I'm From Driftwood

by Bradford Shellhammer

In the summer of 1990 I discovered music. I had been collecting albums since 1983, the year I bought my first records, Cyndi Lauper and Culture Club. But in 1990 it all changed. I stopped listening to music and started feeling it. I would sit in my bedroom and dive into an album. I’d listen to it over and over and over again. And then I’d move to the next one. I sought solace in lyrics. Andy Bell sang falsettos about hiding away. My company loved Morrissey’s misery. Niel Tennant Domino Danced.

In the summer of 1990 I discovered concerts. My first concert was at Merriweather Post Pavilion, a venue set away in the woods of Columbia, MD, a planned community of brown houses and tree-lined streets. My first show was Depeche Mode with Nitzer Ebb. With a group of girls (no guy in my small high school would be caught dead listening to what was then called “alternative” music) I went from concert to concert. That summer I saw Erasure. Sinead O’Connor. New Order. B-52′s. Sugarcubes. Siouxsie & The Banshees. I danced. I sang.

In the summer of 1990 I discovered myself. In the harmonies of electro-pop. In the angst and heartbreak of British blue-eyed soul singer’s words. In the fire in my eyes as I gazed every night upon Stephen Patrick Morrissey’s face perfectly lining my bedroom walls. Posters formed a grid laying out all my escapes. All my first loves. Martin Gore. Neil Tennant. Andy Bell. Robert Smith. Bernard Sumner. Morrissey.

“Alternative” was becoming cool in the early 90s. Weird people were suddenly popular. And though I knew I was gay then, and in hindsight I know I was quite comfortable with it, I took my time and hid behind the “alternative” label. RuPaul and Deee-Lite were on MTV. Erasure was one of my sister’s favorite bands (George Michael was her crush!). Gay was moving more mainstream then. It is so visible to me now. Seeing gay people on TV and listening to their music is what allowed me to not only come out, but more importantly, to accept the fact I was gay long before I cared to share that with the world. They were role models.

I escaped into music. Away to concerts. Into nightclubs. Into another world. In high school, when I picked up the Village Voice at Louie’s Bookstore Cafe in downtown Baltimore, and read it cover to cover, I dreamed of getting away. Bright lights and big city. I knew where my people lived. I told myself I had to escape. I needed to. This small town did not have room for my big feelings.

So I ran to NYC. I danced. I sang. And I met many of my idols. I’d escaped.

Twenty years have passed since the summer I realized I was gay. I still collect music. I still listen to albums from beginning to end. I am still in love with Cyndi and Andy and Neil and Morrissey. I still go to too many concerts. But now I don’t go to shows to escape. I don’t go to let go and be myself. I go to feel young and to connect with that joy I had when I realized I was gay, the time life started making sense. Twenty years of practising homosexuality and I would not trade it for the world.

In my work I meet young people daily. Many have made videos I’ve posted to fabulis talking about their coming out stories. Most of these kids are no different than I was in 1990. They’re happy. They’re proud. They’re eager. But there is one thing they are and what I was not: out. I am realizing that teenagers today don’t wait to move away to NYC or San Francisco to come out of the closet. They do it in Texas. And Arkansas. And everywhere. And they do it at eleven or thirteen or eighteen, They don’t need to escape and they don’t want to either. They are just fine in their small towns. They’re brave. They’re inspiring. They, not the pop stars of my past, are my new heroes.

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NOTE: Bradford Shellhammer is a New York Times featured decorator and a contributor to Sundance Channel and Dwell. He was the founding editor of Queerty and is the Creative Director of fabulis. He’s kept a personal blog for ten years.

-(Share your story with us!)

by Anthony Sfrisi

We met on a Monday night. The city had shut down due to the blizzard and we found ourselves at the same party. For me, this was an unexpected stop as I had been out at the bars for hours and only stopped in to say hi to a few friends. For him, this was his only destination since he followed the beach party theme and dressed accordingly. As soon as I walked in, I saw him in the middle of the room dancing like a fool in a speedo.

My friend gave me a huge hug and drunkenly whispered, “He’s bi and single. You should totally hit on him.” By now, my inhibitions were lowered and I found myself talking to him without the usual awkwardness that I had around cute boys. We hit it off instantly when we realized we had a lot of mutual interests and knew a spark was there with a kiss in the back hallway.

As we walked through the snow back to his house that night, we stopped numerous times to admire the cityscape of Pittsburgh covered in snow and kiss as the snow began to fall again. After the long trek to his house, he pulled me into his room and told me that he noticed me as soon as I walked through the door and was the type of guy that he normally goes for.

We laid in his bed the next morning for hours and talked about our lives. I opened up to him and told him things that it took me years to tell my closest friends and he told me some of his secrets. As we parted that afternoon, he kissed me goodbye and got my number. Not even ten minutes went by when my phone beeped and he texted me and told me he was sorry that we had to part so quickly and that we should get together soon.

The next few months went by in a blur with numerous ups and downs. Whenever I was with him I felt like we were only two people in the world and that nothing could tear us down. But our insecurities began to get the best of us. It finally reached its ending point when he told me that he really liked me and cared about me but he couldn’t be what he knew I wanted him to be. With that, we decided to be friends.

I guess I should have known how it would end when he told me in the beginning that he wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. But I thought that maybe I could change him and make him believe in relationships. I still think about him everyday and wondering if there will ever be a scenario that would put us in the same city, at the same time again when we’re both ready for something more. I know it sounds a little foolish but a boy can dream, can’t he?

-(Share your story with us!)

by Daniel Harder

(Daniel’s story was collected for IFD’s Black Community Spotlight. Learn more)

From the time I was 4 or 5 years old, I knew that I was gay. I can even remember my first crush at that age. I don’t know if I had a true understanding of what being “gay” meant, but I knew that I had an attraction to the same sex. Yet, I was not comfortable and accepting of myself. I wanted to be like other young men I saw: macho, proud, strong, and attracted to women. Especially as a little black boy, these are some of the ideas that many people made me believe defined being a man.

I was taunted a lot throughout my early academic years in school. My voice was softer than other boys. I didn’t necessarily want to engage in the same activities that other boys did. Although, I did play football and basketball with my male friends and was quite good at it. However, five minutes later you could find me jumping double dutch and braiding hair with my female friends, and in complete heaven. I knew I was different, but the teasing and harassing that “friends” put me through, made me feel like I couldn’t be myself.

Now don’t get me wrong, growing up was a wonderful time for me. I had two parents and two step-parents who were extremely loving and supportive of me. I mean, our family could rival that of the Cosby’s, we’re so close. Yet, for some reason, I didn’t think that my family would be accepting of who I was; the true me. My family and I would have many discussions about loving me and accepting me for who I was, but I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I would hide my feelings; lie about them. Keeping them a secret. Why? I don’t know. Unlike many other families (especially in the black community), I wasn’t being shunned. Not once was I told I would be kicked out of my family’s house, or better yet, condemned to eternal damnation. Yet, I just couldn’t find the strength inside me to be as open and honest about who I was. First with myself, and then with others.

As time went on, I continued to hide my feelings. I “dated” girls to save face. Actually, the only time I kissed a girl was in a game of Truth or Dare. HA! By the time high school arrived, my focus shifted. I had found my true calling which was dance and enrolled in a performing arts program where I was surrounded by others who were different: lovers of the arts, other gay men and women. Everyone had a story, but loved one another exactly the way they were. I didn’t realize it at the time, but dance would become my medium to share with the world who I truly was.

Senior year rolled around, and something happened to me. I met someone. Not a girl, but a boy. We became completely enamored with one another and started dating. Secretly. Somehow, all of those feelings that I grew up with came flooding back to me. The teasing and taunting I had grown up with made me feel like I had to keep this man that I was in a relationship with hidden. I prayed a lot. Asking God to help me find the strength to accept who I was, but also to find the courage to be able to share who that person is with the world. I don’t remember exactly when it hit me, but with those prayers came understanding, acceptance, peace, and forgiveness. I eventually sat down with my family and closest friends, and shared the good news with them. I WAS GAY HONEY and PROUD! Tears were shed. Not because I was gay, but because I had finally come to a place where I could feel free.

As time has gone on, I’ve learned more and more about myself as a black gay man. It is a constant work in progress, but I’ve discovered I can be macho, proud, strong, and gay! I’ve learned not to define myself as how others see me, but only by how I see myself. As a performer, our goal is to always be as open and honest with our audience every night that we hit that stage. I don’t think that I would be able to do that night after night had I not found acceptance and love for myself first!