Passive

Thanksgiving was last week. That holiday where the main focus is supposed to be around people you love and sharing good times. For me, Thanksgiving was about eating as much as possible while watching the football games and pretending to go to sleep so I didn't have to participate in the conversations that were going on around me. Here a few snippets of the dialogue:

"Black men go over there to Asia and marry them Chinese women because they know they can control them."

"Asian and Japanese women always get more money from the courts when they divorce a Black man because they come over here to America with no skills and can't speak English so they need the help."

"I think a bunch of faggots made up the laws about who gets what when people get divorced. There's no way in hell a REAL man would write laws that would make men give women more money."

"I'll be damned if I let a fag tell me what to do."

I tuned out other parts and tried to forget the worst.

Fun stuff isn't it? The conversation started when a member of my family mentioned how she noticed a lot of Black men in the military were marrying non-Black women. (I have no knowledge as to the validity of the statement...)

So, I sat there trying to ignore the ignorance. Focused intently on the game I was watching with my plate of Thanksgiving food piled high, I figured it'd be best for me to keep my mouth stuffed with food for fear that I'd blow a gasket and go insane from the racism and homophobia.

The more I sat in silence, the more I grew upset at myself. Why couldn't I just say something? Why sit there silently simmering about the bile being spewed in their speech when I could stand up against them? If I sit here in my (albeit, uneasy) comfort and just let it go, what right do I have to ask anyone else to speak up for me when my identity is being dragged through the muck?

I felt like a coward. That was my chance to kill two birds with one stone. I could have finally come out to my family and shown them that I fully embrace this "different person" I've become while at Duke as they like to say. I could have shown them how I learned so much more about life in general than actual knowledge gained from a textbook.

But no. I sat there. Too scared of the consequences to speak up for what is right. Too afraid of becoming the family outcast that I practically already am. Too terrified to show them the real me that hides beneath the shell of the me they used to know. I sat there taking solace in the fact that it was easier for me to ignore it until I came back to Durham than stand up and fight. I could let it all pass until I could pretend once again that the family I'm supposed to love unconditionally and put before anyone or anything else and is supposed to do the same for me doesn't actually hate everything about the real me. I could pretend that I wouldn't know how they'd react or what they'd say behind my back.

Except, now I do know. They didn't even have to tell me directly.

I hate going home.

Equal and Equivalent

Our seven-year-old has started second grade and that means it’s fractions time in the James household. At the dinner table the other night, Sophie walked us through her budding understanding of “equal” and “equivalent.”

“Did you know that 1/2 and 3/6 are equivalent?” she offered in her best “teaching my parents” voice.
“What does “equivalent” mean?” we queried.

A pause. Finally she says, “When things are the same but different.”

(I’m positive someone with greater fluency in the nuances of mathematics could completely unravel the metaphoric thread I’m weaving but bear with me.)

Last spring, the battle over North Carolina’s Amendment 1 produced a diverse, committed coalition of forces unified against enshrining relationship discrimination (of both homosexual and unmarried heterosexual couples) into the state constitution. There were a host of specious arguments offered by supporters of this ultimately successful legislation. Ron Baity, founding pastor of Winston-Salem’s Berean Baptist Church and the head of Return America, promoted one line of though that sticks with me.

In February 2012, Baity addressed a gathering of religious leaders at a Day’s Inn in Southern Pines about the urgent need to pass this amendment “protecting traditional marriage.” Baity’s homophobic sermons are legendary, but that’s not the part of his 40-minute speech I remember from watching it on YouTube a week later. What struck me were his references to “studies” from the Netherlands, the first country to legalize same-sex marriage in 2001. The data show, insisted Baity, that even when given access to marriage, “the homosexual” does not avail him or herself of the right. “96% of [Dutch] homosexuals and lesbians,” he asserted, “remain unmarried.”

Baity went on to claim that a “Dutch poll” found that even those who are married “will have a sexual relationship with at least eight other homosexuals every twelve months.” In Massachusetts where same-sex marriage has been legal since 2005, there are “stats,” Baity pronounced, showing that in the first three years over 6000 gay and lesbian couples got married. Since 2008, however, same-sex marriages across MA townships are “in the single digits.” Why the drop off? He offered this explanation:

“The homosexual community wants their false marriages to be accepted in this country like traditional Biblical marriage. It’s a social issue with them. They just want the status. They don’t care about the marriage. […] They just want the status of saying, ‘Our marriage is just as important as traditional marriage. [Statistics show] we’re not going through the process. We’re already enjoying our lifestyle. We just want [what the] status quo [has]’.”

For Baity, such evidence illustrates that LGBTQ individuals want the rights that come with marriage but are unwilling to accept the commitments that marriage requires. I have not been able to uncover what credible study actually says what Baity claims. He might have been referencing the work of M.V. Lee Badgett of the Williams Institute on Sexual Orientation Law & Public Policy at the UCLA School of Law. Badgett wrote a book that analyzed the impact of same-sex marriage legalization in the Netherlands. In a 2009 New York Times interview she noted that while the image of marriage for straight couples – its emotional and spiritual commitment to another person – changed little since same-sex marriage was approved, the impact of having a socially legible relationship on how gays and lesbians are seen and see themselves is palpable. Even if like heterosexual men and women they choose not to avail themselves of that right. Badgett writes,

“Only marriage has the social understanding to back up the legal status, and the social meaning is as important as the legal rights.”

Badgett’s study shows that despite the calamity predicted by supporters of Amendment 1 in NC (and those backing similar legislation on Minnesota ballots this November) marriage is not changed by allowing gays and lesbians to have that right; it’s the idea of equality that changes.

So Pastor Baity is partially correct.

Hear me out.

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to argue that LGBTQ citizens who want to marry want that right because it is the status quo. It is the legal path to the same privileges enjoyed by other married American citizens like health insurance, inheritance, social security benefits, even pathways to citizenship itself.
Marriage is also the gateway to being seen as equal. By having the same privileges, queer folk become legible in ways that have ramifications beyond marriage. This is the real threat for Baity, one he tries to dismiss by implying gay people are biologically incapable of monogamy and therefore of ever really respecting or embracing marriage the way straight couples do. (I’ll leave divorce statistics unspoken. You can look those up yourselves.)

And here is where my daughter’s fractions lesson comes back into focus. In very real ways, equivalent rights are unacceptable. Many who opposed Amendment 1 did so because they saw the measure as an affront to equality. But there is a risk to pursuing marriage rights above more broadly conceived measures, like employment non-discrimination, universal healthcare, and immigration reform. While these initiatives might seem focused on equivalencies – domains outside of marriage where certain rights could be accessed – their potential impact is vast, especially for people who do not wish to marry. As marriage becomes the gold standard of LGBTQ equality, we would be wise to remember the many activists (past, present, and future) who argue for queerness as a challenge to traditional institutions, like marriage, that tend to fix and naturalize ideas about gender and sexuality.

As I celebrate NC PRIDE this weekend and consider the post-Amendment 1 political landscape, these are the questions at the forefront of my mind. If equality is only accessible through erasure of differences be it regarding marriage, monogamy, dress, or desire is it really equality? How can we strengthen and expand our coalitions of supporters beyond the question of marriage? Should we make a political and cultural space for equivalence? How do we fight for equal rights while also fighting for the right to be different?

Fraud

Oh hi! It’s me again. Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily did you? A silly, little ceremony and piece of paper couldn’t keep me away for long.  So, just a quick update on me: I graduated back in May. Woohoo! And, now, I work at Duke! Even bigger woohoo! I’ll be around for a few more years and, hopefully, keep contributing to this amazing blog.

So, what’s this post about? Well, graduating put me face-to-face with a decision that I had been struggling with for years: whether or not to come out to the rest of my family. My mom, one of my aunts, one uncle, two cousins, and my godmother were all coming up for graduation. I’m only out to my mom. Other family members have hinted at knowing my sexuality but never outright asked and I never said anything about it. That presented a lot of problems for me: What about my rainbow tassel from Lav Grad? What about the rainbow flag I have hanging in my living room? What about my favorite poster ever that was above my bed? What was I going to do with all the symbols of who I am when they came to visit me? I could leave them all up and be like “SURPRISE!” when my family walks in. I’ve wanted to come out to them for a while now and that could be the way to do it. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid and leave it at that.

I took a long, hard look at the Love=Love sticker on my messenger bag. Did I want to keep it on there or take it off? Who knew a decision as small as a leaving sticker on a bag would keep me awake for hours every night? In a fit of delirium and anxiety, I picked up my bag and ripped the sticker off. I ripped it off just like a Band-Aid.

After I pulled off the sticker, a metaphorical wound opened and so did my tear ducts. I cried for a really long time. It felt awful. In a teary haze, I went around my apartment taking down any symbol of my pride, feeling shameful with each sign I tucked away under my bed. As I took each pin out of the wall, I felt as though I was putting a pin in my heart. Once again, I was going back into the closet. The part of myself that I hated for so long but finally grew to accept and love was once again going into the deep, dark abyss of that wretched closet (or, at least, as far as I could make it go lolz). After the de-gayification of my apartment, I sat on my couch looking at the bare walls, tears still dripping down my face. The whole process was so emotionally draining for me. I felt exhausted. I felt like a traitor not only to the community but also to myself. I felt like a fraud. Mostly, I felt like a coward.

I was taking the easy way out, brushing things under the rug to be dealt with another day. I mean, I didn’t want to ruin my graduation weekend for my family which would in turn ruin it for myself, but in the end, it still ended up being more stressful and anxiety-ridden than joyous. I felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I came out to my family then, who knows what they would have done. By not coming out to them, I could never fully relax and enjoy the momentous weekend. It was a catch 22. I felt as though I chose the lesser of two evils: 1) stressing myself out and tarnishing graduation for myself or 2) putting the ball in my family’s court and hoping they aren’t upset enough to turn around and go home thereby still tarnishing my weekend.

So, graduation came and went. The weekend was mildly successful in that my family enjoyed themselves and loved seeing Duke. It was a failure in terms of excitement for me. I didn’t really relax and enjoy my graduation until the night it was over. My family was leaving the next morning so it gave me a reason to actually be happy. I could return to my actual life and just be me. It was this realization, this sudden relief, and the wave of happiness that led me to my big decision: I’m cutting ties to my family.

I’ve always had issues with my family or more like; my family has always had issues with itself. It wasn’t really a great environment to grow up in. I learned a lot about people’s behaviors and the awful ways they can treat each other from my family. There’s always been a lot of conflict. Even at big family gatherings, the underlying tensions hung in the air like the smell of the Thanksgiving feast we were about to devour. Since coming to Duke, I’ve been very estranged from my family anyway. I’d only see a handful of them when I went home for winter break. Didn’t really talk to any of them while I was at Duke except for my mom and very occasional call to or from my grandma. There was already a lot of space (physical and emotional) between us. It seemed like the next step. Why agonize over telling my family when they’re not a part of my life anymore?

I’m here at Duke working now. I’m (almost) self-sustaining. I don’t owe them anything and they have nothing to give me. I don’t ever plan to or ever see myself moving back home. I can live my life without their judgment and they can live obliviously to my life. I don’t have to go through the emotional trauma of coming out to people who honestly don’t mean that much to me and they are free to have whatever mental image of me they want to have. Sounds like a win-win to me.

But why do I still feel like a fraud?

My Bubby and Pop Pop

February 7th marked the 15th anniversary of my grandmother (Grandmom)’s death. I was in the second grade when she died, and here I am, about to graduate college. Her husband, my grandfather (Grandpop) died when I was only four years old. I never really got to know either one of them, which continues to upset me to this day. I can’t really talk about either of them (or write this post) without crying. There are so many things about my life that they never saw and that they will never know. A few things stick in my mind as pretty significant: my Bat Mitzvah in 2002, that I’m here at Duke, that my parents divorced (after 30 years), that my sexuality defies labels.

I am incredibly fortunate that both of my mom’s parents (Bubby and Pop Pop) are around and that we’re really close. They have been there for my Bat Mitzvah, have visited me here at Duke, and were incredibly supportive during my parent’s divorce. Still, I haven’t come out to either of them. They’re always telling me how proud they are of me and I’m afraid that probably not being 100% straight will change that.

My Pop Pop is 87 years old and has his share of health ailments. Most recently, right before Thanksgiving, he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. On a night when my mind raced and I couldn’t sleep, I started writing him a letter. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him and to thank him for so many of the opportunities in my life. In part, I wrote:

“I know this isn’t the happiest letter, but pretending that your health woes don’t exist won’t make you better. It will just mean that we don’t ever talk about them, or about this.”

About this. I knew where I meant to be going with this letter. I wanted to thank him for always pushing me to never settle, for sparking my interest in history from a young age, for that family vacation we took. And yet, the letter could have gone in an entirely different way.

About this. My “I love you; thank you” seemed to be writing itself into some sort of coming out letter. I never did give him the letter—I never got around to finishing it. Then I learned that his doctors no longer characterized his condition as congestive heart failure, and it seemed less imperative.

But on this 15 year marker of my Grandmom’s death, and as I reflect on all the things I wish I could have shared with her and my Grandpop, I can’t help but think that I still have a chance to do this whole grandparent thing right, albeit with my mom’s parents and not my dad’s. So what’s holding me back?

I want to be The Perfect granddaughter. It’s flawed that in my mind, coming out to them would jeopardize this. I don’t think being anything other than 100% straight makes anyone less “perfect,” but they’re two generations older. They might. It seems so different.

And yet, my grandparents have (inconsistently) hinted to me that it’d be okay with them if I wasn’t straight! My Pop Pop, a retired surgeon, still receives the American Medical Association Magazine monthly. This summer, when I was visiting, he pulled out two articles on LGBTQ health and left them at my place at the table. “I thought this might interest you,” he told me. A few months earlier, he told me that the symphony was a great place to take a date—whether they are a man or “a special lady friend.” Other instances like this pepper the last year. My Bubby has been less gentle in our conversations about my involvement with BDU, some of my academic work, living in Women’s Housing, etc. But she reads the blog on occasion, and I have reason to believe that she came across my coming out post.

So, really, the only thing left to do is to talk about it. Which is exactly what I plan to do when I see them in April for Passover.

Let's See Where This Goes

So earlier this month in a radio interview, Rick Santorum was asked whether he considered gay and lesbian couples with children a family. His response, rather surprisingly, was "Yes, of course it's a family." (You can watch the full interview here). I have no idea what this means for American politics.

Though Santorum is still far from the most progressive presidential candidate, he has apparently had quite a come-to-Jesus moment recently. Will this new position have any effect on his other political opinions? Will this bold move change the conservative political landscape? Was it just a political farce in an attempt to gain more centrist primary votes? I have no idea. What I do know is that this affirming comment, coming from one of the most vehement opponents of lgbt citizens, offers a glimmer of hope to the lgbt community that even the most conservative politicians might soon be changing their views.

It's still too early to tell whether or not this is the start of a radical change of opinion by Santorum or if it will affect the rest of conservative politics, but this was definitely out of character for Santorum. I am very interested to see how this comment will shape the rest of the conservative nomination. Let's see where this goes.

A Brief Reaction to the Wake County Board of Commissioners

Yesterday, while I was in class talking about freedom songs of the Civil Rights Movement, the Wake County Board of Commissioners was busy voting to support Amendment One, an amendment to the state constitution that would make any legal recognition of same-sex partnerships unconstitutional in North Carolina. Because I was in class, I couldn’t make it to the meeting to speak during the public comments section. So I figured that I’d do it here. Without further ado, here’s what I would have said to the Wake County Board of Commissioners at their meeting yesterday:

Hello Commissioners,

I want to take my allotted three minutes to introduce you to two people who have played an extremely important role in my life, to introduce you to two people who I deeply love, two people who have made me the person that I am today.

I want to introduce you to my mom and dad.

They’re the ones sitting over there waving at you shyly; my mother’s the one that’s probably beginning to get teary-eyed at the sight of her little boy speaking in front of the County Commissioners, and my father’s the one who’s been overzealously socializing with the stranger he’s sitting next to up until I started speaking. My dad’s a people person, and just like me, he’s never met a stranger.

Today, I stand before you as someone who has spent most of his young life working to bring about a world where his rights and the rights of his community will be recognized. I stand before you as someone who has had to fight for his very identity. I stand before you as a minority whose right to a family is currently being decided upon by a majority vote. I stand before you as someone whose home state has turned its back on him. I stand before you today as a proud gay man.

But let’s be realistic. I know that you probably don’t think about people like me. I know that you probably don’t think about the families of queer people or about the rights of those who identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender. I know that, at best, many of you may think people like me are strange, and at worst, many of you think that we’re an abomination. I know that you probably don’t think about how this amendment impacts me, even though I grew up in Wake County, even though I completed over 300 community service hours every year in high school, and even though I was one of two Wake County students who received a full-ride scholarship to Duke my year. I know that, no matter what I do, you probably don’t think about people like me.

So I want to introduce you to two people who you will think about. I want to introduce you to two straight people who will be profoundly hurt by the proposed constitutional amendment, because I know that those are the kind of people whose rights and concerns you respect.

I want to introduce you to my parents. I want to introduce you to them because they’re probably not the people that you’ve been thinking about up until now. In your haste to insert discrimination into our state constitution, they’re the kind of people that you’ve forgotten about. I think you’ve forgotten that almost every person who is gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender has straight parents, has a mom and a dad. I think you’ve forgotten that my family is larger than just my future husband and my future children—my family includes my straight brother, my straight mother, and my straight father. And if this amendment passes, my straight father and mother will be deprived of legal recognition of their grandchildren. If this amendment passes, my straight brother will be deprived of legal recognition of his nieces and nephews.

What I think you’ve forgotten is that what you define as “gay” families are never truly “gay.” You cannot separate my “gay” family from my “straight” one. Everyone that I love, everyone that has shaped who I am, is part of my family, gay or straight. And in your rush to take away my right to a “gay” family, you’re depriving my “straight” family of their rights too.

So if you cannot respect me for who I am; if you cannot respect the rights of queer people, then at least respect the rights of straight people. Respect the right of my straight mother to look at her grandchildren for the first time, to rush over to them, to scoop them out of my arms, to hug them in the way that only a new grandmother could, and to spoil them for the rest of her life. Respect her right to a family. Respect the fact that, behind most gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender individuals, there are straight parents who want their families to be recognized, who want the best for their grandchildren.

County Commissioners, I want you to meet Abraham and Jane Tobia, my dad and mom. I want you to meet the people whose right to a family you are trying to take away by supporting Amendment One. I want you to meet the people whose current and future family will be broken apart by your actions today.

And North Carolina, I want you to meet my parents too. I want you to meet them so that, when you go to vote on May 8^th, you’ll know exactly whose family you’re impacting. I want you to meet them so that you will know once and for all that this amendment is not just about gay families—it is about all families. I want you to meet them so you can know exactly whose rights you’ll be taking away if you vote in favor of Amendment One.

Say hello.

-Jacob

[Editor's note: If you want to take a stand against Wake County's Resolution, consider signing this petition.]

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.]

What I Did Over Break

First things first: This afternoon, from 4-6 in the LGBT Center, we will be hosting an Ally-themed Fab Friday. Come by and show some appreciation for all our allies, and have a great time with some cool people. There will be cake and free Jimmy John's too, just saying...

Now, for the other thing:

You might recall my last post, but odds are you don't, so I'll remind you. Over the winter break I became very frustrated over the constant need to hide massive parts of my life from my mom, so in my last blog post I committed to coming out to her before I went back to school. 

Well I did.

Now, let me give you some context: my mom is very, very religiously conservative. However, I also knew that she loved me, so I wasn't entirely sure how this would go, in fact, it took me two visits before I could work up the courage to tell her. I did, eventually, manage to work up that courage though. Her response? "I already knew. I love you very much, and God loves you."

How she knew or how long she had known are still unknown to me. Perhaps there's some magical insight mothers are privy to, I dunno. 

While parts of her response weren't perfect, it was by far the smoothest and best reaction I have gotten from any of my family members, and an excellent way to end the break. And I now have the added benefit of not having to hide my life from my family anymore, which is always a plus!

Although coming out to your parents isn't always an option for people, I hope those of you who are nervous about coming out to your parents can draw at least some strength from my story. I never would have expected that coming out to my mom would go as well as it did, but things often have a tendency of going very, very unlike how we expect they should.

The Elephant in the Room

I had a lot of [potentially ridiculous] expectations about what it would be like to come out. I desperately wanted to anticipate every possible reaction or question that I might receive before I actually talked to anyone in the hope that it would reduce my anxiety or somehow make things ‘go smoother.’ Ironically, the one question that I never considered was also the one question that nearly everyone I’ve come out to asked me—in fact, it’s usually the very first question they have.

“So when did you tell your family?”

…

Really? What on earth would make you think that I would have told my family? You know me. You know it took me forever to come out to you, even though both of us knew. How would I have come out to my family?

Now, I suppose my relationship with my family is different than a lot of people’s, so this is probably a perfectly reasonable assumption/question for most people. See, while I’ve always had a good relationship with my family, I would never describe it as being a particularly close relationship. I’m not the type to talk about my personal life with many people, least of which being my family. The closest that our conversations ever get to being ‘personal’ are when we talk about what I’m doing in school. And quite frankly, I’m perfectly fine with it being like that.

Since I’m not used to talking to my family about my personal life, it’s never really been an issue (for me) that I’m not out to them. I’ve never felt the need to inform them that I’m not looking for any Prince Charming to come sweep me off my feet. (No, there’s really nothing wrong with Duke’s dating pool—you can stop suggesting that I go over to UNC to meet a ‘nice young man.’) It’s just never been particularly relevant.

I’m sure that all of my friends assume that I would have told my family simply out of a desire for them to be involved in my life. But really, my family has been involved in my life. They have heard extensively about and/or met all of my girlfriends—even if they haven’t been aware of the extent of our relationship. I’ve never wanted to hide the people who are important to me from my family.

Recently, however, something has changed. The past few times that I’ve been home, it has been challenging, difficult, and even uncomfortable to be closeted around my family. My queer identity has become such a central part of my life that it feels impossible to ignore it when I am around my family. Perhaps that’s really the root of the issue—I never considered the possibility that I could so fully accept myself that it would be difficult to not talk about who I am with my family.

At this point, I’m really at a loss for what my family’s reaction will be when I do finally come out to them. I’ve been getting mixed signals about their level of awareness for the past several months—one day my mom starts using the term partner rather than boyfriend or husband, and the next she’s trying to set me up with the boy across the street. The level of tolerance within my extended family is a completely different question…I was informed over break that if I ever adopt a child of a different race, my grandparents would not acknowledge it as their grandchild. I wonder how they will react when I’m trying to adopt a child with my Lesbian Lover.

Regardless of how my family reacts, I feel much better now about the prospect of being out to them than I did a few years ago. Knowing who I am and feeling confident in my identity makes everything a little bit less scary. Best of all, I’ve realized that when the day comes that I get to marry the woman of my dreams, I will absolutely want to share it with my family.

How I Told My Mom

Remember that last post about me trying to figure out how to tell my mom about my girl? Well I did it. =)

Babygirl bought me flowers the day before I went home for winter break (for no particular reason, might I add – she’s just sweet like that). I thought they were beautiful and didn’t want them to die while I was gone, so I packed them up in wine bottles and drove home with them riding shotgun in two console cupholders.

“What are you gonna say when your mom asks you where you got the flowers?” she asked.

“I’m gonna say you gave them to me.”

She was pretty proud of herself for creating the centerpiece for the conversation that was about to go down. She also seemed just as anxious/excited/nervous as I was, and kept telling me to call her “when it happens”.

When I got home, no one was there. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to rehearse “the script” while I arranged my flowers on the desk in my bedroom.

Mom, I’m with a girl. I want you to know because I love you and I want us to be close. Pause. Stop thinking about it. You’ll freak yourself out. Just do it. And then the front door opened.

My mom and I always greet each other like old friends who haven’t seen one another in years. Maybe that’s because I really don’t come home often, even though home is only about an hour away from Duke. Maybe it’s because we’re just dramatic. We hugged and shrieked and she made some comment about how I looked (standard), and then we went our separate ways – she to her bedroom and I to the refrigerator (also standard). It wasn’t long before I was sitting at the table, snack in hand, watching her head toward my own bedroom. I sucked in my breath.

“Hey where’d you get your flowers?!”

Shit. It’s go-time. Ok act like you didn’t hear her. Buy some time.

“Amber! Where’d you get your flowers?! They’re so pretty!” This time, she was back and looking at me expectantly.

"Well,” I said, with my hands in my pockets and an anxious grin teetering across my lips, “Jess gave them to me.”

“Ohhh….wait, is she gay?”

“Um, I don’t know…”

“Well what does that make you…?”

“Um…well, she and I are … seeing each other.” Awkward smile.

Gasp. Cue word vomit: “Oh my God, Amber! You just got home! Soon as you walk in the door?! You couldn’t give me ONE good day?! Oh my God. You know what? I’m gonna clean. I have to clean. This house is gonna be SPOTLESS!”

Laughter. “Oh as if this is a bad thing!”

“Well!....” She grew silent. Her eyes were both incredulous and tired at the same time. She had been mending a broken marriage for the past five years and was finally seeing the fruit of her efforts during this Holiday season. Shame that “this” had to happen when things were finally looking up… But then things took a turn for the hilarious.

“Look, I know that you’re in college and that in our society it’s more acceptable for two girls to do this sort of thing than two guys…” Haha Mama, that’s irrelevant.

“You know, it’s probably just temporary. It’s just a phase…” Nope, I’ve done it before, Mom. As early as middle school. And plenty of times after that.

“I mean I know why you’re doing it, I’ve seen girl on girl videos. I’ve had ‘experiences’, but I won’t tell you about them because you’d look at me differently” … 0___0 . T.M.I., Mom. That’s a little bit more bonding than I’m trying to do right now.

“Well you know what I’m gonna ask…” Laughter. “So you have! You’ve BEEN with her!” Yeah Mom! Want me to tell you about it? Sit down, I’ll tell you everything you want to know! “No, I don’t need details!!!”

And then she laughed. We both did. That’s something that our family is good for – taking an awkward situation and turning it into pure entertainment. The whole scene had been like something on TV. I kept thinking Man, I should really record this. This is GREAT! But when it was all over and we’d had our chance to laugh at each other during what was supposed to be an intense moment, she hugged me.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Mama.”

And we laughed again.

A Parent's Perspective

[Editor's Note: On Tuesday, out of the blue, I received an email from my dad. In it was the post you see below, and a message asking me if I would post it on the BDU Blog. I was shocked--not because he hasn't been supportive, because he has been since day 1 (and even before)--but because I never expected him to show his support in this way.

We haven't had parents post in the past (we did once receive this most fantastic anonymous post), but I'd like to take this opportunity to invite parents to write in either publicly (please check with your students first!) or anonymously. Email us your submissions and we'll put them up throughout the semester. This blog is primarily for students and is a venue to build community, support each other, and celebrate our diversity of identities, and as such we reserve the right not to post a submission that runs contrary to this or violates the terms of our anonymous posts.]




Dear BDU Community,

I read a great deal about the numerous posting from so many of you when you came out to your parents. I thought you might like to hear about the issue in general, from a parent’s perspective. I am not trying to hold myself out as a typical parent. When Risa told me, “I am going to date the person not the gender” my reply was (and I will clean it up), “start having sex with someone as it is too much fun to miss out on”.

I cannot possibly comprehend the great amount of stress that is contained within your body when dealing with considering whether to come out to your parents. I know that some parents are more accepting and understanding than others. I can only imagine the relief when it is done and over and finding that your parents react favorably. I know some are very unaccepting and that very concept breaks my heart.

To me, the issue of coming out, is like any other communication issue that parents and children deal with. If you have trouble talking about grades, politics or social issues and the generations either ignore each other or it erupts into a fight, then coming out will be the same way. If you are comfortable to talk, debate and disagree so that at the end of the dialogue there is still love between the generations, then coming out will be anxiety laden but easier to accomplish.

I have long felt that religion does more to screw up society by creating “absolute rules” than to make it accepting of the differences. I would suspect that a modern day God might only allow Vanilla ice cream and punish all those that want Chocolate, let alone Strawberry. If your parents are practicing a religious lifestyle that mandates a limited view of the world, then coming out might be tough, unless their Church is open minded. However, don’t eat Strawberry when out and Vanilla when you come home. Find the courage to have the discussion with your parents then order Strawberry whenever you want to.

Parents are a lot like children. We don’t like change any more than your generation does. We have an image of our kids that was created when they were born. We only want the best for them and some changes are threats to our Yellow Brick Road. Ultimately, we can migrate or mutate as need be. You just have to be willing to help us change.

I hope you find comfort with your decisions and actions.

Throwback Thursdays: Winter Break Reflections

[Editor's Note: Hey Readers! Welcome to the third installation of "Throwback Thursdays." Every first Thursday of the month we'll feature a post from the BDU Blog, Version 1.0. Sorry for missing December...it happened to be World Aids Day and we decided to go with that, instead. But we're back now, with another reflection on going/being home. Lest we think that we're the first ones to ever experience the anxiety of switching locations, going from out of the closet to in the closet, or coming out now that we're back home, this post demonstrates to us that people have experienced this for eternity. Or, at least, since 2008 (and likely before). If you're in a difficult place over break and need support, please don't hesitate to reach out to the resources listed on Anonymous Posts.]

December 19, 2008

Coming home for winter break isn't what I thought it'd be.

I’ve been at home for a couple of days now since the semester is over. Finals week was surprisingly fun and eventful – it’s interesting how the simultaneous procrastination of college students whose rooms are near each other’s turns them into friends. Someone should write a paper on that.

So back to home. It’s weird being back with family and in the town where I grew up after being out out at Duke for a semester. First, I can tell you that it’s really boring here because none of my high school friends are back yet - Northeastern schools get out after Duke. But it’s also boring because none of my Duke friends are across the hall, a phone call away from meeting me at the Great Hall, or lounging at the Center. I don’t have anyone to talk to here, and it’s more than boring; it’s slightly depressing.

All the conversations that I would usually have at Duke are no-go’s over here. I haven’t – or maybe won’t is the more honest word – come out to my family yet, and like I said before, my friends aren’t physically here. I can’t talk about that person that I saw at the bus stop or at the library, about what someone said or did, or about how my life is ruined because of what someone said or did. (That last one was for you, someone)

In addition to that, I feel cut off from the new friends, specifically the LGBT ones, that I made this semester. We became friends surprisingly fast despite my tendency to embarrassingly choke on water and my fear of talking in large groups. That just goes to show how easily people with similar experiences and backgrounds can bond. I miss the quirky mannerisms that only come out when we’re together, incompatible food preferences, and somewhat constant nonchalant discussion of the subjects the FCC and Duke administration would not approve of.

So what I guess I’m really trying to say in overly high-flown rhetoric and Family Guy-style references is that I really appreciated being at Duke this semester; it was both socially and personally liberating. I’ve never experienced that before and – I know this will sound cheesy but if you know me, you’ll know that I’m a cheesy kind of guy - I’ve only realized what I had at Duke and how good it was after it’s gone (or while I’m on winter break).

Telling Mom

I’m going home today. Normally, the only thing that would be on my mind is escaping the Duke bubble and eating real food. This time it’s different. I have a mission. I have about five days to tell my mom that I’m in love with a girl.

I think that’s how I’ll say it. “Mom, I’m in love with a girl. I want to tell you because I love you and I want us to be close.” That’s my script. For those of you who happened to catch that “I Kissed a Girl” episode of Glee, I can promise you that I’m not stealing Santana’s lines. Instead, I’ve consulted friends that have had “the talk”, and the consensus is that this is a pretty effective way to approach it. I’ve rehearsed several times, but the words still don’t come naturally – not because what I’m telling my mom is unnatural, but because it feels unnatural for me to have to explain and justify something that does feel natural.

Of course I’m nervous. My parents have lived in the same small, close-minded town for most of their lives. In my entire 22 years, I’ve probably only known about 3 queer people from my home community, and none of them seemed to be particularly open about their sexuality. If they were, they were usually ostracized and ridiculed. I can actually remember being at a middle school party and hearing words like “dyke” and “nasty” to describe this bisexual girl who was there. There’s also the religion thing. Hollister is small, but not too small to house at least 5 Baptist churches in the core community. I’m prepared to hear that God doesn’t approve of what I’m doing, that the Bible says it’s wrong, and that I must not care about my soul or love God because I’m choosing to be gay. I’m prepared to counter that rhetoric – 1) God loves everyone and 2) Why would God send an entire group of people – some of the most enlightened and genuinely good people at that – to hell for something that isn’t a choice? My hope is that by telling my parents about my sexuality (I still think it’s SO weird that I’m even expected to discuss that with them), my parents will be able to ask questions that will open their minds and change the way they think about people who identify with the LGBTQ community. Even though I often called home last year to tell my mom about how Janie Long blew my mind in class, I’m certain that none of it will really seem relevant until she realizes how close to home some of those topics actually are.

On the flipside, I’m also really excited about all of this. Once my parents know, I’m solid. Anyone else can ask or talk about me to their heart’s content, and I will answer openly and honestly. I have these quotes and phrases swirling around in my head:

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Be who you are, and don’t apologize for it.

You only get one shot; don’t be a coward.

In the past, I’ve allowed others’ perceptions of me to dictate my life, and during those times, I was never proud of my behavior or the person that I was. I’ve resolved that if what I’m doing at any point truly makes me happy, I will cling to and defend that happiness in any way necessary. I will be who I am, and I won’t apologize.

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.

Queersgiving.

This Thanksgiving, I was DETERMINED to make sweet potato pies. Armed with a glass of Riesling in one hand and my phone wedged between my neck and my shoulder (thanks Mom for leaving your recipe on voicemail….), I had somehow turned making pie into a Thanksgiving themed balancing act. By 4pm, everything within a 2-foot radius of the mixing bowl had become a victim of my endeavor.

You see, I've fallen in love with the peachfuzz that has managed to amass under my chin and over my lip. This love affair was sparked after an unfortunate incident involving curry remaining stuck to my face long after I had finished eating it. Until my unlucky run in with dinner that night, I was completely ignorant of anything growing on my face. Needless to say, I soon became the target of my friends' massive side eye (“How did you not know something was growing on your face?”) for the rest of the evening.

Because of this love (cue the Marvin Gaye y'all), I couldn't bring myself to utter the word shave. So, I made the decision to choose the 300 little hairs on my face over Thanksgiving at home, and the would-be concerned faces of family members that I haven't come out to yet. To this very second, I have no regrets over my decision.

So this Thanksgiving, there were no 8AM church services, no slow singing gospel choirs, no smell of the heavily perfumed bodies of the older women in my family. Instead, there was Queersgiving; 5 good (Queer!) friends and my sweet potato covered self, stuffing our faces to a menu that I still can't wrap my head around. Though the scenery of Thanksgiving had changed for me, the menu was pretty close to what I'd eat at home: pineapple and brown sugar glazed ham, mac and cheese, stuffing, and kale were all present and accounted for. 3 sweet potato pies were the result of my destructive cooking. To top it off, 2 apple pies and a tray of delicious enchiladas had also made their way to my friends' kitchen table. By 10PM, I was knocked out.

What began as a week of uncertainty over my absence from an annual family gathering, ended in a Thanksgiving I probably won't stop talking about for quite some time. I didn't have to go home and spend my break creating excuses and justifications for my identity, something that should never have to be justified in the first place. I didn't have to create an excuse for my flattened chest, for the sudden change in the pitch of my voice, or for anything, really. I got the chance to celebrate turkey day the way it should be celebrated- doubled over laughing, stuffed, mildly tipsy from my culinary adventure, and surrounded by people that I care greatly about, and who've gone out of their way to express that they care just as much about me.

How I would deal with holidays was never a part of my deciding to transition. I assumed that the holidays would be an extremely unpleasant 24 hour period of CSI style interrogation and questioning about my life and my body. Thank goodness I have friends who have shown me that it doesn't have to be that way.

Utah's Perfect Little Ally

So, Thanksgiving was pretty great. You don't hear this enough in the LGBT community, but I love my family so much. Yes, like all families, there was a bit of discomfort around the time of my coming out, but we've moved passed that. Whenever I'm home, I know I am around people who love and accept me for who I am. It is a rare occasion that people see pure, unadulterated Dan. But he rears his head quite often when I'm around my family. This is meant to be a short, uplifting post to help Us get through finals, and it goes out to my sister, Maddie.

Just a bit of background. When I came out to my Mom, I was an emotional wreck, and wasn't exactly quiet about it. Maddie overheard me telling my Mom some pretty earth shattering news. About 30 minutes later, I see a note slipped under my door:

"Dan. I heard what you told Mom. I'm totally ok with it. I still love you no matter what."

-Maddie

How adorable is that? She's pretty much the Greatest.

Do ya'll remember taking those required "comp-tech" classes in middle school? You know, the ones where they sit 30 kids down in a computer lab and try to teach kids about the Interwebz, when really all they are doing is trying to hack your site blocker and get onto addictinggames or facebook? Yeah, well Maddie is in one right now. One of their assignments was to make personal blogs. They were required to list some of the blogs with which they kept up and about 8 of her friends listed the BDU blog as their favorite. Yeah, thats right. Not only does Maddie (and my entire family for that matter, thanks Mom) read the blog, but her friends have started to read it too.

I brought her home a Love=Love shirt for a Thanksgiving present. Her eyes were beaming when I showed it to her. I could tell she couldn't wait to wear it around, not only repping Duke but repping LGBT equality. I also found out over break that Maddie has become a confidant to one of her LGBT identified friends, and I could not be prouder. My sister is pretty great.

I hope that the Duke loss and finals aren't keeping ya'll down. Put your heads down, #occupy Perkins, and power through. We're almost there.

In which I begin testosterone

On October 28 -- a month ago tomorrow -- I took my first dose of testosterone.

Since everybody always asks: it's a gel, that I apply to my shoulders. It comes in little packets. I take it every day.

Since nobody asks: it reeks of alcohol in a way that makes the whole process feel clinical and maybe a little alienating. I have to wash my hands afterwards and be careful not to touch my female friends.

Maybe I'm unusual in feeling this way, but I don't feel like I've crossed a milestone. I don't think transitioning has any milestones, not really. Well, there are milestones -- markers that show you where you are on your path -- but there are no thresholds. It's not a journey with a grand arrival, where you walk through a door and declare, "Today I am a man, whereas yesterday I was not."

I don't think it's even a journey at all, not really. I don't feel like I'm going anywhere. I've been here the whole time. I'm just putting my affairs in order. I can see alteration within myself, but no change from one clear category to another; it all just blends together into the process of growing up, the inevitable effect of time on a person's character. Starting testosterone is like declaring my major - a formalization of a longstanding internal shift.

And yet, it seems like testosterone has become a symbol for my entire transition in others' minds. There's a clear before and after in people's reactions. People comment on perceived changes all the time; to a certain extent, it's painful to have to say "no, you're imagining it, I don't have facial hair yet," or "no, my voice hasn't started changing," or "no, I haven't put on muscle" -- I really want to say yes to all of these things, and it's frustrating to be put in the position of denying them. Or, in some cases, I feel like I have somehow changed categories in the other person's mind, and they now think of me as being a transman 'for real'; people have started taking my transition seriously in a way that only reveals that they weren't taking it seriously before.

I don't want the tone of this post to be misleading -- in their own way, these are both positive things. It's great to hear that my friends perceive me as more masculine, even if their perception is based more on my changing attitude than a physical alteration. And it's great for people to realise that I am serious about my transition.

Moreover, I'm thrilled to be on testosterone. When I applied my first dose, I was so happy I literally cried. I was euphoric for a solid day. And now I can think about the future and feel excited about it. My 'dysphoria fits' do still happen, but they are always bearable, in a way they never used to be before. Even the decision itself helped me, independent of the testosterone; since I decided not to wait for my parents' approval for this choice, I've become a lot more independent in general. My relationship with my parents is more of a relationship between adults.

I just don't think that starting testosterone changed me.

This Thanksgiving, I went home to my family. Everyone knew I was trans, but no one knew I was taking testosterone. We didn't talk about it. And I had a blast, because I still love my family, and I still love spending time with my brothers. I was really nervous about my brothers in particular, because I was worried things would become awkward between us; the most valuable part of my relationship with them has always been how comfortable things always are between us. But we made each other laugh just as much as ever.

I hope my parents noticed how much fun this weekend was. If they do, I hope it helps them understand that my goal isn't to completely destroy my former life and to become a stranger -- my goal is just to grow up and become myself. Just like anyone else.

Familial Equilibrium

This post is going to be more of a story than my previous posts, so bear with me if it’s a little boring. I’m not very good at emotional revelations, but enough avoiding the point, time (as the wise Graham Chapman always said) to “get on with it”.

I was one of the people that was always out of the closet. In fact, until my senior year of high school I wasn’t even aware that there was a closet to come out of. Once I had settled my own mind on the matter (enough to be sure that I was in fact bisexual and not just a bit curious), I decided that I had to tell my parents. Of course I knew that this was technically not my responsibility to share if I didn’t want to, but my parents and I have a very open relationship so I really wanted to tell them. Also I kind of assumed that they would provide a solid support base for me as they had always told me that they would love me no matter what.

Well, as you may be gathering, it didn’t exactly go like that. My mother was a bit confused at first and had no idea what to say, which even though it was pretty awkward was pretty understandable. My father’s reaction, though it wasn’t explicitly negative, was not at all supportive. In the couple of weeks after I came out he expressed various concerns to me and told me a number of things that nobody who is trying to adjust to their new (and fluid) identity wants to hear.

I’m going to go through some of the main ideas and outline my issues with them, though it might seem a bit obvious:

“I’m worried about you coming out in college. It’s a place to reinvent yourself and I don’t want you to get labeled as the queer kid.”

Ok, yeah of course college is a place to reinvent yourself, but what if that reinvention is partly that I want to finally be myself? What if I want to be open about all parts of who I am, instead of hiding and repressing myself? And finally, I AM a queer kid. As my father I hoped that he would support me being myself. Oh, and as a follow up to this, he told me he wanted me to “really think about” whether I want to be a part of LGBT life here at Duke. I did, and you can see what I decided.

“Being openly LGBT could really ruin your job prospects.”

This one’s pretty simple. I know that. Also, I’m just entering college. I don’t need to hear about the various ways that who I am could ruin my life. Finally, I’m really not interested in working for a company that isn’t cool with me being Bi.

“But you don’t even like the flamboyant gays. And they make up the majority of the gay community, so they’ll also make up most of your male dating prospects. So why even bother?”

Firstly, don’t speak for me. Sure, I’m an introvert and don’t mix terribly well with extroverts, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them. Secondly, false false false false FALSE! “Flamboyant” gays are not the only members of the gay community, there is such a wide spectrum of people in this community that such a demeaning generalization quite ignorant and offensive. Furthermore, even if I never actually meet a man I connect with (I’m not looking for one now), why does that mean my identity is irrelevant? Which leads into the next thing, a return from my previous post:

“You aren’t biactual, you’re bicurious. I don’t have to deal with it until you actually have a boyfriend. Then I’ll believe it.”

Ok, yeah. Because I would totally expose myself like this if it were just a curiosity. I understand the desire to dodge dealing with your own homophobia, but seriously? Don’t put that on me. Especially when I’m at my most vulnerable.

(After describing something as gay and me saying something): “What? You never used to get offended when I said these things. Do I have to change the way I live for you?”

Well actually, I was always offended when you said that kind of thing, I just never said anything because at first I just thought it was part of the common slang and then I thought it would be suspicious to say things against it. Yes, I do want you to change “the way you live” because its insulting and demeaning. But if you seriously consider that a part of the way you live, you have a serious problem. Changing offensive slang is not that hard. (I know this because you have changed how you speak recently)

Ok, so now for a little caveat. About a month ago my father sent me an email to tell me that he was very sorry about what he said and he finally realized how offensive this is. Ironically he made this realization while watching “some asshole from fox news” (<-direct quote from the email) talk about how Americans don’t realize that the homosexual agenda is the most dangerous short term threat to America. He said he got angry, and then realized how I must feel hearing the same kind of thing. Then, he made the jump from this guy on fox to some of the comments he made. So he decided to be the father I remember and apologized to me. Then he asked me to set up a meeting with Janie in the center so they could talk to someone about how to be supportive to me. I have to say, since the meeting on parents weekend they have been more than supportive. They’re everything I wanted them to be in the first place.

They’ve been great since. Really open and supportive, and most importantly they are willing to discuss LGBT issues with me. I had an email conversation with my father this week about my church’s stance on the LGBT community (You like how I foreshadow future posts?), a conversation that wouldn’t have happened even two months ago. My parents have finally adopted LGBT rights as human rights, as they now have a face to put with it. Mine. Judging by some of the statements made above, you can really see how far they’ve come. I guess this is my own little it gets better story. Life sure isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better now that I’m not worried about coming home. Yeah I wish they had reacted more positively initially, but the world just isn’t that simple. So everybody out there who is worried about coming out to the parents: It’s really your choice, but if you’re confident in who you are and are sick of hiding it, the only way to get that acceptance or at least arrangement is to just come out. It might take a while, but eventually you’ll reach a comfortable place as long as you don’t burn any bridges.

Disclaimer: I know this isn’t applicable in all circumstances, like if your parents are extremely homophobic or your relationship with them isn’t very good. In that case, I’m certainly not pressuring you to do anything that might be dangerous or you’re uncomfortable with.

A Letter from Your Clandestinely Queer Daughter

[Editor's note: Please welcome our third newest blogger in as many days, Sara!]

Dear Mom and Dad,

You’ll never see this letter, but I make no promises I can’t necessarily keep. It doesn’t really matter; you would hear none of it. You’d refuse to see me, acknowledge me, let alone keep our precarious bond intact. It’d be shredded pieces of paper from a daughter that’s no longer a daughter to you, blood be damned. You’ll wash your hands clean of it, praying to God—you’d be furious with Him, albeit your loyalties made your bed, so lie in it, prayers and all—to give you the strength to go through this. You’ll smile, bear the burden of having raised some heretic that contradicts every inch of your stern belief system, occupy yourself with another daughter—she’s perfect, she won’t stray. She won’t break your heart in two, watch it go asunder, know it was of her own devices and still went through with it anyway.

If I were to open my hand, guide you through the many rooms occupying my thoughts, through each intricate, deeply concealed secret, my offer wouldn’t be extended for too long. You’d immediately shut the door before ever crossing over the threshold, and flee.

This is a story that may never reach you—you, the tragic heroes, and I, the villain who ripped the world apart.

Now it’s high time I’ve gotten some things off my chest. Because you won’t see this—assuming I’ll always remain the same meek, reserved child of ’95 frozen in time on the hordes of pictures stashed in some corner in your closet (oh, the imagery makes me swoon)—I am without reticence. I’m sad that reassures me more than when you held my hand on my first day of kindergarten, or when you held me close when I was wrecked of tears and unbidden cynicism, nineteen and angry and exasperated.

Mom. Dad. I love you. I also happen to not be straight.

I know, you’re wondering where you went wrong with your parenting. Actually, your parenting skills were incomparable, look how far I’ve come, how much I’ve accomplished? This isn’t you, not exactly. What is you, though, is what you’ll do with my confession.

So, I’m queer, if you haven’t noticed. I thought I was dropping some neon bright, anti-heterosexual sentiments the last time I was home; my adamant demands for the shortest haircut possible and my aversions on the topic of boys were definite givens. I’m attracted to both men and women, but I never equate physical attractiveness to sexual attraction; they’re two mutually exclusive things in my head, no argument there. Which is why for the longest time I thought I was asexual, since, y’know, I have intimacy issues—probably because I was touched inappropriately/coerced to perform sexual favors on my “friend” when I was seven-eight years old. Half of the time I identify as asexual, with convoluted explanations as to why I am and why I am not “strictly” asexual. But I’m absolutely positive I am not straight, sorry.

I am not, however, “out and proud”.

Remember that night, Mom, back in my first year? It was after the awkward ride back home when my older sister blurted out that many of my friends at Duke were G-A-Y. For a moment there I really thought the car swerved dangerously close to a conveniently placed ditch by the side of the road. Your knuckles were stark white against the backdrop of the steering wheel. The rest of the car ride continued in silence.

The next night remains seared into memory, leaves me sick to my stomach each time I replay the words that will forever and forever cause me to doubt the strength of a mother’s love for her daughter.

“If you ever,” you said, alarmingly calm, like the eye of a storm. I faintly recall that you gripped my hand and I heard bones creak under your fingers. “If you ever said you were a lesbian, Sara, I’ll disown you. I will disown you.” In the same breath, she asked me to join her in prayer.

My cheeks were burning. She placed my head against her shoulder, muttering a string of biblical verses against my forehead, rocking me back and forth: I was her little girl again, the one who hadn’t rough-housed with boys, the one who hadn’t walked straight to the menswear during back-to-school shopping, some ideal daughter I loathed with every fiber of my being. For the longest time that night she never relinquished my hand.

I remember my mother gesticulating in a booth of a diner, frustration lurking behind every word, as she relayed to my two sisters, my older sister’s husband, and me the rumors that claimed I was a butch, a lesbian, a dyke, a freak. My older sister glanced at me, as if she were searching for answers I didn’t have. Closing my eyes, legs trembling under the table, I took a shuddering breath as I burst into tears, hiding my face into my shaking hands. I couldn’t bear looking at my mother then, couldn’t bear explaining it to them. So I lied through my teeth, I’ve only liked boys, while in the deepest crevices of my heart, there lingered feelings for a friend who’s just recently passed away last month (September 9, 2011).

I love my mother, but…how can you be the best possible you for someone when your own mother — unbeknownst to her — denies a piece of you so fragile, so empowering, very much an integral part that makes you you?

Dad, I’ve neglected you for awhile. I don’t know you well enough to predict the consequences if I were to send this to you. I can’t say we’ve talked much about love, or about life, or about our lives as father and daughter. This does not invalidate our quiet bond. How could I, when we’re so similar? Sometimes, just leaning on you, my silent, impenetrable wall, offers me the greatest comfort and warmth. We easily slip into contentment. I can hear the ocean waves lapping against the white sands of Hawaii, long hair blowing in the wind, my heart full because I got the chance to sit there with my daddy, no care in the world, except for the worry bubbling in the pit of my stomach.

What would he say if he knew? What would he do? If you can’t even tell me you had a heart attack, how would you expect me to tell you I’ve had boyfriends, but I thought about girls, too, the ones who’ve rendered boys as mere candles next to her brilliance?

I want to tell my parents that I haven’t fallen in love yet—I’ve come close, but they all end up the same: I love the idea of a person I’ve fabricated and imposed on them, not the reality that sets fire to bridges between these infatuations, or they leave me first. (R.I.P, D.W.) Rarely with my family have we been on the same footing, which is becoming more and more evident in my third year at Duke. Lying is second nature now, something I never fathomed as a possibility. I was taught that lying was an ugly sin against your family. I was also taught that home was my sanctuary, my shelter, the center of a child’s universe. Sometimes home…isn’t safe. And that is terrifying.

I want to tell you, when it (eventually) happens, I’m head over heels for a person; they just happen to not be a man, and you won’t mind. When you meet her, I want to lean over and whisper, unabashedly and with no hint of irony, “She could be the girl of my dreams,” and you’ll grin and say, “She deserves you.” During holidays, when our fragmented family comes together under one household, the room lit up by your wonderful smiles and big, gracious hearts, I want my boyfriend—I want my girlfriend to receive the love I know you’re capable of giving. You’ll glance my way, say, “Welcome home, love, you’re always welcomed, never forget that.”

Unfortunately, I can’t have these things, not unless I tell you, and even then it’s not guaranteed. Not unless I unlock those secretive rooms floating in my head for you and you accept everything in stride could we be okay. You’ll say, “Thank you for sharing this with us. You won’t ever have to hide again.”

I will always love you, no matter what, you’ve once, twice, countless times, said.

I love you. I love you I love you I love you. Please, let it be true. (It won’t be.)

Sincerely,
the girl behind closed doors

Today, I'm Silent for My Uncle Malcolm

I wasn’t able to get my picture taken for this year’s Day of Silence, which is unfortunate, because I’d already decided on what my poster would say this year: “Today, I’m silent for my Uncle Malcolm.”

I’m silent to honor the memory of my Uncle Malcolm, a memory which has largely been intentionally forgotten and almost erased from my family’s history.

When well-intentioned people criticize the Day of Silence as being unproductive, I think they are taking the “silence” thing too literally. As I wrote last year, today is not really a day of silence. More accurately, it is a day of not talking. For exactly this reason I write this blog post to protest the silence of my family.

My mom was the first one who told me that I had an uncle who’d been murdered for being gay. I was in middle school then and she told me everything she remembered ever overhearing about it, after all, the adults never spoke about it in front of her. Just about everything else I know, I know from my mom’s first cousin. There is a lot that my cousin still does not know, while other details deceive her memory. What remains is the story I’ll tell here.

Sometime before Stonewall (1969), my grandfather and his older brother traveled from Philadelphia to New York City, where they identified Malcolm’s body at the morgue. Days before, my Uncle Malcolm had been beaten and murdered by two teenaged guys. Malcolm loved to cook. He and the two people who killed him had met at a bar, before going back to his apartment so Malcolm could cook for them. What transpired after that, I don’t know, except that he was naked when they found his body and that he’d been beaten so badly that his body was barely recognizable.

By all accounts, Malcolm lived a bohemian kind of high life and sought to enjoy every day. He was a successful advertising executive (Mad Men, anyone?) and spent a few years living in Japan. He sometimes brought a girl, Cookie, to family functions; she was a lesbian. I’m also told that Malcolm was handsome, had “smiley eyes,” and didn’t like to be interrupted. Born as Malcolm Goldberg, he sought to honor his ancestors by legally changing his last name to “Gurbarg,” the name his mother brought to the states with her before it was changed at Ellis Island.

Unfortunately, while that may be all I ever know about him, it’s only half of the story. Malcolm led a double life for the 40 years that he lived. Before his murder, nobody in my family except Malcolm’s mother knew that he was gay.

The men who so tragically interrupted Malcolm’s life were convicted, though apparently no one from my family went to the trial (which really irks me).

Today, Malcolm, I honor and remember you. With my silence, nobody can interrupt me. And with this blog, your story will no longer go untold.