Each morning, I wake up, I get dressed and I eat breakfast. I get ready to go to school, work or to run errands, whichever the case may be. While in my small Honda Accord, I’ll often plug in my ipod and continue listening to music while I drive. After I’m done doing whatever it is that I had planned for that day, I’ll return home, eat dinner, watch TV, socialize with my family, do some more work and then go to bed. On some Friday nights I’ll go out to the bars in Albany, either alone or with friends. I have a loving family and I always stay as involved in their lives as I can. I go to church on Sundays. I never involve myself in “one-night stands” that so many other college students engage in. Oh, I almost forgot to mention one thing: I’m gay. But before I go on, I’m curious about some things. Does everything I’ve described about myself conform with the mythical “gay lifestyle” that so many conservatives claim is destroying America? Does my daily routine make you think of me as a greater evil than al-Qaeda, as Representative Sally Kern of Oklahoma described of gay people in 2008? Do I seem like the type of person who caused the 9-11 attacks, as right-wing Rev. Jerry Falwell claimed of gays and lesbians? Maybe you don’t know me well enough to answer those questions. Let me tell you about myself.
Several years ago, writing this would have seemed unthinkable. It is truly remarkable to consider how far I’ve come in that time. This is the story of my coming out as a gay man. Whether you love it or hate it, it is the truth. I urge anyone reading this to put aside any stereotypes or preconceptions of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people (LGBT). Doing so will not only help you when reading this story, but it will also help you in current and future dealings with LGBT people.
My personal background isn’t that special or unique. I was born and raised in a suburban, Catholic household near Albany, NY. It was just me, my two parents and little sister. We were and still are a very close family. My sister was my constant companion while I was growing up, and I vividly remember our many adventures, whether we were on a playground somewhere or running down to the local hamburger joint for lunch when our parents weren’t home. We were both explorers, looking for new places to hang out, ride our bikes, building forts in the woods, etc. As I got older, my father never had a formal “birds and bees” talks with me due to his nervousness at discussing such issues. He admitted that it was hard for him to talk about these things since he never had a father of his own to teach him (my grandfather died when my father was 3), and the rest of his father’s relatives were hard-line Lebanese immigrants, where sex remains a tricky subject. Still, my father did his best, and answered a few difficult questions, but luckily I’ve always been an avid reader, so I never had a problem accessing information about it! I learned about sexual issues mostly from sex education classes throughout my elementary and middle school life, and later I’d learn more via the Internet. I was told about the normality of boys having “dirty” thoughts about girls and vice versa. I never questioned this or whether or not that was the only type of sexual relationship that could exist. My parents never discussed anything other than man-woman relationships in their lives. In my church and religion class we never discussed homosexuality. One day my mother was watching Oprah, as she sometimes still does. I was very young when this happened. Oprah was discussing something I couldn’t make out, and revealed a picture of two men kissing. I was shocked beyond all possible belief. My mother didn’t know I had seen this, or if she did she thought I’d forget it quickly. Why would anyone want to kiss someone of the same sex? How could this be possible? I dismissed it as a disease or abnormality and went on with my life.
I’m not sure when the average time is for boys to begin experiencing sexual feelings, but I think in my case I matured later than other guys. In 8th grade I started becoming interested in dating, but not sex per se. That was only for marriage, as all good little Catholic boys knew. I decided it was time to do what everyone else did and get a girlfriend. After a few anonymous boxes of chocolate and flowers I was quickly going out with “Janice” (not her real name). We had a nice relationship but I had no real desire to kiss her or do anything else that I saw all of the other guys doing with their girlfriends. I kissed her once, but only quickly and blandly. I felt no sexual feelings for her. I would, on occasion, have dreams of sex with women, but would experience no excitement whatsoever. Unfortunately for both of us, our “relationship” was little more than a close friendship. There was never any sex, although Janice told me that she wanted it. I don’t think the feeling was ever mutual. Around the time I began my relationship with Janice, I started feeling myself wanting to spend time with other guys, and not Janice. I couldn’t put a finger on it. I started inviting guys over to my house to chill out, and we would get together and eat, watch TV, etc. Somehow though I had the feeling of wanting something more, something I couldn’t get from Janice or from any casual friendship.
Janice and I didn’t have too many classes together. In fact, during 8th grade I don’t think we had any together. I remember that I had a math class that year which produced my first crush, although I didn’t know it at the time. His name was Dave. He had the most gorgeous eyes. We sat next to each other in class. He was a really nice guy, but didn’t seem to be too smart at math, or much else for that matter. I volunteered to help him, and would even give him some of the stickers that our teacher would give us so that we could turn them in with our tests for extra credit. He had a twin brother that was also cute, but Dave was the best. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. I wanted to see him as often as I could. I still couldn’t figure out what I wanted, but I knew I wanted something more. I remember how sad I was when I finally graduated from middle school, knowing I wouldn’t see Dave again. To this day, I sometimes wonder whatever happened to him. I guess some things are better left in the past.
After leaving middle school, I felt that I had finally arrived in a much better school. It was a Catholic school with a mandatory Junior ROTC program (a military program, but with no mandatory military service afterward). I fit in pretty well. I liked most of my teachers. We were required to wear uniforms each day and dress in full military uniforms each Thursday. I didn’t mind this, although I was nervous for the first few days, since we were always inspected by older cadets in morning homeroom. Depending on the inspector, even the slightest infraction could mean detention, demotion or a private “discussion” with our military staff. Some inspectors just looked the other way. The feeling of being looked over from top to bottom, and asked to pull our shirts up to see if our belts were polished, had a certain degree of homoeroticism to it that’s probably hard for a straight guy to appreciate. I remember one inspector that I really liked. His name was Pete. I always loved it when we were inspected by him. He seemed to like me, and we hit it off pretty well. I noticed how good I looked in the uniform, but I also noticed how good the other guys like Pete looked too. In fact, they looked really good. We were required to learn about military history, basic leadership skills, military marching formations and exercises, etc. In my freshman year of high school, I entered a health class taught by a fundamentalist Christian, which proved to be very difficult for me to deal with. When we discussed sexual health in class, the subject of homosexuality inevitably came up. Bear in mind that at this point I wasn’t fully aware of what “homosexuality” was. But based on what my teacher said, you would think that homosexuals were the cause of every evil in society. He showed us videos outlining the evils of the “gay lifestyle” and showing people who had “converted” to a “normal heterosexual lifestyle” by the grace of God. Not knowing any better, I just nodded my head and agreed. At the time I just brushed all of this aside. Gay is bad and straight is good, and that’s all there is to it. I was a perfect little right-wing Catholic. I remember on one occasion Janice worried that my new high school would “turn me gay” since I was around guys most of the time. She was at another public high school. While I don’t think the all-boys atmosphere turned me gay, at least she was half right. We “broke up” in Oct. 2001, mostly because she wanted to spend more time with me and I had no interest in doing so. I wanted to spend my time with guys. The irony of the whole thing was that, a few years later, I would find out that Janice came out of the closet as bisexual! I think God has an interesting sense of humor.
So I was “single” again, and my self-realization of my sexuality was so gradual that I don’t remember when I first said to myself “I’m gay.” It’s not really something that is discovered by some kind of sudden flash of insight, at least not for me. I think my junior year of high school marked the beginning of my realization. By this time, I had progressed to mentally undressing my classmates. By my senior year, I was going much further. I was looking forward to our gym classes where we would practice wrestling on the mats in the gym, grunting and sweating all over each other. In retrospect, I think the only reason I kept myself under control was because I was still in the process of figuring myself out. Toward the end, as homosexual issues began to crop up in the national news more and more, I started to become suspicious of myself. I did my research (by this time I also had a better idea about what homosexuality was) and finally realized the truth. I was gay. I couldn’t help it.
I tried to take interests in other women, girls that my friends would hook me up with, but I wasn’t interested in them at all. I tried to be, but I wasn’t. Women simply did not turn me on. They never really did, even when I occasionally dreamed about them. While other guys would stare at Playboy magazines and howl at the sight of naked women, it never did anything for me. I prayed to Jesus to make the evil go away, but it didn’t. I couldn’t be gay. I wasn’t flamboyant. Even today, I am not the stereotypical gay guy at all. Not all of my friends are girls. I don’t go to gay pride parades. I’m not a Democrat (I’m actually a moderate libertarian). I don’t usually dress in a way that would reveal it or act all that differently. I’m perfectly content to kick back in my jeans and cowboy boots and sip a beer. In retrospect, the fact that I was and still am straight-acting saved me from the taunts and troubles that LGBT teens are often forced to endure.
By the middle of my senior year in high school, I was a closeted gay. Could I come out? I had risen to the rank of Major in the Cadet Corps, the 30-man student group that controls most JROTC related affairs with the cadets, such as daily inspections, training younger cadets in marching and dispensing punishments to misbehaving cadets. I was then given the additional honor of an appointment to the central staff, which was the 5-man junta that directly supervised and controlled the rest of the Cadet Corps and all other cadets. The five of us were the head honchos. I was the chief of the supply distribution office, with the vital job of making sure that our military supplies got to where they needed to be. I was also given the sole authority to grant awards to cadets…or withhold them. I had accomplished so much, and I knew instinctively that to come out would be tantamount to losing it all in a flash. The military faculty members at my high school weren’t much more progressive than my health teacher that I mentioned earlier. I feared the loss of my friends, and the loss of my family as well. I had no clue how they’d react. I then made a plan. I would wait until I graduated high school, and then spring the news on my parents (I considered my sister too young to handle such an admission) and a few select friends.
Some wonder how I survived for 4 years in an environment that is generally considered to be brutally oppressive to homosexuals, a mixture of militarism and Christianity in a high school setting. First of all, to be Catholic and to be a non-celibate homosexual is difficult but not unheard of. Some of my more conservative fellow Catholics would say I’m “living in sin” by rejecting the official dogma requiring lifelong celibacy of anyone with a homosexual orientation. I’ve never heard them make the same criticism of teens who consistently masturbate or have premarital sex, which is also “mortal sin,” but I guess it’s easier to pick on the 10% of the population who are LGBT rather than the 98% who have masturbated at some point. While celibacy is a beautiful gift from God, I don’t think that everyone is called to it. Blessed indeed is the occasional homosexual who is called to it, but the majority probably do what many other Catholics do, and refuse in good conscience to live a life devoid of sexual expression. If one investigates the theological and Biblical underpinnings behind the official Catholic dogma, it’s actually not too difficult to pick it apart. A lot of it comes from a “natural law” concept that is centuries old (which says sex is for procreation only, though that should logically exclude sterile couples from marriage in the Church, which it does not as of now) and 6 passages of the Bible that both Catholic and Protestant Biblical scholars are raising new questions about. The Catholic priests that I consulted varied in their levels of affirmation, but many were affirming and positive, so the religious aspect wasn’t as difficult as it often is for other gay people. In fact, the Catholic brothers and priests at military school never once made a disparaging remark about homosexuality. As for the military aspect itself, that was arguably more difficult to deal with. Luckily there were some moderate and liberal voices in the school, but they were outnumbered. It was hard at many points, especially since it was a same-sex school. But never once did I attempt to get into a relationship with another cadet, especially one of my subordinates. To do so would have been grossly unprofessional, but that’s not to say I was never tempted. One of the miracles of human life is that we survive. We find ways to deal with the toughest of circumstances. There were so many times when I was on the verge of telling friends or a trustworthy teacher, but I just couldn’t do it. My freedom to be who I was born to be was ruthlessly suppressed at all turns. I felt, at times, like I was living in a police state. The atmosphere itself wasn’t so much overtly homophobic, but it was very much of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” attitude. This was just another form of oppression. After a while I began to actually internalize that homophobia, something that I still haven’t totally recovered from. I would toe the line and declare my opposition to homosexuality whenever the topic came up in class. Opposition to homosexuality among the cadets seemed widespread. In the mock elections during the 2004 presidential race George Bush won over 60% of the cadet vote. We were definitely a “red” school. Unfortunately, the homophobic atmosphere probably caused other cadets more hardship than it did for me. I remember once when I was appointed as a drill sergeant for a group of younger cadets. I was to teach them a military marching formation. While we were taking a brief break, a bunch of the other cadets started talking about LGBT people. At one point, someone brought up an interesting question. “What would you do if you were gay?” I tried to keep my distance from that conversation, but I saw one cadet sitting down, silent. I asked him what he would do if he thought he was gay. He looked me right in the eyes and responded that he would commit suicide if he ever discovered that he was gay.
Because any kind of organized LGBT group or opposition was unthinkable, I believe that it left a tough legacy for those in my class struggling with LGBT issues because it meant that once we graduated and were out on their own, we’d have no experience with being who we really were. We’d be more likely to fall into the excesses that I’ve seen other LGBT people fall into: unsafe sex, promiscuity, depression, etc. That one cadet I mentioned was the perfect example of what such a repressive atmosphere can cause. I don’t think he was gay, but all of my cadets were equally valuable to me. It was truly disturbing to hear one of them claiming that suicide was a better option than being gay. I should not have caved in to the homophobia. I should have been more affirming and willing to accept myself then and there. I should have challenged that cadet. I should have made it clear to all of my cadets that, whether gay or straight, that I’d always accept them and help them. I pray that my successors will not repeat my mistakes, and learn to be more open and affirming.
I would later learn that about three other people from my graduating class recently came out of the closet, but I’m sure that there are more out there. In fact, Pete, my former inspector, came out of the closet right after he graduated. I should’ve known. We still keep in touch. He got a prestigious job in Washington DC working for the government, and I’m glad he made out well. At any rate, it’s progress. I learned a lot while at my high school. There is healthy religion and there is pathological religion. There is healthy patriotism and there is fascist militarism. We need to avoid extremes, and so does my old school. I love and miss many people there dearly, and they will always be in my heart, and I hope that things change there for the closeted gay cadets I left behind on the day when I took my diploma and walked out the door. I hope they inherit a better school and better times ahead, and I’m happy to say that there are encouraging signs of progress. I recently talked to one of the younger cadets who just graduated (he’s pro-LGBT since his brother is gay) and he told me that the atmosphere has become a little freer. He told me that more cadets in his class came out of the closet than in mine, and a few even did while still in school! The military staff and our fundamentalist Christian teachers can resist a lot of things, but not a change that is long overdue and inevitable. To all of the cadets that I left behind, don’t deny who you really are. Don’t shut yourself away like I did. Don’t conform to homophobic prejudices. Instead, strive to be like the real Jesus, not the phony, bigoted one that our teachers often presented to us, but the kind, loving God that He is.
I gained admission into college around April of 2005. Things were moving so fast. I went from a shy cadet to a confident, high-ranking officer in the Cadet Corps. I graduated with honors, and I was free. I proceeded not to come out of the closet, but to totally demolish it. The first person I told was my doctor, who encouraged me to do what I felt was right for myself. Finally the day came and, after months of dropping veiled hints, finally sat my parents down and told them the news. The reactions were predictable to me, but not to outsiders looking at my family. My father expressed immediate and unconditional support, and has maintained it to this day. He offered to drive me to gay support groups if I wished, or wherever else I wanted to go. My mother’s eventual reactions made the Hiroshima bomb look like a firecracker. It wasn’t immediate, but I could perceive from her looks and veiled negative quotes that she wasn’t happy about my news and would eventually express it. She was repressing her anger. My father valiantly tried to soothe her, but to no avail. All it would take was a trigger to blow up the relationship between me and my mother. That trigger came all too soon, right as I was moving onto campus.
Apparently my mother was looking through my computer files at home, which I stupidly neglected to password-lock. When she found a conversation between myself and a gay person who was a sophomore at college (nothing explicit or sexual, just a general get-to-know-someone-like-me thing), that was the trigger. One day I took some personal time from college and went to see her where she worked. She pretended I wasn’t there, not even looking me in the eyes. She ordered me out of her office immediately, without explanation. I was puzzled and disturbed, and I immediately called my father, who told me she had found the conversation. He was doing all he could to calm her down. I was livid and deeply upset by this. I finally hung up on my father after a few nasty words to the effect of “you ought to be able to get your own wife under control.” After class that day, I received a message asking for my presence at the college’s resident psychologist. I had a rotten feeling that I knew where this was going, but complied. Upon arrival, my father was there looking concerned and totally at a loss to try to help my mother. My mother was hysterical, crying obscenities. My father tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t stop, so I started with my own abusive rantings. Eventually, we just wore ourselves out with fighting.
We spoke only through my father, who begged me to believe that he was doing all he could. I still don’t know what my sister must have felt, if she even knew what was going on. And so a hellish Cold War lingered between my mother and I for a period of a couple weeks that seemed like years. Finally, in early October I learned that my college’s Gay-Straight Alliance was sponsoring a Coming Out Week. I had already joined the GSA as soon as I had arrived at college, and I thought this would be a good chance to meet other people who were gay or bisexual and listen to their experiences. I was also hoping to meet a guy that I could start up a relationship with (I don’t do hook-ups or stuff like that; monogamy is my middle name). I walked into the room where it was held, and I almost fainted. My mother was sitting in the front row clapping.
My jaw dropped, and I almost turned around and left, but she beckoned me over. I didn’t speak at first, but she knew what I was thinking. “I need time to get used to this. I won’t accept it overnight, but I’ll get better in time. I may take some steps forward and then take a couple backward, but I’ll get there.” I was totally stunned. When the last speaker had finished speaking, the moderator asked if anyone else would like to speak. To my horror, my mother raised her hand and took the stage. She affirmed her love for her gay son (while pointing directly at me and giving my name while I sunk further into my chair!) but also cautioned that it would be a slow process, with regressions at times. And that concluded the first time that I was publicly outed! Finally, I did what I never thought I’d have the courage to do. When she had paused, I walked down the aisle and up to her. “May I?” I asked, pointing to the speaker’s stand. She smiled. “Sure. Go ahead.” At that point, I did something I never thought I’d do. I forgave her. How was I able to do this? It wasn’t so much because of her sudden acceptance, which I suspect my father had a hand in. Instead, it is crucial to note that I am not the type of person that judges others without regard to their personal situations. My mother was raised by a hyper-conservative, racist, homophobic, misogynistic, alcoholic father. Her mother was more educated and tolerant but also alcoholic. Her two siblings basically left her to deal with her parents on her own, until she was finally able to flee her home once she turned 18. Luckily, my mother doesn’t have any of those attributes herself, at least not anymore, but I know it probably colored her world view of LGBT people in a very negative way. She still suffers from growing up in such a terrible environment, and thus I’ve been inclined to leniency when dealing with her. I was able to forgive her much more easily by taking into account this sad, difficult environment that she was forced to grow up in.
My mother was helped along in the acceptance stage when my first cousin, her nephew, also came out of the closet. I can imagine that she probably thought her whole family was going gay! I think by then she began to feel resigned to the fact that she now had two relatives that were gay. My mother went to counseling to get herself past the worst of the acceptance stage. Today, we have a good relationship that I feel is growing. I could hold a grudge against her still. I could oust her from my life if I wanted to. But I wouldn’t do either of those things. I have to give most of the credit to my father, who went through hell trying to get my mother back to reality. In fact, my experience with my father directly contradicts what most gay men experience.
My father’s unquestioning affirmation was what ultimately got me through the worst of times. Actually, to this day I have never fully understood why he has been so accepting. He is, outside of gay issues, pretty conservative. He’s an old-fashioned Vietnam veteran and lived in the south for a while (actually the place where he lived was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina). When I say he was accepting, I don’t just mean tolerant. Not only did he offer to bring me to a gay support group near our home, but he even went one step further. He took me, my mother and sister on a vacation to a gay resort area in Maine. He told me he thought I’d “be a little more comfortable there.” If this wasn’t shocking enough, he then proceeded to drive me to a local gay bar when I didn’t have my car, and to give me tickets to see Brokeback Mountain! As you can imagine, he’s every gay man’s ideal father. Where did this acceptance come from? I can only speculate, but it’s important to compare him to my mother when talking about the two of them. My father was raised in a more progressive home with a loving mother and grandmother. He still saw our Middle Eastern relatives, but for the most part he lived with my Italian Catholic grandmother and her side of the family. My grandmother broke some societal taboos herself by befriending a black woman when she was younger, and attending this woman’s father’s funeral. At the time and place she was raised, whites never went to black funerals. She also befriended a Jewish woman, which was also somewhat taboo before the Second Vatican Council. She was a full-time worker. Seeing her shattering these societal no-no’s made it easier for my father to do the same. One thing that my father really gets irritated about is the assertion that gays should not be allowed to raise children. He reminds me that “I was raised by two women and I turned out fine. They weren’t lesbians, but they were two women living in the same household.” I think that the analogy is somewhat appropriate. Whatever the nature of the relationship, there is no good reason why two men or two women cannot raise a child. My father knew how it felt to have his own family not being respected on an equal footing. When he was in the military during Vietnam, his grandmother died. Although she was essentially a second parent to him, the military would not allow him to take time off to go to her funeral, stating that “she was not a parent or immediate relative.” My father argued that she helped raise him with his mother, but to no avail. I think that all of this shaped my father’s views in a positive way. Simply because something was not the societal norm didn’t make it immoral in my father’s eyes, which made acceptance much easier for him. Recently, I was visiting with his 85-year old great-aunt (my grandmother’s sister), who was also instrumental in helping raise my father. We were watching TV and a gay movie came on. She turned to me and said, “I don’t see why everyone hates these gays so much. They don’t bother anyone.” She then proceeded to watch the movie.
As for the rest of my extended family, I haven’t told most of them, since I don’t see the majority of them often enough to consider it worth my while. I doubt that there would be any severe reactions. My cousin decided to tell his parents, my aunt and uncle, about me. I told him he could, so it was all good. Since they already knew that they had a gay son, a gay nephew was little shock. My uncle supposedly said, “I figured” when he heard about me. I’m not surprised though, since he always was a very perceptive man. My aunt was more surprised and called my mother to ask if it was true. She wasn’t upset at all, just surprised. She talked to my mom about some of her own struggles. Since then, everything’s been fine. Another twist occurred when I was at a family reunion in summer of 2006 meeting people I didn’t even know existed. A cousin came up to me and introduced himself as A.J. My gaydar went crazy, although it probably had more to do with his rainbow wallet! This confirmed my theory that homosexuality runs in families! He was in his early 40’s, although he looked younger, and was so sweet. He seemed very down-to-earth, and admitted that despite his years of experience, I had him fooled. He never would have guessed about me had I not revealed it. A. J. and I still talk to each other as often as we can. He lives in Massachusetts now with his partner, which I’m thankful for, since at least they have the opportunity for marriage.
I’ve talked a lot about my family, but what about my friends? Few of the people I went to high school with know about me. I told my few friends from high school after I came out in college. Most of them don’t care, so it’s been fine overall. One or two didn’t take it well, so those “friendships” ended, but if my coming out was all it took to drive them away, then they really weren’t friends to begin with. At my college, virtually everyone has been supportive. The Gay-Straight Alliance that we have there helped me a lot during my freshman year, when I was in the process of coming out. I can never express my gratitude and affection for those who helped me during the process of coming out, and those who have been so good to me afterward. Most of my friends are straight, and I’d say that about half are men and half are women. That shatters the stereotype of the “gay posse” which is supposed to consist exclusively of women (the so-called “fag hags”). Honestly, there’s nothing particularly remarkable about my social life. My straight friends and I live the same lives. We drink the same beer, go to the same bars, etc. Yep, this is the evil “gay lifestyle” that is supposedly ruining America!
The issue of “gaydar” is something I should address. I am living proof that gaydar is notoriously inaccurate in most people, whether gay or straight, who claim to have it. It basically refers to the notion that some people can instinctively tell when another person is gay or bisexual. In the case of A. J., it was his personal possessions that gave it away, not him as a person. With my other cousin, it was the way he dressed and acted that revealed it. Whenever you see someone wearing or using something with a rainbow on it, that’s usually a telltale sign. A blue square with a yellow equal sign on it represents an American gay rights organization, the Human Rights Campaign, and many gay people display stickers of this symbol on their cars or in other places. But outside of overt physical giveaways, it’s a crapshoot. I’ve encountered very few people who’ve claimed to have had legitimately “good” gaydar. There was one exception, my friend Beth. She was in her 20s and claimed that she took one look at me and figured it out, but she always was highly perceptive about people, like my uncle was. Maybe there are some exceptions, but in general I think gaydar is a false concept. There’s really no way to instinctually “know” if another person is gay or lesbian. Worse yet, even physical appearances can be deceiving. There were plenty of straight guys in my high school who acted gay, even grinding themselves into one another (I had to look away to avoid an embarrassing situation) and then proceed to make out with their girlfriends. Then again, they might have been trying to “bait” me out of the closet. They didn’t succeed, at least in high school. I kept my cover. In the aftermath of the Matthew Shepherd murder, one can never be too careful.
I eventually told my sister. She was about 14 when I told her, but very mature compared to other 14-year olds. I decided she was ready to know. I approached her as she was sitting down watching TV one night. It went something like this:
Me: Hey sis, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.
My Sister: OK, go on.
Me: Well, there’s a reason I’m still single and don’t date women. I’m gay.
My Sister: Yes, I already knew that.
Me: You did?
My Sister: I’ve known for a long time now. I was just waiting for you to tell me.
Me: How did you know?
My Sister: I know you.
As much as I don’t like to admit it, she’s right. She knows me better than anyone else. While growing up, she was a constant companion and playmate. She also provided me with advice when I needed it, and helped me out whenever I called upon her. I spent a greater portion of my life with her than anyone else so far. I should’ve known that she knew. Now there is a greater openness between us, and we can both discuss our lives more freely with each other than we used to.
If you’re wondering why I haven’t talked about any romantic or sexual encounters that I’ve had while at college, it’s not really that I’m ashamed of anything that I’ve done, but that I don’t see any need to go into great detail. Being gay is not solely about sex. I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship that was based solely on sex. What I want, even more than sex, is intimacy. The right-wing forces in this country tend to reduce homosexuality solely to sexual activity, but it’s not only about that, or at least it isn’t for me. It’s about an intimacy that cultivates love itself, and gives true meaning to the term “making love.” It’s a shame that more people don’t understand that. You can have all the sex you want, and still not have love in your life. Without true love, what are we worth?
All of this thoroughly shocked, hurt and then healed me spiritually. I do not feel a contradiction between my Christian faith and my sexual orientation, even though many would see the two as being mutually exclusive. For Catholics, Dignity USA, New Ways Ministry and Fortunate Families are all great, affirming organizations which help those struggling with living in a church that is still officially homophobic (although not nearly as homophobic as other churches or religions). I am still a practicing Catholic, and will remain so regardless of official doctrines.
This is essentially my story. Today, I am still searching for a man to call my partner, boyfriend, etc. I am often disheartened that I am still single, but my faith keeps me afloat. After some interesting dates and conversations, I still haven’t found that special guy, but I’m still looking. I have faith that he’s out there and that someday God will bring us together.
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