Being Gay on a Scale of 1-10

 

“If you see two men holding hands, cross the road and stay away from them.”

“That transvestite is wearing women’s clothes... Disgusting!”

“Stop running like a girl, Frankie!”

“Of course God loves you. But if you continue down this path, you won’t be able to have a relationship with Him.”

These are just a few of the things that I heard growing up whether from friends, family, school, or church.

Growing up in a household that primarily practiced Southern Baptist Christianity, it wasn’t very difficult for me to tell that I was different from all of the other boys. I would find myself trying on my mother’s dresses and heels while she would work her doubles at the pharmacy to support her two children and stay at home husband. Right after she would finish doing her own makeup, I knew that it was time for her to go into her room and do her hair. That always took at least thirty minutes which meant I had time to play with her makeup while she was distracted. 

I remember there was one night in particular where my father had fallen asleep early after a long day out in the yard. I was in the upstairs bathroom in tall black stilettos that didn’t come close to fitting my twelve year-old feet. It was fine though because the long black dress I had on was covering that secret. I can still picture taking my mom’s brown lipstick and smearing it across my lips as the door handle began to shake. Never before had I held onto so much regret than the moment I realized that I had forgot to lock the bathroom door. Was it my mom? Was she going to give her child up because he’s gay? Was it my dad? Would he smack me for walking around in my mom’s shoes? Maybe they would tell me to be more of a man. 

The door creaks open and I feel myself about to burst into tears when all of my fear is almost instantly lifted from my chest. My little sister walks into the bathroom and simply smiles at me.

“You look pretty.” She said. 

   

This is the part where I completely lost it. I dropped the lipstick and as the plastic clattered against the ceramic off-white sink bowl, I grabbed onto my sister and gave her the most grateful hug I have given anyone to this day. Twelve years of thinking that being homosexual was so terrible that I couldn’t bring it up in church or school. Twelve years of being so sheltered that I couldn’t even imagine what half of being gay meant. If not for my sister walking into the bathroom that night and reacting the way she did, that twelve years might have lasted longer.

Reality Check… My sister knows now. She could hold this over me and blackmail me. Is what I probably thought at the time. I was so full of panic. I was realizing who I am and everything around me was telling me that who I am is wrong. It wasn’t just an internal bickering that I was experiencing. It was a warzone of emotions blanketed by the grim reminder that a disapproving deity was shaking his head at me from above. But what on Earth was I supposed to do about it? Shut it off? Well that’s exactly what I did. 

I knew that coming out wasn’t an option. I couldn’t. My life was three things back then. Home, school, church. The fear was that if I were to come out then everything would change. I hate change. So you might think that I would try to keep everything the same. Wrong. I became ridiculously active in the church's youth group and landed myself a spot on the highschool track team. Yeah. Track. With Locker Rooms. 

I remember always grabbing my bag 15 minutes before the last bell rang at school. I would run to the bathroom down the hall and change into my track getup. I’d put on just a little mascara to make my hazel eyes pop and then I’d be on my way. There I was, 14 years old and running through the halls of a still-being-renovated highschool nearly dry-heaving as my maroon and gray tank top stuck to me like glue. No, the locker room wasn’t an option. Going in there was asking to be outed to the entire school. 

It was later that year around Christmas when I found a fun chatting app on my phone which I used to talk to a college sophomore all the way in Ohio. We talked for a couple of months (Which feels like forever when you’re 15 or gay) and by then I was head over heels. I went to school every day with butterflies and I was constantly talking to him. This great feeling didn’t last long though. I looked around at the dinner table one night and I began to realize that if I found love one day, my partner wouldn’t be allowed to sit at the dinner table with us. After dinner, I ran up into my room and I deleted the chatting app. 

My father had already gone out and my sister was at her friend’s house. I walked downstairs with so much guilt, confusion, and fear weighing down on me. I was a scared fifteen year old boy about to come out to his mildly homophobic mother. 

“Do you love me?” I asked her before anything else.

It was probably at this moment in time where my mother knew it was coming. After all, it couldn’t have been too difficult to tell. I used to always run around with my dainty hands wailing in the air like a classy first class woman trying to avoid scuffing her new shoes. “I could never stop loving you.” She said with such assurity. Her tone was unwavering but her face was petrified and discolored.

“I think I’m gay. I’ve been talking to someone for a few weeks…” I told her. I finally said the words out loud. I said gay in front of my mom. I think it took every ounce of self-discipline for my mother not to lecture me on the spot. Instead she got up from the fading white leather couch and walked away. My heart sank deeper than it ever had. I had this awful pit in my stomach that just wouldn’t go away.

Later that evening, my mom came into my room and she told me that she could never stop loving me but that the gay lifestyle isn’t one that she would be remotely okay with me living. The worst part about this is that I actually understood why she felt the way she did.

My mom grew up in the 70s and 80s in New Haven, Connecticut. I had heard stories throughout my life of those old days. Gay men were forced to stay in the closet because often times the discovery of their sexual orientation would end violently or even deadly.

Of course my mother’s faith had a hand in her argument, but her primary goal was just protecting me from the world. As I finished Highschool, I began to realize that back in the 70s and 80s gay men weren’t hiding. Stonewall was in ‘69 and the LGBT+ community braved so much hatred through the following decades. It wasn’t that anyone had been hiding. In fact, this community rose up against their bullies. Being gay wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. In fact over the last twenty years, being gay has become something to be prideful in. 

When you’re born different from others, you aren’t just born into a world. You’re born into an incredible and beautiful family. Over the last twenty-two years, I have seen so much compassion, love, kindness, and respect from individuals in the LGBT+ community. For most of my life, I felt estranged from the community. I was confined to a household where it wasn’t spoken about, so I never knew much about what was going on in LGBT news. It was 2015 when that outsider feeling vanished.

I had just turned seventeen and moved in with my older sister into her 3 bedroom. I devoted almost all of my time (unhealthily) playing video games. My mom came over on a morning where I vividly remember making blueberry pancakes. I had drowned the balanced breakfast in maple syrup before sitting down at my computer chair. My mom walked into the room, kissed me on the forehead, told me that she loves me, and she gave me a miniature pride flag.

It wasn’t any bigger than the size of my hand but it meant the world to me. This was it. I came out two years ago and she had finally come around. The feelings lifted off of me made me feel like I could fly. Over the next few years, I decided to leave the Church, get a new job, and relocate to Florida after graduating High School.

So is being gay awful? No. No it isn’t. On a scale of 1-10, I would say that being gay is off of the charts. There is so much diversity within the LGBT+ community from the ravishing art of drag to the remarkable rainbow colored flag that represents each of us. 

Thank you to all of the allies out there who help shield those of us who are different. Keep saving lives.