And before I realized that what was wrong with me was just homosexuality, I wasn't quite sure. I don't have short hair because I'm scared and I never want to be called sir again. I'm a fucking pussy. I give my Fiancee so much props for going out in public every day never knowing what she is going to get.
I'm not even going to go into everything revolving around power of attorney, hospital visits, dealing with our bank account together, or me taking her to the dentist to help her with her phobia. Every little couple thing we do we are afraid that we'll be treated like shit, threatened, laughed at, or kept apart. God forbid we ever have an emergency outside of our home state. Even in our home state there is the threat of a homophobic paramedic who decides to give shitty care to dykes. She needs polish for her engagement ring and we don't want to go to the jewelry stores in the mall together to get it because it becomes far too obvious that we're gay. We need to go to one of the most homophobic parts of Florida in July to attend my uncle's wedding. We're going to be very, very careful - hyperalert.
Straight people will never understand what makes Provincetown so special. It's just another little Cape town. But for us it is the only place we have ever been where we could put our guard completely and totally down. The feeling of relief and relaxation when we step off the boat is indescribable.
But these people, the ones who think exactly the way I want them to, are often the most ingnorant about how bad things really are. They don't care that people are gay. Most people they know don't care that people are gay (especially around here). So things must be getting better for gays and lesbians. Right?
Wrong. My own mother thinks we're fine and dandy. I've given up trying to tell her about how close we are to losing everything and going backward forty years. Check out 365gay if you want to know what is really going on. Look it up every day for a week. For every one positive article there are three negative ones.
But my point here is that I want to share the not-so-happy events in my homosexual life. I came out at 14 and with relatively few exceptions was well-received. For your education, and my therapy, here is some of my story, emphasis on the negative.
It occurred to me that I might be gay one day around my thirteenth birthday (seventh grade). I spent six months in a suicidal state, battling with myself over whether I was straight (didn't think so), bi (maybe) or gay (uh oh). Even for kids like me, raised in a liberal household with gay aunts, it was terrifying to think that I might like girls. This messed up all my ideas of what my future would be like. It made me wonder who my friends would be once they knew. It made me want to know what the hell being gay meant anyway. I have one very special teacher to thank for my not killing myself.
The summer after eighth grade I went to camp. There were three girls who were friends in my cabin. I was very homesick. I could not sleep. My bunk was squeaky. So when I rolled around not sleeping all night, they decided I was watching them. Their little boyfriend called me dyke all week. I came about two inches away from a fist fight with him. It was one of the worst weeks of my young life.
I came out at a diversity training meeting at school. It was just before my fifteenth birthday, beginning of freshman year of high school. I had told a few close friends before that, but that day I came flying out of the closet, screaming at the top of my lungs. I didn't face anything directly, homophobia in the liberal town I grew up in was always behind my back. It was the slow distancing of certain people. It was the car driving by me at night, with an unidentified teenager screaming dyke out the window. It was the kid at the dark beach party screaming to me and my friends "which one of you is the dyke? wanna suck my dick?". And even the best of my friends replying "not me".
Before The Fiancee and I were living together we would go down to the beach at the bottom of her (now our) street a lot. That is until one day, when we were standing there holding hands. Not kissing. Holding hands. There was a little old man who always watched us out his window. That day his wife stuck her head out and screamed "You can't do that here! Get the hell away from here! You're sick!". We were so dumbfounded we stumbled away and never really went back. We've had sticks thrown at us. Snickering at the mall, the grocery store. She gets it worse than me. She has short hair, and therefore is more dykey to your average straight white male. She gets snickered at. Pointed at. Even when I'm not around. It's the worst right after she gets a hair cut. When it happens while I'm with her, I want to kill someone and cry at the same time.
We're careful not to call each other honey in public. We know when and where not to hug, kiss, bump hands against each other. I've felt very, very unsafe in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart in Maine. One day we were driving to the liquor store from Market Basket, and a white trash bitch in a jeep ended up stuck in traffic right in front of us. I think she expected us to go right, but we wanted to go straight. When we just sat there she leaned out the window and screamed. "What? You fuckin dykes. What? You wanna go? You wanna go you fuckin dykes?" The Fiancee turned right and decided to get the fuck away, to go to another liquor store. We ended up driving toward the main road, parallel to her in the parking lot, with a median in between. She kept right up and kept screaming. I looked right out my window, eye contact all the way to the street, and had my eyebrows up, mouth wide open in a "are you for fucking real? this is hysterical" face. But it wasn't funny. I laughed at her, which pissed her off more. I thought she was going to have a heart attack in that trashy little jeep. But when we got home I felt so unsafe. It took a long time for that feeling to wane.
I would have short hair but I don't want to get snickered at. Is that giving in? I had short hair in middle school and was asked if I was a boy or a girl every fucking day. And before I realized that what was wrong with me was just homosexuality, I wasn't quite sure. I don't have short hair because I'm scared and I never want to be called sir again. I'm a fucking pussy. I give my Fiancee so much props for going out in public every day never knowing what she is going to get.
I'm not even going to go into everything revolving around power of attorney, hospital visits, dealing with our bank account together, or me taking her to the dentist to help her with her phobia. Every little couple thing we do we are afraid that we'll be treated like shit, threatened, laughed at, or kept apart. God forbid we ever have an emergency outside of our home state. Even in our home state there is the threat of a homophobic paramedic who decides to give shitty care to dykes. She needs polish for her engagement ring and we don't want to go to the jewelry stores in the mall together to get it because it becomes far too obvious that we're gay. We need to go to one of the most homophobic parts of Florida in July to attend my uncle's wedding. We're going to be very, very careful - hyperalert.
Straight people will never understand what makes Provincetown so special. It's just another little Cape town. But for us it is the only place we have ever been where we could put our guard completely and totally down. The feeling of relief and relaxation when we step off the boat is indescribable.
posted by Bry at 7:40 PM
8 Comments:
And that's the sad fucking state of affairs in America, "Home of the Free."
I say cut your hair, but buy a gun.
(If it's any consolation, I get called "sir" all the time.)
I can tell you that at least once a week all through Middle School and high school I was shoved into bushes, had my book bag stolen, or my breasts grabbed just for being friends with one gay man. "Where's your BOYfriend? why can't he protect you?!" et cetera, ad nauseum.
I can only imagine how much his life must have sucked each and every moment.
Did we grow up in the same town? I've never seen it as liberal or accepting; it's a gossipy SMALL town where everyone knows everyone else's business.
Breast grabbing: you made me remember having the boys pull my pants down in the gym in sixth grade for trying out for basketball.
As for the town: yes it is small and gossipy, but in general (the extreme rich and poor excluded) it is a liberalish town. We had a Gay-Straight Alliance run by a lesbian teacher my sophomore year. Federally funded. (Not for long). There was little-to-no open homophobia (by adults). It was impolite. There were quite a few gay couples and families living in town. But it all meant that the phobia went underground. When you were there it was not impolite to terrorize homos.
This "liberalness" was in name only. There was not much commitment to it. But the only openly homophobic people in town that I've ever experienced were the Baptists. (Sometime I'll tell you a funny story about my brother snowboarding with the Baptist youth group). So when I say liberal I guess I mean that it was impolite to make fun of homos like it was impolite to make fun of fat people. And besides, homos were always good for some decorating advice.
I'm not kidding when I say I will openly support your desire to marry. Give me advance notice and I will clear my calendar to be with you. I don't mean just a wedding. I mean in the streets, fighting.
I appreciate the support. I really, truly do.
Thank you.
Sign me up for a good street fight, or whatever. I've got some great blocks and kicks.
A bi friend took me to Provincetown once and you are right, I love the vibe, it's quaint, but she just kept looking at me and smiling...'cause it just isn't as special to a straight person, we will never understand the freedom there because our freedom has never been threatened.
You know, for all the bullying I lived through I never had anything like what you guys have described happen to me. I think the worst was the occasional "Halloween's over" from some jackass driving by. Do I give off some kind of scary vibe or something? Odd.
It makes me very sad that for all our "liberalness" here in Ma this shit is still so prevelant. And that I was so unaware of just how bad it can be. Sexual orientation is just so not an issue for our framily it doesn't make it to "things I worry about". I hope that the time spent with framily helps to counteract the crappiness.
So, I appologise for being in my own little world (though it's a nice place, you'd like it). I shall endeavor to pull my head out occasionaly and look around. And you know Chris and I are totally there for you guys. We love you.
Thank you. Much, much, much appreciated.
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