I'm From Driftwood

by Brett Harris

In the crisp fall of 1977 I was a strapping and husky 16-year-old. A close (and closeted) high school friend of mine decided we should visit the “Florentine” Night Club; the premiere, and only, gay bar in our conservative city of Shreveport, Louisiana. Due to my size, I appeared to be of legal drinking age of the time in Louisiana…18.

While I was at “the club” as we called it, I ran into the hair dresser who cut my mother’s and my hair. He was a flawlessly beautiful man with bright white teeth, chiseled features and exquisitely manicured facial hair. I always loved the feeling of his fingers in my hair as he washed it. GOD was he hot! He was a fantasy of mine since we began going to his salon. I always looked forward to our weekly visits to get our hair trimmed.

When I noticed him, my heart started pounding in my chest. I tried to get by him without him seeing me. Unfortunately, not being so “slinky”, I bumped into the guy standing next to him. Then he noticed me and asked what I was doing there. I racked my brain trying to think quickly on my feet. In what was what I later realized to be the absolute stupidest thing I could have ever said, I told him, “I’m here doing research for a report I have to do in class on the gay culture.” I know now he and his friends must of thought “Yeah…right!” Mortified and embarrassed, I found my friend and told him of my horror. Against his protestations, we ran out of the club as fast as I could drag him behind me.

The next day I thought back on the last evening’s adventure. I was reeling at the new revelation that my hair dresser was a queer like me. I finally knew another gay man! I felt I had to express my feelings about him, about myself, about being gay, about everything. So I sat down and wrote him a long letter. However, in the end, I chickened out and put the letter in an orange class folder and put it in the bottom of my sock drawer in my bedroom; thinking it would be safe from anyone’s eyes. I went to school floating on air, but sad and frustrated that I hadn’t had the courage to follow through with giving him the letter. “Maybe tomorrow,” I thought to myself. I thought about him all day.

Later that day my mom washed some clothes. Normally I was responsible to put away my own clothes but today, out of the blue, she decides to put my clothes away and of course, my socks in the sock drawer. She found the folder with the letter I wrote to our hair dresser.

When I came in from school that day I found my mother with her hands folded across the folder, her head down, sobbing. We talked, she cried. We talked some more, she cried some more. This went on for two weeks. Then one day she came to me in the kitchen and said, “It’s none of your business what your stepfather and I do in our bedroom, so it’s really not any of my business what you do in yours! There is a reason the relationship between a person and God is supposed to be personal.” Then she gave me one of the best hugs I ever got from her. That was all I needed. Now that my mom knew, I didn’t care who else knew. I didn’t open my closet door. I kicked the sucker off its hinges and came out to everybody. That was a little over 30 years ago and I have been an advocate/activist for gay rights since then.

-(Share your story with us!)

by Carlos M. Gonzalez

When I was growing up in Puerto Rico, I knew I was different. Very young I would shyly look at the guys and admire their looks, their bodies, the way they dressed. It’s funny, when my dad would go to the bank and make his transactions, I would stay in the car and every guy that walked by would get a score of 0 to 10 from me. I grew up knowing I liked guys, but I had to keep it to myself. Everybody would ask if I had a girlfriend and I would say I am too busy for that. I focused my attention and time on the books, getting a good GPA and playing basketball at a court a few blocks away.

When I was thirteen I had my first experience with a boy. I was young, he was young (12) and lived down the street from me. I was so scared of being caught in my own house when my parents came back from work. They were school teachers and usually and predictably arrived home together at about the same time. But no “bust” ever happened because I was careful enough. I couldn’t tell my family about my feelings because they were semi-strict Catholics and we went to mass on Sundays. I just wished they didn’t worry so much about everyone else’s opinion. That’s why I like the saying “live and let live.” In Spanish it goes like this: “Vive tu vida y no la mia!” At 15, I had my second experience with a nephew of another neighbor. He was 17. I enjoyed it, but always felt guilty because of my religious upbringing.

So basically I spent a lot of time in the closet–not a good place to be, but a necessary refuge for a gay man to be until the time is right. I tried reading the bible and praying, and shed endless tears so many, countless times. Occasionally, I fell on my knees and asked God to let me be like everybody else and the way society expected me to be. This went on for years until I was 32. Can you believe I never had intimacy with another person in my 20s? I was so bogged down by my conflict. I knew I liked guys, but I was a prisoner in my own imaginary cell.

When I was 32, a dear friend of mine died. She was only 30 and had a beautiful 3-year-old child. That happened on Dec 20, 1996, and I questioned God a lot. I started leaning more towards reason than blind faith. How could someone so nice, young, beautiful and loving to her son be taken from this earth? Now I finally applied this new-found rebelliousness into my life. What if I die soon and never experience love in this world? I don’t want to go down like that, sad and lonely. I don’t know how much time I have left and need to live life to its fullest potential. This “closet thing,” this “shame thing” is holding me back; it is tearing me apart. I realized I am not being honest with myself!

I decided to go out to a gay bar two weeks later on January 5, 1997. It was in front of the Atlantic Ocean in San Juan and I felt nervous at first, then liberated, and then finally true to myself. I was finally out: accepted, welcome, comfortable. I finally can say I am gay and feel pride in myself. Not an easy choice, since society has so much prejudice. But who’s to cast stones at you, when their own roofs are made of glass? Who’s to judge you and point out the stick in your eye, when they have a log lodged in theirs? I told myself that if I was going to burn in hell, according to religious fanatics, I would rather burn for being gay than for being a hypocrite. Since God is good and loving and omniscient, He/She/It always knows what my true, inner feelings and desires really are.

Since then I have suffered sporadic discrimination at work. I suffered rejection by some closed-minded people, but I remind myself to focus on the good people with caring and accepting hearts. My relationship with my dad was not that great to begin with and then it got a little bumpier. For some strange, unexplainable reason I think it hurts his personal version of “machismo.” But I have to think of my own happiness, not in trying to please him by sacrificing who I truly am. I like to say my manhood or manliness is not waist-high, it resides tall and strong in my heart and mind.

Change is real and is out there. I’ve seen plenty of it. Now a lot of teenagers can come out to their families, especially to their mothers. But the timing of coming out is very tricky and significant. When someone young lives at home and depends on other people, their livelihood cannot be risked. That special event, the bondage-breaking, the emancipation from shame has to occur with minimal damage on the welfare of that young person. My mother loves me to death; I am her only child. She worries mostly because being gay is a hard lifestyle and there’s discrimination out there. Of course she doesn’t want me suffering. But I know life isn’t perfect and I remind her that there’s more happiness to be found in me being free and genuine despite the intolerance by some in our society.

I see even more positive changes; other relatives being curious and asking respectful questions. How do I know? When? Who do I like? You have to love it when people that are conservative turn the corner and start embracing you because they know deep within that love is the only way we can get along and that being gay is not what defines a person. I am gay and that’s my sexual orientation, but I am more than that. I am Carlos and I am a law-abiding citizen, a professional, a neighbor, a loving person; just another human being on the face of this crowded earth trying to live peacefully and in harmony with others, regardless of our tiny, irrelevant differences.

-(Share your story with us!)

bisexual-community:

bialogue-group:

Q. Dear Civil Behavior: I’m bisexual (female), and I want to be out at work. I just don’t quite know how to slip it into conversation … But, bisexual visibility can only get better if people like me don’t cop out and say we are gay when that’s not true. Any advice on how to make “out bisexual” a little easier? ~ Erica, East Brunswick, NJ

A. Over the years I’ve frequently heard from my bi friends that it’s harder for them to come out than it is for those of us who are gay or lesbian because of the enduring myths about being bisexual. Stereotypes persist, and many people think that identifying as bi means

1. you’re going through a phase
2. you’re promiscuous or
3. you’re really gay but not telling the truth.

If more bi folks come out of course visibility increases. But is work the right place to do this? … BUT without making a “declaration,” don’t our straight colleagues routinely discuss how they spent the weekend with their opposite-sex partner, which is a nonchalant way of proclaiming their sexual identity …

Context is key here … Two bisexual activists, A.J. Walkley and Lauren Michelle Kinsey who write the column Bi the Bi: Two Bi Writers on Big Bi Issues also recommended casual “water cooler”ways of bringing up your sexual identity through current events.

“I was thrilled to hear that Clive Davis came out as bisexual, being bisexual myself,” or “Did you hear that same-sex couples will soon be able to marry in Delaware? It means a lot to me since I’m bisexual.”

Context isn’t the only thing that matters here – consider your company and its commitment to diversity and inclusion as well. Many corporations now have LGBT employee groups; think about getting involved as an out bi person and use that public role to reduce the invisibility of bisexuals in the workplace.

Click HERE to Read the full column

---

Every other Tuesday, Steven Petrow, the author of “Steven Petrow’s Complete Gay & Lesbian Manners: The Definitive Guide to LGBT Life”, addresses questions about gay and straight etiquette in his column Civil Behavior in the New York Times. Send questions for Civil Behavior to stevenpetrow (at) earthlink (dot) net.

The other good thing about coming out at work? You find out so many of your other work colleges are members of the Queer Nation too … and you were ALL nervously hiding in the closet!!!

bisexual-community:

As they explained —

“Last year, our teenage daughter came out to her mother and I as being bisexual.

We have always fostered an open atmosphere as parents so the ease with which she told us did not come as a surprise. Looking back now, I can safely say I was more surprised in her absolute certainty and the matter-of-factness with which she told us. This was not a choice. This was not a phase. This was her saying, “This is who I am” …

… Being the type of parents that we are, my wife and I decided to look for ways to show our daughter support and to become involved as a family…and so, the LGBT playing card deck idea was born … each suit has a LGBT symbol inside the suit’s symbol. Next, each suit’s Ace and Face Cards are symbols associated with the sexual orientation they represent. Finally, we did away with Jokers and advertising cards and dedicated these four cards to explaining the origins and meanings of each symbol represented in the deck.

Our hope for this deck is to not only give the LGBT community a set of playing cards which celebrates diversity but that also has the ability to open lines of communication which may have otherwise been closed.”

Now these are some REAL Family values!

They are raising money for this worthwhile family project thru Kickstarter. And unlike a plethora of other projects designed more to exploit the rising purchasing power of the bisexual community this one’s ♥ and head seem to be in the right place.

by Will O.

Shortly after graduating high school in 2002 I was mentally preparing myself to “come out” to my parents. My parents were the first people who I wanted to share this with because they were the most important people in my life.

Every night before I fell asleep I would say to myself, “Tomorrow is the day” but I would not be able to work up the nerve to tell them.

After many weeks of delaying this conversation with my parents I was emotionally drained and at a breaking point. After walking around for hours in the rain I came home and my parents knew something was wrong.

After I worked up the nerve to utter the words “I am gay” my mother said something that I will never forget.

My Mom said “I love you more today than yesterday, because you are being true to yourself and the world.”

After hearing those words I felt a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Coming out gave me strength to face the world as an adult who was proud of who he was. It taught me to never be ashamed of who I am and to never forget that I hold the key to my own happiness.

-(Share your story with us!)

pflagmom:

CARSON CITY, Nev. — The Nevada Senate, after an hour-long, soul-searching debate about equality, love and marriage passed a resolution late Monday repealing the state’s heterosexual definition of marriage, the first step in a long process to recognize gay marriage.

Thank you  Sen. Kelvin Atkinson (D-North Las Vegas). Great role model to a generation. You can’t stop equality!

(via loversintransition)

by Jeremy Cauffman

I grew up in Fish Lake, Indiana. Where the population never quite reached 800. What was once a summer destination for Chicagoans to flee from the sweltering heat during the 60′s was now a dying village during the early 80′s. You would think that being from such a small town that anyone displaying any gay characteristics would have it rough. Yet living in such a small town sheltered me from homophobia and the stigma of being gay. I was living in a bubble. I was who I was without hesitation. I remember as early as kindergarten having a crush on a set of twins that were in my class. When the other children would be drawing pictures of cats and big yellow suns I would draw pictures of me and the twins living in a castle high in the mountains with our hoard of Popple minions. When I would bring my masterpieces home my mother would proudly display them on the fridge. I would play secretary with my cousins and asked Santa every year for a Barbie because I was jealous of all the girls in the neighborhood that had one. Unfortunately Santa believed that dolls where for girls and fire trucks were for boys. Still none of that was strong enough to penetrate my bubble.

It wasn’t until 6th grade when I had to be bused into the city to attend middle school that I began to become aware that what I acknowledged as being normal was anything but what others considered to be normal. During Sex Education week my entire class was brought into the auditorium to watch a film about the differences between boys and girls, our changing bodies and a very rudimentary explanation of  sex and the consequence of not practicing safe sex. The consequences being unplanned pregnancies, being considered unclean in the eyes of God and STDs that involved an array of bodily discharges. Suddenly there was a male couple holding hands marching down the street with other men holding hands. What was this? I became very interested. Then it happened. A portion of the film was dedicated to AIDS, which at the time was still largely believed to be a disease that only gay men could contract. As I watched the men marching with picket signs pleading for help from this horrible disease a large number of the class began to chuckle. I believe that was the first time I can recall ever hearing the word fag. POP! My bubble had burst. There it was looking me right in the face. “I am gay.” I began to sweat as fear began filling every part of my body. I was so glad that the lights were dimmed otherwise everyone would have noticed that I was blushing in a panic that I would soon be outed, labeled and subsequently judged by my classmates. When the lights came back on I was no longer the same boy that had entered the room. I was now a boy who had to pretend to be someone I was not.

After a year of feeling as though I was living a lie I had finally had enough. I might not have been ready to tell the world, but I needed to tell someone. It was a Friday morning as I was walking to school with my best friend Melissa that I decided today was the day. I would tell Melissa that I am gay. If I couldn’t tell my best friend who could I tell? As we were walking Melissa could tell that something was up. She kept asking me “what is wrong, did I do something?” I explained to her that I had a secret I needed to tell her, but I would tell her after school. I figured that way if things didn’t go the way that I imagined, I wouldn’t have to face her again until Monday. Tuesday if I could convince my mother that I was sick. Something that I had become an expert at. For the remainder of the day Melissa kept trying to guess what it was. Are you moving? Are your parents getting a divorce? Did someone die? By 5th period English class I knew that when the time came there would be no way I would be able to find the courage to utter the words “I am gay.” Even to my best friend. I decided to write her a note and pass it off to her after class. At that point I only had band practice between me and the end of the school day. I pulled out a piece of paper from my trapper keeper and began to think of a way to finally come clean about my big secret. Not being one to sugarcoat things, even in the 7th grade, I simply wrote “I’m gay” in the middle of the paper. I began folding the note, sealing my fate with every fold. It was then that I caught the eye of my teacher. “Jeremy is that a note that you are writing? You know the rule, bring it to the front of the class and read it.” My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I thought I was going to pass out. I could just lie and pretend to read words that were not really there. Saving myself from the humiliation of the truth and the inevitable name calling from my fellow classmates. As I stood there staring at the class I realized that I was done lying. I was done pretending to be someone that I was not. It was time to stop living in fear. “I am gay!”

-(Share your story with us!)

fezzes-and-fish-custard:

Asexuality is something that doesn’t get a great deal of publicity.

If someone tells you they are asexual,

DO NOT:-

• Say ‘it’s just a phase, you’ll find a boy/girl soon’. Not only is this kinda disrespectful, because you make it seem as if you don’t think they know themselves well enough,…

(via asexualityexists)