Recently a good friend, who I’ve known for like 15 years, came out to me and, sorta awkwardly, said the words “You know I’m Gay right?”…for the first time.
My reaction was to say, “I know. But, no, you never told me that, out loud, before.” We then proceeded to hang out, talk shit, watch movies and listen to music and stuff like we always do.
This sparked a lot of introspection about people all over the world that have to build up the courage to say those words to the people they care for. Clearly, my friend is not feeling a lot of Gay Pride, or he woulda let that truth about his identity; the part of him that defines his sexuality…drop a little sooner.
This particular individual is quite lucky compared to many who were born gay in a not-so-understanding world. He lives in New York City, he is artistically inclined, and is adored by his friends. And at this point it was just about being courageous and saying the words out loud. For the most part I think all his friends would have the same reaction, or lack of, that I did. So why was he still so nervous about saying it out loud, for all these years?
Well I can’t say I really know all the reasons, but it’s pretty clear the dude was afraid. And it’s hard to shake our deepest fears.
As I write this, I sound like I was born understanding and open-minded to my gay friends. I wasn’t really, or at least I was given mixed messages as a kid. We were white kids in a Puerto Rican Ghetto, raised by what some might call “Liberal” parents. So in theory I was supposed to accept everyone. I am grateful to my parents for that. But as a youth, I was just as afraid of “gay” people as a lot of people are. Fear of the unknown, I suppose. Plus there was this great cultural bandwagon that I was on that said I “should” be afraid of gay people.
I started coming across recognizably gay men as a child singer in NYC from the age of nine. Seemed that half the grown male altos in the choir didn’t only sing like women; they talked and walked like women too. So I started to get the picture a little earlier than most. But that didn’t make me any less scared of gay people. That and the fact that since I was old enough to understand insults, the phrase “That’s Gay”was always a derogatory term. So like a lot of people, I got the message that there must be something wrong with someone if they were “gay” and liked it.
My mother, sister and I moved to a very conservative town in upstate New York when I was eleven-years old. In my life in NYC I was an accomplished professional soprano and budding child actor. Here I was in a small town; a kid who didn’t give a fuck about wrestling or football, and didn’t think picking on less popular kids was cool. So, for those reasons, during my penance up there, I was called a faggot by some dickhead or another, every day that I went to school in that god-forsaken town. Pushed into urinals while peeing, and all that other classic loser bully shit that people let their children perpetuate. Another kid in my year was bullied to the point of committing suicide by hanging himself. Was he gay? He never got to find out. He was 12.
During this period, our mom invited a new “roommate” to live with us; a lady who was big as a truck driver, with a butch haircut, a natural hatred of men, and who came with her own truck. She was handy with tools, firearms, and Vodka. My mom and she shared everything including a bed, and talked baby talk to each other. Mom was in denial about it, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the nature of their friendship was about. On the one hand it was her business, and on the other, from her point of view, this was not the town or the time, to come out in. Sadly she couldn’t even bring herself to be honest with either my sister or me about it.
How did that pan out? The truck driving vodka-drinking lady had a lot of inner sadness, and ultimately took her own life with a shotgun. My mom first turned to Jesus, and later became an unhappily married heavy drinker like a good American should be.
Okay so all this stuff wasn’t pretty, but it did allow me to gain some perspective on people, and to decide, early on, that there were people who had love to share and there were assholes ruled by fear. The latter seem to be an infestation on the planet, and the former were fewer and further between. And one could actually learn not to be an asshole if they chose to.
I also learned that if you are going to try to hang with people who have love to give, and who enrich your life, you may need to cast a wider net and focus on what you have in common, rather than on what makes you different; because awesome people come in every color, religion, culture, and sub-culture…just like assholes.
The asshole affect is very real, and instills a lot of fear in to the hearts of would-be honest people.
Most people who are afraid to admit that they are “different” than other people have been seriously bullied for being themselves, or have been witness to the bullying of other people like them.
Bullying is being an asshole with a purpose. Ostracizing people for who they are is being a bully. Bullies are driven by fear. Fear is a pretty powerful negative force that is the common denominator every time one of us is an asshole. It’s why our world is a fucking mess. Making other people afraid to BE, on purpose, is something we do out of our own fear. Any time I, you, or anyone you know does that…we keep ourselves from being or even increasing the percentage of non-assholes on the planet.
What stops people who are born gay from sharing that essential fact with their closest friends is usually a massive fear of not being accepted, or being cast out, or being abandoned, or having people who you knew for years, or your whole life suddenly act different around you. And if you acted like that when you found out that your friend or family member was playing for the other team, or “different” in any way, please take a moment to realize that the judgment is on us who judge others. Because people are born the way they are. You have to actually choose to be an asshole or not.
That being said, it took 15 years of friendship before my friend could just be honest about it, and I would have accepted him and loved him if he told me on day one. That is worth some thought. Another dude I was telling this story to, shared with me that he was in his 30’s and had spent thousands on therapy before he had the courage to tell his father that he was gay. His dad’s answer was to say, “Where did I go wrong…that I raised a son who was afraid to tell me that he was gay?”
I’m not sure what the point of this post is. Maybe I just need to blow off steam. But I guess I want to remind myself, and whoever else happens to read this, that there is an area of growth that we all need to put to some energy in to. There are two crimes that are committed daily; being fearful of and closed-off to other people that are different than you, and (less obvious but more dangerous) being fearful and closed-off to yourself, about being honest about who you really are, even to those that love you. Both take a conscious choice to get past.
Lets start today by being open minded to someone “different” than you, who, up until this point, you were afraid of. And if it’s yourself you are judging so harshly, just remember that gaining acceptance from others begins with accepting and loving yourself for who you are. Let’s not be assholes, not even to ourselves.
Howl!
Hank Coyote
If you are broke…it’s free!
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