A Memoir Kinda pt 2

I won't be silenced, but I don't need to lead the parade.

I came out of the closet when I was 14 years old. And no one was surprised. Not a single soul! What the fuck!? I had held in this "secret" for a couple of excruciating years, and I finally ge tup the nerve to tell my parents, and all they could say was "Honey, do you honestly think we didn't know that already?" *jaw hits the floor*. It's really funny to think back on it now (15 years later) but at the time I was kinda pissed. Everywhere I looked in the media, in music, in books, throughout history, I saw warning signs that telling people that you're gay might be hazardous to your health, and here I was in south central Pennsylvania, in the first year of a new Millennium, and no one cared? What gives? Shouldn't I get to lead a parade or something? Where were the crowds of other gay men and lesbians waiting to welcome me into the promised land of dance clubs and hot sex and drag queens? Clearly they were not to be found in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Although the family situation was really quite painless (my little brother was a bit of a douche for a while, but he got over it), school was a different experience entirely. Coming out in eighth grade might not have been the best plan, but I knew waiting wasn't going to help either. So one morning before school, I took a deep breath and decided. I decided that from that day on I would not lie if someone asked me if I was gay. Who knows, maybe they won't even ask today, right? About fifteen minutes into the school day some uppity bitch made a snarky comment about my jewelry and followed it up with "I mean, are you gay?" So I responded "Yes, I am." I slammed my locker, and walked away feeling terrified and triumphant, and kinda like I might throw up. Later that day, at lunch, I was informed that the table I'd always shared with the other guys had been rezoned and was now a "no faggots allowed" table, and that I was no longer welcome. I spent several weeks sitting with the kids who had severe handicaps and learning disabilities, because they clearly didn't mind sitting with a freak.

Little changed that last year of middle school, some friends came around, others stood steadfast in their newfound homophobia. High school served as a culture shock for most of us, so no one was looking too closely at the previous year's pariah. And I discovered the drama kids. We obviously got along just perfectly! As we made our way through high school there were obviously a bunch of ignorant asshats who felt it was their mission to be as mean as they could to anyone different from themselves, but luckily most people realized that that was just stupid. I founded a GSA (Gay-straight Alliance) club in school, and we were the first in a public school in all of Pennsylvania. For that I was awarded a threat of protest from the Westborough Baptist Church (Yes, the crazy fundamentalist Christians from Kansas, of "God Hates Fags" fame) and the admiration of many of my classmates who took a stance against intolerance. Although the WBC never actually came to protest, much to my chagrin, the threat alone unified much of the student body, and earned the club validation in the eyes of the school administration. I'm happy to say that the club still meets regularly as of this writing (12 years later). It was always my hope that the club would serve as a reminder to any young gay, lesbian, bi, trans, questioning, or general outcast kids that trek through the halls of my Alma mater, that they are not along, and that there is a whole community out there in the world who wants to see them succeed.

Looking back on it, the only comment that kinda upset me when I came out was what my grandmother said. She told me " just be you, don't make it all about being gay. Be Stewart, not Gay Stewart." At the time, that stung. Back then I felt like I was always in a battle to validate who I was. I needed to bring to light the issues affecting the LGBT community, because no one else would. But, I've come to understand the wisdom in her words, and I long for the day when labels won't be necessary. As a practical person, I acknowledge the need for leaders within all communities, and with that comes a certain amount of self awareness and identification. I don't mind wearing the label, but these days it's much less of a large waving banner, and much more of a small name tag. I've made peace with not being the one to lead the parade anymore. The younger generation has more energy for that sort of thing, anyway!

I've learned that in life there will always be a "no faggots allowed" table, but that's not where I want to sit anymore. I sit with anyone who chooses to engage with the things that are different from what they know, the people who want to learn about different ways of life, the people who have decided to focus on what makes us alike, instead of what separates us. After all, we're all human, we're all deserving of love and kindness and respect... except those homophobic dicks. Fuck those guys!