I once read that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is when SHE brushes up against me and puts her arms around me.
And there are no words for that.
When I was approximately 14 years of age my mother and step-father took me to my favorite Mexican restaurant. I was in the middle of a bite of deliciousness when my Mom softly whispers, “We believe you are having homosexual tendencies.”
I spit out my food and stared at the two of them. She may as well have been on stage with a microphone and holding a huge spotlight on me. It felt like the entire restaurant came to a halt and all eyes were on me. In my mind you could have heard a pin drop in that establishment. “We know you have been kissing girls,” is what I heard, “and you are going to hell.”
“Umm…well…uh, I think you are wrong! NO” is what I believe I said while viciously shaking my head back and forth.
The 14 years of knowledge I had was far vaster than these two whose combined age was around 88. The reason they took me to the restaurant was because I would run like hell from anything uncomfortable. Literally, out the front door and down the street not to be seen for hours was my method of operating. I suppose this is still my modus operandi but at least I am aware of it now. Simply because he was a social worker and she worked with emotionally challenged individuals, what the hell did they know? Who cares if I had a girlfriend and the majority of my friends were all gay? These two were just plain stupid. I was not going to be one of those homosexual people made fun of. I was not going to be referred as a “dyke, lesbo, lezzy, queer, carpet muncher, fruitcake” and my favorite “crack snacker.” Of course I could pull a “Vagina Monologue” here and make a list for days but you get the idea. It’s not that I wasn’t gay; I just didn’t want to be.
I fought it, lied, made myself miserable and acted out in the face of all of the love and support most people long for from family and friends. Somehow, despite the understanding and acceptance I had, I was determined it was wrong. I was a latent homosexual I guess. I suppressed and repressed on a conscious level. At the age of 24 is when I finally accepted myself after numerous relationships.
I didn’t drape myself in a rainbow flag and run through the streets screaming, “I am here, I am queer and I am here to stay.” I simply stopped lying to others and more importantly, myself.
And now, 17 years later I am completely out and it is the best feeling. I can’t begin to tell you how fortunate I am to have the love, support and acceptance that I do have now. In closing I would like people to ponder something: What if a gay person did not have sex? Would they still be gay?
The answer is yes. I can assure you one thing: If I could get the same mushy, weak in the knees, passion throughout my soul with a man I would. It has never happened. It’s the same feeling anyone gets when love enters your being, mine just happens to be with the same sex. It is not a choice. I am not going to be someone else or not love simply because hate exists out there in this world.