"Turn it down Nic! You're drawing attention to the fact that we're a bunch of twinkle-toed fairies and some of the folk in this place look much less than liberal. You don't want to end up getting hurt," my director whispered, eyebrows raised as his manicured hand swatted my knee.
Even though Fred didn't intend to hurt me, I felt as if I'd been attacked and stopped laughing immediately. True, my voluminous cackle attracts attention wherever I go (any dinner or movie companions I have have to get used to the stares my laugh draws), but I was shocked that Fred would be concerned my laughter (and, admittedly, a few pink-hued comments) would draw negative or even violent attention to the fact that some members of our dinner party were gay. Even though I understood he came out in a much less gay-friendly environment, I felt saddened that--as a man who has been out for decades and who has lived with his partner for the last however many years--he was afraid of homophobia and felt the need to literally straighten himself--and all the other gay boys along with him--up. I was offended by his twofold request to "turn it down:" my particular brand of laughter and fabulous gayness are two bits in the bag of Nic-ish things that make me me.
I was most surprised, though, by the way I acted for the remainder of the evening. In recognition of and a surrender to Fred's nervousness, I straightened up as much as I can and turned the laugh down. I didn't like who I became as the night continued and the psychological shift inside me was unnerving. I became acutely aware of the other tables in the room. I listened snippets of conversations, especially from the bar, to gauge whether or not my friends and I were drawing attention as Faggots and Associates, Inc. I was afraid to be the last one of my group to walk out the door and I felt especially grateful that Bob- (an actor in the troupe and a good friend of mine)'s handsome, sturdy boyfriend, Jim, was with us as we left. I didn't feel safe, a threat I haven't felt in ages. I usually feel quite confident in many areas in my life, including a strong sense of comfort as a gay man. I have a positive self-view most of the time, and recognize the creativity and divinity and worthy substance inside my Self. Feeling my confidence compromised that night--especially because of a fellow gay brother's comments--was gravely disconcerting. We became the kind of queers I've never wished to be as we bowed to the belief that we were a fancy blight to others around us. Curtailing our fabulosity was the pathetic apology we offered to people who probably didn't even notice us.
It happened weeks ago, while I was working in Maine. I've done my best to let the incident go, but I keep coming back to it. I may be waxing a bit glum here, but I sometimes wonder if all the campaigning and advocacy of the last thirty years has brought healthy outside attention to the LGBT community and allies or given us a positive view of ourselves as a group. Now, I realize we've come a long way. I read articles and blogs and columns. I watch documentaries and gay movies. I do my best to keep up on my queer culture and gay history and I do see, from where we've been, we have marched a very long way. I credit the gay men and women and their allies who came before us with laying the amazing political and social groundwork which allows me to live openly and happily as a gay man in the USA; however, when I see my friends hide themselves, and when I make concessions to hide myself with them, I really wonder if, in all our Big Gay Pride and political maneuvering, we're actually attaining the sort of visibility and acceptance we want.
********************
"Live your life." I can't tell you how many times I heard Manny, an extremely difficult-to-work-with-but-ultimately-charming actor, say these other three little words. The phrase was his own sort of "your mom" or "that's what she said..." catch-all quip. Overused, I think everyone in the company grew tired of hearing Manny's using it at every opportunity; however, I've thought about this phrase much lately, especially in connection with living life as an LGBTQ person. I think the best sort of advocacy and solidarity comes in just doing that: living our lives.
I think of Suzanne and Reesa, two women who parent a ten-year old girl and her older brother. Suzanne is their bio-mom and Reesa is their step-mom. I teach music lessons in their home on a weekly basis, and I just have to say they have one of the most well-balanced families with smart, witty, compassionate and well-adjusted children I've seen. They are living their lives: doing their grocery shopping, mowing their lawn, going to bat for their kids when things get tough at school. This is a family who doesn't necessarily fit what their neighbors in UT define as a family, but they are a "normal" family--they have love and they work together to make their lives, and the lives of those around them, more kind and caring, more loving and tolerant, and more beautiful-in-truth. I honor these women and their children for the example they are setting that families come in all sorts of variation.
I think of my mother, who called while I was in Maine to tell me of a woman who sought her out at work to ask how to "deal with" her gay son and still feel loyal to the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints regarding the practice of homosexuality.
"Nicholas!" she yelled, "You've put me in a situation in which I'v never wanted to participate: I'VE BECOME A COUNSELOR FOR WOMEN IN THE CHURCH IN OUR TOWN WHO HAVE GAY SONS!!! They've found your blog, and now they've found me! It's not funny!!!"
I chuckled, "So what did you tell her to do, Mom?" I asked. I filled with love and pride at her reply, "Well, I told her all she could do was love him."
That's my mom, trying to live her life, but giving time and truth to women who need to remember their sons and daughters are still their sons and daughters--reminding them that love is the most powerful force for progression in the universe.
I think of the immense (and wasteful and useless) anxiety I felt when I decided to adjust my Facebook profile information to Interested in Men. I did it quietly, without much fanfare. It was easier than I expected it to be: just one click of the mouse. I did it because I want others to see that I am a happy man. I want young gay men and women, especially in Utah, to see that they are not alone. I know it's small, but it's also huge, and it's led me to even greater liberation, allowing me to live my life more fully.
I want to think that we don't have to advertise or become exceptionally aggressive in our advocacy. I want to believe that the greatest changes in society, the greatest way to gain the equality we seek, is to just live our lives. Hopefully, our families, our friends and our neighbors will see that we are people, the same as them--that there never was, there never will be, and there is no "us" and "them;" that we are who we are. I believe that when people see that, we'll all vote for equality and political strictures on love and all its expression will be lifted.
God didn't make us to apologize to society. He made us to live as the best Selves we can become, sharing in love and the fullness of honest living. He made us, really, to just live our lives and let others do the same.
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