ATL Pride

For fall break some of my friends and I ventured to Atlanta, Georgia for Pride. It was probably one of the most enjoyable weekends of my entire life. I must admit I expected Atlanta to be homophobic and backward, but instead I was greeted by a lively community, wonderful allies, and friendly people. It was the first pride I’ve ever been to, since the Triangle pride parade always takes place while I’m warming up with DUMB for the football game on Saturday.

I know a lot of people take issue with pride and pride parades. Their reasoning is sound – why should we take pride in something if we believe it isn’t a choice; if it’s biologically predetermined? They argue that pride festivals exhibit the very worst of the gay community – the femininity, the promiscuity, and the alcoholism. I understand why one might think those things – I would have agreed with some of them in the not-so distant past, but now I realize that very little of those arguments hold any water. Sure, pride parades may be displays of “nontraditional” behavior – men in dresses, women in trousers, and everything in between, but I don’t see why that’s anything to be scared of. Instead of judging, we should be applauding our peers for being brave – for being themselves - regardless of whether we choose to emulate them.

In response to allegations that pride parades are merely one, decentralized orgy, I offer this: saying that LGBT people are promiscuous, bar none, is a vast overgeneralization; promiscuity occurs regardless of sexual orientation. One need not look any further than Shooters on a typical night to realize this. The belief that LGBT people hook up more than their straight conspecifics is outdated. Various societal disparities between people of LGBT-status and our straight peers are at work, like oh, I dunno, how about the fact that we’re not allowed to get married and form legally recognized monogamous relationships? It is not far fetched to make the connection between the marginalization of the LGBT community and drug and alcohol use, which are used to escape, however temporarily, from our oppression. (As I noted in my last post, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with hooking up, as long as it’s mutually consensual, so no hate on those who choose not to participate in monogamy.)

This post wasn’t supposed to turn into a social commentary, so sorry for that. I don’t mean to get all preachy.  In sum, pride parades are not simply spectacles for drag queens and dykes, though they are a welcome and much loved part of our community; no, there are also families of all kinds, allies, LGBT-affiliated churches, and parents of LGBT people, all coming together in support of the LGBT community to take pride in who they are and what they believe.

TL;DR: ATL pride is fun, go next year. 

Playing Along

Recently, some friends and I played a game after an evening out. The game – to sit in a chair in the middle of the room and name the person in the room that we would most like to see naked. Wow. It was awkward to say the least. The company that evening included several close friends, a few ‘good’ friends, and then some general friends. I’m fairly certain that everyone in the room knows that I’m gay, but still when it came my turn I had an extremely awkward moment. I sat there thinking, thinking about how uncomfortable it would be to call out the name of a straight male in the room - uncomfortable for me, uncomfortable for him, uncomfortable for the entire room. So I shrugged and named a female.

The fact that I wasn’t able (or willing) to express my true feelings in front of a group that I consider to hold of my closest friends really made me think about some things. I was really disappointed afterwards, but I’m not sure if I was disappointed in myself or in my friends for playing the game in the first place. The game was a bit vulgar, but maybe it is my fault; maybe I should have been comfortable enough with my identity to say a man’s name. On the other hand, maybe I am underestimating my friends; if so, I feel bad for not trusting them. I guess even though I’m mostly comfortable with people knowing that I’m gay, it is a completely different story when I’m forced to admit things in a public setting like that.

We all know that rejection really sucks, especially by close friends, but don’t do what I did. Don’t sell yourself short, and, more importantly, don’t sell your friendships short by not trusting your friends to be supportive. No, I don’t suggest you tell straight boys you want to see them naked, but maybe, just maybe, trusting yourself to trust others would leave you better off. Shakespeare once said, 'Expectation is the root of all heartache." Whatever you do, don't expect the worst, especially from your friends. I expected my friends to react negatively if I told the truth, but I now know I wish I had said something else that evening, I don’t know what, but something else. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m a bit tired of playing along.

Better For It

I used to pray that I would be straight. I could never imagine embracing my homosexuality. Homosexuality is often looked upon as a sign of moral depravity. It is something that can make an otherwise ‘good’ person bad. It is a sin. It is wrong. It is unnatural. So, if homosexuality is so bad, why has it made me a better person?

Whoa. What? Did I just say being gay has made me a better person?

Yes.

Yes, I did say that.

Being the outcast, the pariah, and the one who doesn’t belong. Being called ‘faggot’ and ‘queer.’ Being told that my love is sinful and depraved. Being told that I am a second-class citizen. Being exposed to the inequalities that I would never have been exposed to as a straight man.

All these things have made me better – made me stronger. Without my homosexuality, I would likely never understand the plight of not only the LGBTQ community, but I would never comprehend the feminist movement or minority rights movements. The only way for me to truly understand what we are fighting for is to have experienced it myself. Being gay has taught me the power of acceptance. It has taught me that it’s okay to be different. It has taught me that things are often subjective. It has made me less judgmental. It has made me, well, me.

Being gay has made me strong. It has taught me to stand up for my beliefs and myself. But that’s not why being gay has made me a better person. Being gay has made me a better person because it has taught me how it feels to be marginalized, misunderstood, and mistreated. Being gay has taught me to stand up for not only myself, but for the rights of any person who is downtrodden, devalued, and discouraged. What has it taught you?

Brotherly Love

I recently came out to my older brother. Coming out is rarely an easy process, but from my observations and experiences, it is often unusually difficult for gay men to come out to their straight brothers. This was certainly the case for me, especially because my brother is also a student here at Duke, so the issue was of rather pressing importance, lest someone out me to him before I had had the chance to talk to him myself. I was definitely nervous when I told him, but I also knew it was necessary and that I wanted to be the one to tell him, so I overcame my fear and just did it.

His response was amazing. Here is part of it:

“First off, understand that I'm your brother and nothing will ever keep me from accepting you and loving you. I understand that you are who you are and that's ok with me. I firmly believe that you have to do what makes you happy in this life. [...] Basically, spark notes for this message is that I love you no matter what and completely support you. Be who you are, not who people want you to be. I'm sorry if I upset you with my actions and please know that you can talk to me about anything. I'll call you a bit later today; I have to run some errands and what not right now. Love you.”

Yeah, so I have a pretty great brother. He reacted much better than my parents (I’ll save that story for another time, feel free to ask me about it some time). I don’t think there’s any better feeling in the world than having someone close to you tell you that they love you unconditionally.

While my coming out experience went rather well, I understand that not everyone who reads this post is out. I also understand that not everyone has the luxury of being able to come out. However, if you are merely waiting for “the right time,” I urge you to really think about getting it over with. That perfect moment may never come and, though I am hardly urging you to kick down the closet door, you may consider at least cracking it. No longer having to keep a mental tally of who knows and who doesn’t is pretty liberating. Yes, coming out is a terrifying process, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

[Author's Note: Don't come out until you're absolutely ready. I'm by no means saying anyone has to come out right now. If you need to talk to anyone about coming out, feel free to contact me or any of the BDU contributors. This might help you as well.]

Life can also be great!

Hello, everyone! I hope that the last few days of the semester are going well for you. As you know, I had decided to come out to my parents right after Thanksgiving Break. My reasons for doing so are many, but two of the biggest are the fact that I’m a terrible liar (so it was getting harder and harder to hide things from them), and my desire to tell them about my wonderful girlfriend. Well, I wrote them a letter and left it on my bed, with instructions to open it no earlier than 12PM, the morning that they took me back to the airport. I knew my flight would land at RDU around 10AM, so I wanted to have a bit of a time buffer before the call came – because, if you know my parents, they ALWAYS call when they want to talk to you, and they keep calling if you don’t answer. In case you’re curious, here’s the letter:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Maybe you’ll think that it’s strange for me to have written you a letter so soon after seeing you over my Thanksgiving Break. You would be right – it is strange. But it’s also necessary for me to write it instead of trying to say what I’m about to say out loud to you. Please know that I’m not trying to hurt you.

I’m queer: I like women and men and transpeople and people who don’t identify as anything at all. I don’t know how aware you have been of the fact that I’m not straight, but I wanted to tell you myself. I’m actually really scared of your reactions to this news, because I love you and I don’t want you to stop loving me. You’ve said some things in the past about gay people that have made me think that you hate us, that we’re dirty or criminals or subnormal. It hurts me when you say stuff like that, or agree with others who do.

In case you’re wondering, I’ve known for a long time. It was hard in middle and high school, because I felt as though I couldn’t talk to anyone about it without being hated or derided, and I didn’t even have the words to explain it anyway. I even hated myself for awhile. It took until I came to college to realize that I wasn’t alone, and that there were people in the world who wouldn’t judge me based on who I love. I am finally my whole self, and I am so much happier now than I ever was before. My one fear is that the real Jennifer will disappoint you, and that you will be angry or hurt.

I hope that you will take some time to consider what I’ve told you, and I want you to know that I’m no different from the person I was before. I just got tired of hiding the whole of that person from you. If you want to talk about it, we can. If you don’t, that’s okay too.

In closing, I want to say again that I love you. I hope you still love me and are proud of me.

Jennifer

So, my flight landed right on time, and Mandy (my girlfriend) picked me up from the airport. I knew I wanted her to be with me when the call came, so that I could have someone with whom I could either celebrate or cry. We hung out for several hours while I kept glancing fearfully at my cellphone. At around 3:30 in the afternoon, my phone rang; it was my parents. I answered it tentatively. Both of my parents were there, probably standing in the kitchen with the speakerphone on. My dad did most of the talking, but the gist of what they both said was that they love me, they’re so proud of me, they’re glad I told them, and they want to be part of my life. I was so happy that I couldn’t do much but smile and say “Thank you,” and Mandy (who was sitting nearby) was crying with joy for me. My parents and I talked for a little while longer about things (I didn’t tell them about Mandy that day, although I did so last week and they said they want to meet her, so yay!), such as who else in the family I could tell (my dad’s older brother). The whole call felt surreal in a wonderful way – I never expected such a response from my parents. There was no yelling or crying or sadness, and I’m so, so happy about it.

Coming out to parents isn’t an option for everyone. I had a back-up plan just in case things went horribly wrong, but that isn’t always a possibility. Furthermore, I was emotionally ready to tell them, which is something that nobody can decide for you. I wish all of you who are still waiting to tell your families the best of luck when (if) you finally decide to come out to them. Please feel free to talk to me about this if you like – jenn.morgan23@gmail.com.

Trying Out

[Editor's note: Please welcome Cameron T to the blog!]

Author’s note: I am by no means condoning the playing of/listening to Hannah Montana by referencing one of her songs in this post. I want to make that very clear.

Since my arrival at Duke, I feel as though I’ve been trying out. No, dear reader, I don’t mean I’ve been gallivanting around attempting to join every group on campus in a desperate attempt to satiate my need for social stimulation. I mean trying out for acceptance – both within and without the LGBT community. I came to Duke with many unresolved questions in mind – Should I come out immediately? If so, how 'gay' should I be? If not, then when should I come out? Was it possible to have the *ahem* beeeeest of both worlds – being open with my LGBT friends and yet maintaining some privacy with the rest of the world? #ThanksHannah. In retrospect, I see that those questions were downright silly. Since I wasn’t out in high school, I felt as though my transition into college life would be a defining moment for how I would live for the next four years.

Needless to say, I chose to rip off the proverbial Band-Aid and enter college as an openly gay man. My reception and continuing integration into the community has been interesting to say the least.

Community is a curious word. The dictionary defines it as a social, religious, occupational, or other group sharing common characteristics or interests and perceived or perceiving itself as distinct in some respect from the larger society within which it exists. The LGBT community at Duke is (or should be) about more than the mere fact that its members all identify as LGBT. Isn’t it supposed to be about supporting and loving each other?

One of the things I’ve noticed most about our community is a seemingly ever-present sense of comparison of between individuals’ ‘levels of gayness.’ I’ve heard of people being ‘too gay, ‘not even counting [as gay],’ and being ‘not gay enough.’ During a bus ride a few weeks ago, a member of our community glanced at me, turned to his female friend, and unabashedly stated, “If I ever get that gay, shoot me.” Another member of our community once told me that he reads the BDU blog just to laugh at it. When a community which claims to value diversity mocks its own, it has far-reaching implications. I would even go so far as to say that it gives tacit consent to be mocked by those outside of the community.

So why then is there such factionalism within our little community? If being part of the community is all about what makes us alike, then why do we tend to focus so much on what’s different? Yes, I understand that there is a need for everyone to be an individual, but I am unsure why (completely unmerited and ridiculously contrived) varying ‘degrees’ of homosexuality seem to be so heavily emphasized.

I have to reject the notion that gender expression and sexuality are synonymous. Actions (watching football or liking to shop for example) are not gendered, and do not, in and of themselves, say anything about one's sexual preference. The fact that we think of certain actions as being more masculine or feminine than others is a mere reflection of societal constraints on gender. We need to rethink our notions of what it means to be ‘gay’ – in a community that strives to be as inclusive as possible there’s no room for such internal bias and exclusivity.

The Magic of Acceptance

As I sit home for Thanksgiving break, stuffing my face with all of the leftovers, I have had a lot of time to reflect on what I should be thankful for this year. If you remember my last post on the Sophomore Slump, I can definitely assert that it exists; I've been feeling it for the past few months. However, this post is not about that. This post is about what I have been doing to get over the Sophomore Slump. This blog is called Our Lives, and yet, I have not had the chance to talk about an extremely important activity in my life: Quidditch. Yes, I am referring to the wizard sport with quaffles, bludgers, snitches, and brooms from the Harry Potter series. Yes, it exists, and yes, it is amazing! Perhaps the most accepting community I have found in my time at Duke has been the quidditch community all around the world, but especially my team. I will get to my team eventually, but first I want to talk about how quidditch promotes acceptance and equality.

The International Quidditch Association (yes, it exists) has a very strong mission for inclusiveness and equality that I find admirable for an organized sport. While I can spend an entire post explaining the rules of quidditch (you can always ask me if you are curious), I want to emphasize our gender rule, which states:

"Each team must have at least two players [there are seven total players] that are of a different gender than the other players. The gender that a player identifies with is considered to be that player’s gender." -IQA Rulebook 5.0

Quidditch is the only organized sport which is required to be co-ed (to my knowledge), and as of 2012, this rule will be modified so that each team will be required to have at least three players that are of a different gender. This rule has manifested into a core mission of community building in the IQA called Title 9 3/4, which is a combination of Title IX and the train platform, Platform 9 3/4, where the Hogwarts Express is located (and with the new 3:4 ratio, Title 9 3/4 is too perfectly named). I sit on the Rules Council for the IQA, and I have just been so pleased with the IQA's stance on gender equality. Having men and women play in the same sport, in my opinion, helps to aid in the mutual respect of each other for their athletic abilities. Many of the toughest players I've seen have been women, and I know my views have been modified while watching quidditch grow and seeing how strong the players are, regardless of gender. In addition, I was very pleased when we added the second clause of the gender rule. To have this rule and have it be explicit written demonstrates the IQA's commitment to equality within the transgender community, and again, I believe this is unparalleled in any other organized sport.

In my time participating in quidditch for the past year and a half and now recently working with the IQA on referee development, I have had the chance to meet a lot of people from around the world that play quidditch. I cannot find one stereotype for these quidditch players: some are Harry Potter fanatics and others haven't read all seven books. Some played football in high school; others haven't played a sport before. Some are 6'5'', others are 5'0''. I have noticed that there are a fair amount of LGBT players in quidditch, which I have found to be uplifting. In general, many would agree that sports aren't always the most LGBT-friendly, but in my experiences, it is so different in the IQA. In fact, for Valentine's Day this past year, the IQA asked teams to submit quidditch couples, regardless of sexual orientation, and out of the 10 selected couples, I believe 3 of them were same-sex couples, which I thought was amazing! Perhaps J.K. Rowling taught us a lesson in equality and acceptance in the books that has permeated the sport. For me, I've always felt like the oddball growing up. I was never athletic and other than soccer, I wasn't really interested in sports, which made me different from most of my guy friends. Reading Harry Potter put me into a world where I wasn't that oddball and I was accepted for me, not the sport I played for muscles I (don't) have. I dreamed of playing quidditch while growing up, having the wind rush through my hair as I would fly through the air protecting my team from bludgers, and I only wished that would be reality. Due to the creativity of some people at Middlebury who also shared my dream, we now have quidditch. Many quidditch players feel the same way I did growing up, and when I'm surrounded by the sport, I don't feel alone in my sentiment, I only feel acceptance.

But mind you, I have only been involved with the IQA this year. Most of the time I have spent with quidditch has been with my team here at Duke, where I have felt the most acceptance. When I came to Duke last year, I struggled to find my place. I found it very difficult to get involved with the LGBT community at the beginning of last year, which was definitely disheartening at first. However, I found quidditch, and a group of friends that is by far my closest friends at Duke. Maybe it takes running around campus with brooms between our legs being mocked on campus to bring us close together, but whatever it is, it has worked. When I am with my team, I can truly be myself, something that I cannot say for many other groups of people here at Duke. Granted, being myself usually involves yelling at everybody since I'm the referee, but nonetheless, my team knows the real Cameron, and that Cameron is independent of any label.

Quidditch has been magical for me. My team, my best friends, made me want to stay at Duke. So this year, I'm thankful for the team. I've never had such a public forum to thank them, so thank you all. Our trip to New York for the Quidditch World Cup two weeks ago was by far one of the best weekends ever, and all of you made it wonderful. Thank you for dealing with my time constraints and my yelling practice after practice, and thank you for accepting me as one of the team even though I am the lone referee.

We talk about community so much on this blog, and we can spend so much time talking about the LGBT community, but we cannot neglect the other communities we associate with at Duke and in the world. My community may be different from your community, and that's okay, but let us not forget the support we have around us.

Duke Quidditch will be hosting the 2nd Annual Intercollegiate Yule Ball of the Carolinas next Saturday. Come and join us to be a part of the magic that I've been a part of for past year and a half.

Looking Back, Stepping Forward

[Editor's Note: Please welcome our newest blogger, Mary Claire!]

As a kid who grew up in the Bible Belt, my experiences with the LGBT community, until I arrived at Duke, were limited to rounds of “gay chicken” at the annual school camping trip, trolling the Westboro Baptist Church, and the clips of Queer As Folk my gender studies professor showed in a class I continue to wonder how I managed to enroll in at age 16. So, when the topic of National Coming Out Day surfaced during a BDU meeting, my first reaction was “What the hell is that?” To avoid looking like an idiot if anyone asked me about what it was (and definitely not to put off doing my wonderfully insightful and intellectually stimulating calculus homework), I turned to my good old friend Wikipedia for answers. After about four lines of text, it made immediate sense to me why I had never heard of Coming Out Day before-living in a state that bleeds red isn’t exactly conducive to organizing an event where members of the gay community reveal their sexuality to the community.

But why hadn’t someone ever even though of organizing a coming out day in South Carolina? Other than the Christian fundamentalism everywhere you turned, I couldn’t think of a good reason not to organize a Coming Out Day. Certainly, the LGBT population in South Carolina couldn’t just consist of my gay lab partner, and I was sure that everyone else was getting sick of hiding behind the guise of being straight. Maybe it was just circumstance, but it seemed like everyone at the high school I went to was straight-a strange occurrence I refuse to believe. Though, in retrospect, it was probably safer for anyone gay just to remain silent-after all, the school I went to had no support network, no Gay-Straight Alliance, and was rife with homophobic taunts from upperclassmen.

Things being as they were in my past life, I imagined the turnout for Coming Out Day at Duke would be pretty low. I didn’t have any doubts that at least a few people would take t-shirts, if nothing else, since I had spotted a few people wearing them all over campus before. That being so, I showed up to help out, expecting to spend an hour with nothing to do. Imagine my surprise when, as if someone had placed a bounty on any Duke student that wasn’t wearing one of the shirts, the tables were suddenly flooded. What also got me was that while I was volunteering, I could see no signs of an anti-gay protest. Back home, ignoring anti-gay protestors was just another part of life, but here, all of that was absent, much to my surprise, or at least hidden.

What happened, or, more precisely, what didn’t happen, set me to thinking. Why is South Carolina so different from its northern cousin? Is it because we’re at a university that we’re more open-minded, or is North Carolina just less judgmental in general? I always had my suspicions about South Carolinian intolerance, but had never really understood its full force until I left and could get a good look at it from an outsiders’ point of view. Once this horrible fact dawned upon me, I realized I had to do something…though after a lot of reflection, I was unable to come up with anything. Saying that you support gay rights, at least where I’m from, seems about as difficult to admit to as being gay yourself, so anyone who wants to make a difference is probably doing the same thing I did-hiding.

Maybe the key is for someone, anyone from South Carolina, to break free from the pack and really start something. And, for now, I suppose that would be small steps…you know, like starting out by getting your average Billy Bob to at least be comfortable with the idea of homosexuality’s existence, which would take no small miracle. Or maybe, what those tolerant South Carolinians hiding from the homophobic masses have to do is take a lesson from the evangelists crammed into my home state like fleas on a hunting dog-if you want other people to understand something intangible, such as God or acceptance, you have to be a living example of it for others. At least that, even if it won’t move mountains, could hopefully change just one other person’s mind about tolerance…a small victory, admittedly, but at least it would be a step in the right direction.

Don’t get me wrong-I don’t regret my southern upbringing. If nothing else, playing in the woods, four wheeling, and snake hunting have taught me to be adventurous and to respect the earth, and if not for the independent southern attitude instilled in me from birth, I wouldn’t even have had the nerve to apply to Duke. I just wish that someone else back home had the courage to say that it’s okay to be gay, though I guess if I can say it, that’s at least a start for South Carolinian tolerance.

Mama's Boy

"I like Lady GaGa! Born This Way is my song!"- my mother as of 7/5/2011 at around 10:30 pm. She then proceeds to sing the chorus.

Something in me broke at that moment. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I chuckled into the phone.

"Why are you laughing at me?!"- she asks.

"Because that's something I never thought I'd hear you say...." I respond.

We went on to chat for another hour or so but her singing Born This Way just kept playing in my head. My mother, who still listens to old Motown and Christmas music (year-round), had not only heard of Lady GaGa but also loves one of her songs. And not just any song. I think it's a fair statement to say that it's the most LGBTQ- affirming song of our time and my mother, who goes to church every Sunday (and Wednesday) and once called me the son of Satan for being gay, was singing Born This Way to me over the phone. She didn't say much else about it except that she likes Lady GaGa more than Beyonce (Yeah, I made that same face you're probably making right now).

Back to the conversation. Now, we're talking about crime dramas and how she can't watch them because she always cries. She described one episode of a tv show where the criminal was a pedophile and creating child porn. After telling me how long she cried over that episode and has never watched the show again, she says "Now, as long as two consenting adults are having sex, it's fine by me. But not with children!".

She said "two consenting adults." She did NOT say "a man and a woman" like she has told me in the past. Another tear began to slowly stream down my face. I've become very observant of the things my mother says now and as I've mentioned in a similar post (here), she's been subtly using phrases or saying things that make me think she's slowly becoming more accepting of who I am.

On to part two of the conversation. At this point, I'm beginning to tell her that I don't want to go to graduate school in psychology. Instead, I want to go directly into working for an advertising company or something related. I explained to her that the thought of doing 2 years of research to get a graduate degree did not sound appealing to me and that I would probably hate my life. I told her how certain classes I took last semester opened my eyes to the world of advertising. For the first time in a very long time, I actually had a thirst to learn again. I wanted to learn more about the tricks of advertising and everything that goes with it. She initially met me with strong opposition. "But you could become a teacher. You'd make a great teacher! Or you could do therapy. You have this ability to see people for who they are and you can help people in need. Doesn't that sound exciting to you?", she rattled off as soon as I stopped talking. Long story short, we went back and forth for a while before this...

"I just want you to be happy. I want you to build that house you've always dreamed of. I want you to have the nice car you've always wanted. I want my son to be happy. No matter how that happens."

At this point, I began to fully breakdown. Thankfully, she decided to go to bed so I hung up the phone and let the flood gates open. I usually dread to see that my mom is calling me. I've been avoiding talking to her for the past few weeks actually. But by the end of the conversation, I felt like the worst son ever and also the luckiest. She hasn't directly said that she supports me as her gay son, but, part of me feels like she doesn't have to. I know what she means. Every time that I talk to her, I can her it in the "I love you baby" at the end of every conversation. I can sense the pain and longing for her only child in each "How are you doing?". It stabs me in the heart with every "I miss you."

So no, she hasn't said "AJ, I support you for being gay", but, I know in her heart that she does. And that was evident to me tonight. Would I like for her to say it? Hellz yeah! It would lift a great burden off my shoulder. But I know that her saying that could be just as hard as it was for me to first say "I'm gay" to her. So, I won't push. I know that she'll say it when she's ready. Her saying that would be going against everything she was raised on and believes in. It would be cracking her entire faith system, the thing she believes in, loves by, and lives by. So when she's ready, so am I.

I guess that last thing that really hit me after that conversation was this: I'll always be a mama's boy.

I love you Mommy!

Surprise! Surprise!

So, if you've been following my blog posts, you'd know that there's an LGBTQ men's discussion group starting soon. And by soon, I mean we're having our first meeting tonight (yay! and omg I'm so freaking nervous, anxious, and excited all at the same time). In preparation for this initial meeting, I've decided to focus this post on something that all members of the Community face but one that I believe men especially struggle with:

Acceptance.

Well, more specifically, acceptance from their social peers, especially those considering joining a fraternity or those currently in a fraternity that fear what coming out could do to their social life.

I believe that I am one of the most fortunate guys in the world. One reason for this: my fraternity brothers. The amount of acceptance I receive from them is incredible. But at one point not too long ago, I began to shy away from the fraternity. I began to feel that they would never be able to understand me or understand what I was going through. And so I began to hang out with them less and less, to the point that I was basically only in section to sleep. I'd find any excuse I could to not be around. I skipped events. I missed meetings. I got very out of touch with what was going on. Then rush happened. So I forced myself to once again be thrust into the fraternity life. I went to rush events. I went to meetings. I began hanging around my brothers again. But it still didn't feel the same.

One night, I was up late having a deep conversation about the current state of the fraternity with about 3 other brothers. We began discussing how people interacted with each other. We discussed things we could improve on and what each of us can do to make it better. The conversation turned to me and someone said that I was very emotional and I tend to withdraw from people when I feel hurt instead of talking it out with the people that are supposed to be closest with me. And he was right.

Some kind of way, I let the negative stereotypes of fraternity men enter my mind. The seed of disdain began to grow because I wasn't talking it out with any of my brothers. All I kept saying to myself was how my brothers wouldn't approve of me going out to a gay club instead of hanging out with them. The thought that my brothers would never understand why I was pushing away raced back and forth in my mind. They could never understand why I was deciding to room with my best friend who is not in the fraternity instead of with any of them. And so I began to grow resentful towards them. I burned every time they would ask me if I wanted to go to Shooters with them. Looks of death permeated from my eyes whenever they asked why I wasn't at the party last night because "there were so many hot girls." It became overwhelming. So that's why I decided to take myself out of the picture for a while.

But then, that all changed. I was spending what was becoming a rare weekend night in section. One of my brothers asked me about my best friend (the one I'm rooming with next year).

"What's going on with that.. you know... how should I address her, I mean him?"

Yeah, one of my besties and future roomie is transgender. I was first taken aback when he asked. I just stared at him in shock for a good minute. And he goes, "I don't want to get it wrong or offend... him when he comes around again." My friend had hung around section with me a little before beginning his trans process. My friend and some of my brothers were already/had become facebook friends and they noticed the change in how I referred to him. Still dumbfounded, I explained to him the situation and what it means. I tried to stay away from most details but he would only ask me about it. Is this real life? Is one of my fraternity brothers really asking me about what it means to be transgender because he's legitimately curious and wants to do the right thing?! Needless to say, my faith in my brothers was immediately restored.

To my surprise, it happened several other times from other brothers. All with the same motivation: "I want to say the right thing and not offend him." They now always refer to him as a male and use his male name. If they know that I was hanging out with him, they'll ask how he's doing. The fact that they have taken a general interest in him almost brings tears to my eyes.

Since that night, I haven't worried about discussing the concerns of my "gay life", as I would call it, with members of my "frat life." I thought most of them would be awkward anytime I brought up anything in relation to the LGBTQ community, but instead, they asked me about it. When I would choose to leave out details, they would push to know more. When asked how my night at the gay club went, a simple "It was fun" would not settle for them. They would push to know every detail. Usually, I hate when people push to find out details about my personal life, but this time, I was ecstatic. They weren't asking because they wanted to see if they too had hooked up with the same guy. They weren't trying to find out the latest gossip on who had hooked up. They were asking because they were interested in my life, even the parts they can't relate to.

I guess that I'm saying all this to say this. My fraternity brothers accept me. And more importantly, they accept my best friend. They took the time to find out what is the proper way to address him when they could have easily ignored it and continued to treat him as a female. But they didn't. I'm not saying that accepting someone who is gay or transgender is some miraculous feat. I am saying that you should give your friends, your brothers, your sisters more credit. They'll probably surprise you just like mine did to me.