Hello...
My name is Joe. And I am a gay man.
Here is something about me, and my perspective on events this past week. It will be lengthy and I can already imagine there will be some of you who will “TL;DR” this and skip right on past. That is your right and I would not stop you from doing that. It won’t be the first time, nor will it be the last I experience that.
I don’t write items for comments, “likes”, or other social media cred. I do it to get things out of my head that would – or could – otherwise come out of my mouth in an incoherent mess.
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TL;DR space for them that need it
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Late-summer/Early-fall 1967 I came in to this world. Born to a woman that was born and raised in the Burroughs of New York, and to a man that grew up in rural East Pennsylvania who joined the US Navy after graduating high school. They both met while my father was on leave in NY. I do not know how long they courted/dated, but Fall 1966 saw them married as husband and wife.
Come June 1969; I am a little over a year and a half old. A toddler in NY as my mother still lived there while my father was stationed in the Pacific during the Vietnam War. If my mother were still alive, I could more than likely get a first-hand account of the atmosphere of NYC during Stonewall. There are times I wish I did ask now that I look back.
I mention all that as now I’m going to fast-forward a couple of decades. I’m all done with high school and trying to put myself through college while succumbing to the lure of working full-time. During a quiet moment at home – just my mother and I watching television – I steel myself to ask her this question: “What would you do if you learned something new about me?”
She looked over at me and just made a non-committal shrug. Up to this point my family...my mother especially...had been a refuge and a support system for me. Of them all, she was my rock and foundation. She helped calm my mind and offer me reassurance whenever I expressed problems I was experiencing at school whether they were from being bullied, difficulty making friends, some of those friends turning away, etc. Somehow I had made it through public school surviving the torment and harassment that happened at times. It wasn’t until I was in my senior year of high school that I began working my misfit status to deepen a friendship or two and make new ones outside of school (Hello, my old F.o.S.F.a.F.F. peeps).
I had made it through all that...I could take this step with my mother. “I’m gay.”
I watched her expression change momentarily; allowing the sadness and worry show. It didn’t need to be said by her, but she had already figured me out. I hope that she was just waiting for me to come to terms with it myself as she never really said anything overtly or even coded against anyone being homosexual.
Over the following years while still living in my Floridian hometown I did experience some forms of homophobic actions against me. Most notably from younger co-workers when I was a pizza delivery driver. In this same store, though, a new manager had come in to join the staff who was also gay and he made sure to let me know that if I “got any more shit from them” to let him know. He would not stand for ANY kind of discriminatory actions in the work place there if he could help it.
Also, over those same years before I moved to Atlanta, I was able to cultivate a group of friends covering the spectrum of gay, straight, bi, and whatever other classifications were around in the mid-90s. We all just cared that we got along no matter whom we loved. We shared good times and sad. Celebrations, triumphs, all of it.
I had come in to being more of my own person. I had – and still have – some of those friends in my life. We still share news; both good and bad. Offer congratulations or sorrows as needed. I’m lucky to have that.
Another part of coming in to being my own person was incorporating a piece of my mother’s outlook on the world in to my own: fuck the haters and what they think. I credit having a mother that was born/raised when and where she was. She stood up for herself and those she loved...sometimes ferociously so. If I had to be a “Mama’s Boy”, I couldn’t have made a better choice if I tried. I was blessed to be born of her and my father’s genes and given the spark of Life that would become their son and eldest child.
Nineteen years have passed since I moved to Atlanta. During that first month my mother succumbed to cancer. I was the only one awake with her the morning she lost the fight. All she wanted was to be held one last time. Who was I to deny her that feeling of being held. In my arms was how she spent that last moment...her last breath. My world split that moment and would be forever in being mended.
I had to carry on; at least in her name, if for nothing else, for as long as I could until I could do it for myself again. She’s still with me...she comes to me in dreams sometimes to this day. Those quiet moments when our minds are free and open.
What happened last weekend was one of her greatest fears for me: to be the victim of HATE. To experience injuries due to someone else’s BIGOTRY. She only ever wanted her children – my younger sister and myself – to know LOVE. But, she also knew, try as she might, she could not shield us from the ills of the world. We could not hide under a rock or in a cave somewhere. We are all part of this world. My mother never sugar-coated things; yet always found an age-appropriate way of helping to educate us. I know she would be scared for my safety now; as I am. But, I cannot hide. I live in this world and with all the good and evil it contains.
I wish there were more youth who could have had that kind of upbringing. In the meantime, I do my best to be that person. That person that doesn’t rush to judge. That person that imagines being in the other person’s place, if only for a moment. That person that tries to act in compassion.
Do not think I cannot or will not express anger. I have and more than likely will again. I have my father’s temper, but on a slightly slower burn. And, I hold it in longer for fear of my own actions and those who may be affected by them when they should not be. I lost my temper once in middle school and chose to fight back against a bully that was taunting me during gym. I threw one, unwieldy punch there in the middle of everyone at him. We were quickly separated by the coaches and other students. Thanks to all the witnesses who corroborated that he started it all I got was one day in detention for taking that step. He got a week in detention. He never bothered me again.
I don’t share that as evidence that we should all take up arms against our detractors. Just that, with enough coming at us, do not be surprised IF or WHEN we fight back.
Over this past week I learned a new word to keep in mind like “mansplaining”... straightsplaining. This event did not happen to “ALL” Americans. It happened to LGBTQ people, their friends, and families. Try as some people might to say this was an ISIS terrorist attack on US soil – go digging deeper. The shooter was BORN here in the US to Afghani immigrants. All types of items have been coming out about the background of the shooter covering everything from being a patron of the Pulse many times over the years, troubled marriage(s), internalized homophobia while having a hard time accepting he may be queer himself thanks to his raising and the hateful media messages out there. I can’t even begin to wonder why he was able to get his hands on a semi-automatic assault rifle after having been interviewed by the FBI at least twice, if not three times.
He drove two hours from his home city to do this act. He chose this location to perform this deed. There’s some proof coming out that he had NO TIES whatsoever to Middle East terror groups after trying to claim membership to three diametrically opposed groups almost at the same time.
NO. This is/was an event born of hate – possibly self-hate deep rooted in there – and bigotry that was taught or learned from current, modern society. As others have shared: you CAN NOT call this an attack on Americans when me and those like me are denied rights that most all other Americans have.
This was an attack, that much is true and I am not denying that. I was an attack based on HATE and loathing of “the other”...the “not we”...those that are perceived as different and less than because we do not love the same way that the majority of the world does.
I have no right to stand by being “quiet”...that makes me just as complicit as anyone else who does not call out bigotry, misogyny, racism, even misandry. These types of hate really do not have a place in this world anymore. Yet there are so many who can’t let go. So many who use their hate to keep others “in check” or “in their place” instead of allowing to see what the world COULD become if we treated each other as equals...treating each other as how we would want to be treated.
I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on this past week.
I am HERE.
I am WATCHING.
I DO NOT FORGET.
To paraphrase Wil Wheaton: Don’t be a dick and I will not have to be a dick right back to you.
I am an Uncle. I am someone’s Brother. I am someone’s Son. I am someone’s Nephew. I am someone’s Cousin. I am someone’s cherished Confidant. I am Friend to many. I can be a friend to more...even to you. One day I hope to say I am someone’s reason to Love and he my reason to Love.
I am all these things and so much more...
But, at the start of every day, my name is Joe. And I am a gay man.
My name is Joe. And I am a gay man.
Here is something about me, and my perspective on events this past week. It will be lengthy and I can already imagine there will be some of you who will “TL;DR” this and skip right on past. That is your right and I would not stop you from doing that. It won’t be the first time, nor will it be the last I experience that.
I don’t write items for comments, “likes”, or other social media cred. I do it to get things out of my head that would – or could – otherwise come out of my mouth in an incoherent mess.
|
|
|
|
|
TL;DR space for them that need it
|
|
|
|
|
Late-summer/Early-fall 1967 I came in to this world. Born to a woman that was born and raised in the Burroughs of New York, and to a man that grew up in rural East Pennsylvania who joined the US Navy after graduating high school. They both met while my father was on leave in NY. I do not know how long they courted/dated, but Fall 1966 saw them married as husband and wife.
Come June 1969; I am a little over a year and a half old. A toddler in NY as my mother still lived there while my father was stationed in the Pacific during the Vietnam War. If my mother were still alive, I could more than likely get a first-hand account of the atmosphere of NYC during Stonewall. There are times I wish I did ask now that I look back.
I mention all that as now I’m going to fast-forward a couple of decades. I’m all done with high school and trying to put myself through college while succumbing to the lure of working full-time. During a quiet moment at home – just my mother and I watching television – I steel myself to ask her this question: “What would you do if you learned something new about me?”
She looked over at me and just made a non-committal shrug. Up to this point my family...my mother especially...had been a refuge and a support system for me. Of them all, she was my rock and foundation. She helped calm my mind and offer me reassurance whenever I expressed problems I was experiencing at school whether they were from being bullied, difficulty making friends, some of those friends turning away, etc. Somehow I had made it through public school surviving the torment and harassment that happened at times. It wasn’t until I was in my senior year of high school that I began working my misfit status to deepen a friendship or two and make new ones outside of school (Hello, my old F.o.S.F.a.F.F. peeps).
I had made it through all that...I could take this step with my mother. “I’m gay.”
I watched her expression change momentarily; allowing the sadness and worry show. It didn’t need to be said by her, but she had already figured me out. I hope that she was just waiting for me to come to terms with it myself as she never really said anything overtly or even coded against anyone being homosexual.
Over the following years while still living in my Floridian hometown I did experience some forms of homophobic actions against me. Most notably from younger co-workers when I was a pizza delivery driver. In this same store, though, a new manager had come in to join the staff who was also gay and he made sure to let me know that if I “got any more shit from them” to let him know. He would not stand for ANY kind of discriminatory actions in the work place there if he could help it.
Also, over those same years before I moved to Atlanta, I was able to cultivate a group of friends covering the spectrum of gay, straight, bi, and whatever other classifications were around in the mid-90s. We all just cared that we got along no matter whom we loved. We shared good times and sad. Celebrations, triumphs, all of it.
I had come in to being more of my own person. I had – and still have – some of those friends in my life. We still share news; both good and bad. Offer congratulations or sorrows as needed. I’m lucky to have that.
Another part of coming in to being my own person was incorporating a piece of my mother’s outlook on the world in to my own: fuck the haters and what they think. I credit having a mother that was born/raised when and where she was. She stood up for herself and those she loved...sometimes ferociously so. If I had to be a “Mama’s Boy”, I couldn’t have made a better choice if I tried. I was blessed to be born of her and my father’s genes and given the spark of Life that would become their son and eldest child.
Nineteen years have passed since I moved to Atlanta. During that first month my mother succumbed to cancer. I was the only one awake with her the morning she lost the fight. All she wanted was to be held one last time. Who was I to deny her that feeling of being held. In my arms was how she spent that last moment...her last breath. My world split that moment and would be forever in being mended.
I had to carry on; at least in her name, if for nothing else, for as long as I could until I could do it for myself again. She’s still with me...she comes to me in dreams sometimes to this day. Those quiet moments when our minds are free and open.
What happened last weekend was one of her greatest fears for me: to be the victim of HATE. To experience injuries due to someone else’s BIGOTRY. She only ever wanted her children – my younger sister and myself – to know LOVE. But, she also knew, try as she might, she could not shield us from the ills of the world. We could not hide under a rock or in a cave somewhere. We are all part of this world. My mother never sugar-coated things; yet always found an age-appropriate way of helping to educate us. I know she would be scared for my safety now; as I am. But, I cannot hide. I live in this world and with all the good and evil it contains.
I wish there were more youth who could have had that kind of upbringing. In the meantime, I do my best to be that person. That person that doesn’t rush to judge. That person that imagines being in the other person’s place, if only for a moment. That person that tries to act in compassion.
Do not think I cannot or will not express anger. I have and more than likely will again. I have my father’s temper, but on a slightly slower burn. And, I hold it in longer for fear of my own actions and those who may be affected by them when they should not be. I lost my temper once in middle school and chose to fight back against a bully that was taunting me during gym. I threw one, unwieldy punch there in the middle of everyone at him. We were quickly separated by the coaches and other students. Thanks to all the witnesses who corroborated that he started it all I got was one day in detention for taking that step. He got a week in detention. He never bothered me again.
I don’t share that as evidence that we should all take up arms against our detractors. Just that, with enough coming at us, do not be surprised IF or WHEN we fight back.
Over this past week I learned a new word to keep in mind like “mansplaining”... straightsplaining. This event did not happen to “ALL” Americans. It happened to LGBTQ people, their friends, and families. Try as some people might to say this was an ISIS terrorist attack on US soil – go digging deeper. The shooter was BORN here in the US to Afghani immigrants. All types of items have been coming out about the background of the shooter covering everything from being a patron of the Pulse many times over the years, troubled marriage(s), internalized homophobia while having a hard time accepting he may be queer himself thanks to his raising and the hateful media messages out there. I can’t even begin to wonder why he was able to get his hands on a semi-automatic assault rifle after having been interviewed by the FBI at least twice, if not three times.
He drove two hours from his home city to do this act. He chose this location to perform this deed. There’s some proof coming out that he had NO TIES whatsoever to Middle East terror groups after trying to claim membership to three diametrically opposed groups almost at the same time.
NO. This is/was an event born of hate – possibly self-hate deep rooted in there – and bigotry that was taught or learned from current, modern society. As others have shared: you CAN NOT call this an attack on Americans when me and those like me are denied rights that most all other Americans have.
This was an attack, that much is true and I am not denying that. I was an attack based on HATE and loathing of “the other”...the “not we”...those that are perceived as different and less than because we do not love the same way that the majority of the world does.
I have no right to stand by being “quiet”...that makes me just as complicit as anyone else who does not call out bigotry, misogyny, racism, even misandry. These types of hate really do not have a place in this world anymore. Yet there are so many who can’t let go. So many who use their hate to keep others “in check” or “in their place” instead of allowing to see what the world COULD become if we treated each other as equals...treating each other as how we would want to be treated.
I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on this past week.
I am HERE.
I am WATCHING.
I DO NOT FORGET.
To paraphrase Wil Wheaton: Don’t be a dick and I will not have to be a dick right back to you.
I am an Uncle. I am someone’s Brother. I am someone’s Son. I am someone’s Nephew. I am someone’s Cousin. I am someone’s cherished Confidant. I am Friend to many. I can be a friend to more...even to you. One day I hope to say I am someone’s reason to Love and he my reason to Love.
I am all these things and so much more...
But, at the start of every day, my name is Joe. And I am a gay man.