Being My Own Man: Discovering What I Learned From My Father

This piece also appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a man. I mean, I've got a penis so biologically I’m a man, but what does it mean to be a man? My dad says a man knows he's a man by how he feels within himself. I don't feel particularly manly. I feel much more in tune with my feminine side than my masculine.

I grew up in a small southern town somewhere near the intersection of stop sign and caution light. It's a place I jokingly refer to as “Podunk” or “Population 600.” It’s a beautiful place. Country roads lined by fields of corn or soy beans. Homes with big front yards. The churches are many and the restaurants few. My male role models in this Shangri-la-of-the-Country were church-going, outdoorsy types that I had nothing in common with. They’re hunters and fishermen; blue-color workmen. In my family, the men mark the seasons, not by longer days or the changing of colors, but by what animal it’s legal to hunt. They almost all enjoy the solitary peace of casting a line out into the water and waiting for a fish to bite. Most of them can fix a carburetor and many even do their own home repairs. These are the ideals of what it meant to be a man as I saw it, growing up in my small town under the tutelage of a dad who enjoys and can do all of the above.

There are some boys as young as 7- or 8-years old that you can already tell are all boy. I was not one of them. There was nothing masculine about me. I did not enjoy hunting of any kind. I didn’t like shooting a gun. I couldn’t shoot the arrow straight from the bow. As for fishing, the endless hours of sitting in a boat on the glassy waters of some lake hoping and waiting for a fish to take the bait, well let’s just say that bored me to tears. Of course none of that stopped my dad from taking me on a few of his hunting/fishing excursions. He wanted to teach me. He wanted me to enjoy what he enjoyed. I hated it. We found no common ground. I can’t begin to imagine his frustration when he began to realize he might be raising a gay son.

Moving on to sports. Well, that was a no go too. I didn’t like playing sports, and I didn’t like watching sports. I played basketball in junior high (because my dad wanted me to), which translated to me warming the bench, keeping my uniform neat and clean. I watched as my older cousins ran up and down the basketball court, scoring points. I watched as everyone cheered for them and patted their backs. I was not one of them. Full confession, I would have been happier being a cheerleader, cheering their victory, than to be sitting on the bench hoping I never had to be put into the game.

I was the boy who would much rather be inside the air conditioned house in the summer. Given the choice between playing outside or watching television I would always choose the latter, especially if it meant watching Santa Barbara or Another World. I didn’t want to mess up my hair or my clothes. I didn’t want to get my hands dirty. Even when it came to mowing the lawn (my job as the son in the family), I wore clothes that were too nice for the task.

My dad is a good man. He’s strong. He’s a provider. He’s a fixer of broken things, a disciplinarian, a caretaker. I respect him, and am thankful for him, but I have always felt like I would never be the man he is. 

Note to Self: Change way of thinking. 

I may not like to do the things my dad does or be able to repair the things he can, but that doesn’t make me any less of a man. I realized during this quest for understanding that I’ve been trying to define what being a man is, but being a man is open to interpretation. It takes all kinds of us. I’ve spent most of my adult life feeling as if I’ve failed at being a man, but that’s simply untrue. This Badge of (self-proclaimed) Failure is something I gave myself.

One of my best friends gave me his thoughts on what it means to be a man. He said, “I think being a man means having the strength to take care of yourself, the generosity to take care of others, the wisdom to ask for help when you need it, and the humility to accept help when it is offered.”

His words resonated with me. They have nothing to do with the images I’ve carried in my head since boyhood. They’re more about integrity, courage and responsibility.

I will never be a butch man, I am much more feminine than that, but I am a man. I’m a son, a brother, an uncle, a friend. I am a collector of art, a theatre goer, a lover of pop music, a drinker of red wine. I still don’t like to get my hands too dirty, I prefer to call a repairman, and I still love Santa Barbara (gone now to soap opera heaven). I take my responsibilities seriously and like seeing the tasks associated with those responsibilities accomplished. I love my family and my friends. I can be trusted and counted on. I strive to live a good life and to have the courage to change things that aren’t working even though change is difficult. I admit that my pride often gets in the way when it comes to asking for help, but ultimately I’ve realized it is a stronger man who will ask for help and a weaker who thinks he doesn’t need it.  

So what did I learn from writing this piece? Hobbies and abilities don’t make the man. It is our actions. I’m not the same as my dad and that’s okay. I’m me. I’m my own kind of man. One that’s smart enough to realize where he learned to have integrity. Maybe it is as simple as what dad said, and it's all about how I feel within.

How Do You Find Self-Worth When You Don't Like Yourself?

This piece also appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

A couple of months ago I was asked if I was having suicidal thoughts. I am NOT suicidal. I have no desire to end my life. I enjoy television and wine and sleep too much to not be able to indulge in them whenever I please. The reason for my frank opening statement (other than creating drama) is that lately I’ve been wondering who would miss me if I was actually gone? Who cares that I’m here?

Okay, I know the first response to that question is my mom. I know that she cares if I’m alive as does my dad. I’m sure I’ve other family members and select friends that also care if I’m alive. So then I ask, Do I care? That may seem an absurd question after I’ve said I don’t want to end my life, but it stems from a throb of feeling unworthy and undesired that pulses through me more often than not. This is NOT a cry for help. This is just a moment of honesty that is being put into words even though the words are scary to see.

Being desired is such a basic craving. We all want to be desired: by our family, friends, a lover, our coworkers. What happens when we don’t desire ourselves?

I’m beginning to realize that I don’t like myself very much. All these years of feeling like I couldn’t raise the eyebrow or pique the interest of an attractive man might actually stem from the fact that I’m exuding the pheromones of one who feels unworthy of being loved and therefore thinks he’s undesirable to all. Could it be that simple? I’m sure I’m not the only gay man--or person--who feels or has felt this way. Do you have to love yourself before you can love someone else or be loved by someone else? Is that a myth? 

I keep wondering if I’ll ever love myself enough to be loved by another person. I hate being vulnerable and vulnerability is key to opening ones heart to another person. For years I’ve lived under the guise of When the right person shows up I’ll know and my heart will automatically open. Is that utter bullshit?

Like every gay man I know, I stand in front of my mirror post shower each morning and apply anti-wrinkle moisturizer to my face. I apply deep wrinkle eye treatment under my eyes. I make sure my brows are plucked and even. I add product to my hair and style it as perfect or perfectly messy as I want. I choose my wardrobe (i.e. armor) for the day with perfection in mind. I choose the right bracelet and ring to accessorize my look. I choose the best shoe for the occasion. I put myself together with the precision of an artist. Finally, I apply my lip moisturizer and a spritz (or 7) of cologne then walk out my door with all the confidence I can muster, but it’s all fake.

Underneath it all I’m insecure. I’ve put myself together to attract attention hoping others might envy me, desire to be me, or be jealous of me. (Shallow much?) None of this opens me up to be desired as a person: for my conversation or companionship. No matter. I look good so that makes me “feel” good. Then I realize that no one’s paying attention to my stylish Marc Jacobs bag or my Michael Kors shirt or my Donna Karan jeans. No one cares who made my sunglasses or if my underwear are merely Hanes from the corner Duane Reade. I care, of course, but all of these things are peacock’s plumage: beautiful articles that hide the man who feels unworthy and undesirable, and thereby questions who would miss him if he was gone. Then just like that I pierce my own good feeling from inside the armor.

I want to like myself. I want to love myself. I want to be happy with my life. What I’m learning is that I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. That seems crazy to me, but it’s the truth. At 42, I’m uncomfortable in the skin of a gay man. I think that has everything to do with my feelings of unworthiness and undesirability. I just don’t like myself. I’m looking for outside “liking” in order to feel good about me. That’s never going to cut it. I have to be proud of me:  my life, my accomplishments, my choices. I have hold my head up with pride and confidence and know that I matter, that my ideas and opinions matter.

I recently read an article on Huffington Post by Mark Brennan Rosenberg titled “Are Gay Men A Gay Man’s Worst Enemy?” It really got me to thinking about being gay, having gay friends, and gay culture itself. I have been that catty queen who snarkily strikes down another gay man with bitchy comments. I have also been the gay man who feels like he’s the one being judged by the catty queens. This behavior in our own community coupled with my own insecurities has led me to a place of not taking love chances on anyone. I don’t want to put myself out there in the world. I’m a bystander instead of a participant. It makes me so angry. That anger, initially used as blame and placed on someone else, really reflects back on me. I’m the reason that I don’t go out. I care too much about what other people think because I don’t think too highly of myself. Here’s where unworthiness and undesirability come into play and become immobilizing.

I’m NOT suicidal. I’m a lonely gay man who has let his feeling that no one would care if he lived or died become a room whose walls are closing in. There is no freedom in this room. I’m not saying that I think walking into one of the NYC gay bar’s Posh, Therapy, or Industry is going to change that. I’m not saying that someone I’m interested in showing me a little interest is going to change that. I’m saying that I know I have to find confidence and worthiness in myself. I don’t really know how, but God knows I’m trying to figure that out.

I wish we could bottle up that time in childhood when we feared nothing and were game to try anything. Imagine being able to uncork that bottle and take a small whiff, remembering how it felt to be fearless, to not care what other people thought, to know we were loved, worthy, cared for, desired. 

Go ahead. Imagine that bottle. Uncork it. Breath deep. Find it. Find the courage. Find the confidence. I’m talking to myself here. Breath deep. They’re there. Breath deep, Michael. Now LIVE.

Coming Out as a 'Side.' Guilt Free.

This piece appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

Have you heard the one about the teapot? He sings, “I’m a little teapot short and stout. Here is my handle. Here is my...” He looks to the place where there should be a spout, but there’s another handle. Over and over he repeats his song until finally he gives up saying, “Damn it. I’m a sugar bowl.”

At some point the little sugar bowl convinced himself he should be one thing when actually he is another. Why am I talking about teapots and sugar bowls, you ask? It’s a metaphor for those pesky “top,” “bottom,” “versatile” labels we gays like to put on ourselves and others. We’re not always what we think we are; or the way other people see us and expect us to be.  

I recently read an article by Dr. Joe Kort in The Huffington Post titled “Guys on the ‘Side’: Looking Beyond Gay Tops and Bottoms.” I found it both interesting and enlightening. Dr. Kort defines a “side” as someone who prefers, “to kiss, hug and engage in oral sex, rimming, mutual masturbation...practically every sexual practice aside from anal penetrations of any kind.” I love the idea of a side. I’m totally a side.  

Full disclosure: I've had anal sex as both a top and a bottom. It’s fine. I’ve enjoyed both positions at various times, but I don’t love either. I know men who do, and that’s great for them. But what’s best for me is being relaxed with the other person and comfortable with what we’re doing. I know I'm not the only gay man who enjoys using his mouth, his tongue, and sensual touch. There's more than just pitching and catching. There's connecting in a way that can often be more intimate than the actual act of anal sex. Why do you think Julia Roberts’ character in Pretty Woman didn’t kiss? It’s more intimate than intercourse.

I found myself in a friends-with-benefits situation once that lasted for about four years. I was the top. Things were great until they weren't. It was empty. The sex--both anal and oral--left me dissatisfied. Sure I got my rocks off, but he wouldn't even kiss me. It wasn't fulfilling. I like to kiss. I need to kiss. For me, it’s sensual and erotic.

Seriously. I may watch--and get off to--a power bottom taking it balls deep in a porno, wishing in my fantasy life that I was him. (I watch too much porn.) But in reality, I’m more confident being a side. People have always tried to label me as a bottom. Maybe I am. I’ve been known to wish aloud that I could let my inner bottom out. But I’m skittish about the pain and paranoid about not being clean enough. And you know what? I’m the one who has to be okay with my choices, likes, and dislikes. Not identifying as a top, bottom, or versatile doesn’t make me less attracted to men, less of a sexual being, or less of a gay man. And it doesn’t have to make my sex life less exciting either. I’ve been punishing myself for years for not being what I’ve been convinced I was supposed to be when in reality all I needed to be was content being who I am. 

What I continue to recognize in my own life is the struggle I have with caring what other people think e.g. will this guy leave my house disappointed if I only kiss, suck, rim, touch, etc. It’s time for me to get over that bullshit! Trusting someone enough to put a part of his body inside mine or vice versa is not something I’m apt to do with a stranger, and there’s nothing wrong with that. So until I meet someone who makes me feel comfortable enough to go there, I’m going to stick with what I am comfortable doing. Judgements be damned.

The sugar bowl is just as necessary as the teapot to the entire tea service and is no less important than the saucer of lemon or creamer. They all fit together in one way or another. One just has to find the right combination. It takes all kinds of us--top, bottom, versatile, and side.  

I’m embracing my sideness. I’m a sugar bowl, damn it! At least for now.

It's All About Spin

This piece appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

Here we are in the 21st Century. The year 2013. A time when gay people and those who support us--our desire for equality and human rights--get blamed for many things: birds falling from the sky in Arkansas, Hurricane Sandy, North Korea’s threats against the U.S. Imagine my surprise when I discovered this ever growing power the gays have over the universe dates back to biblical times when my gay brethren of old caused the Great Flood back in the days of Noah.

I learned this interesting bit of information from Matt Barber, conservative co-host of the radio program “Faith and Freedom,” in a video from said program on the website Right Wing Watch. Not only did Mr. Barber present me with the information that homosexuals entering into marriage caused the Great Flood. He also stated, “Tolerance, in the twisted way that the left uses it, in acceptance of all form [sic] of sexual deviant behavior as the norm--as normal, natural, good--it’s a cancer that brings down societies.”

Can I get a “Wow” and an “Oh my goodness?” Who knew we gays had so much power? I’m not sure whether to tell my monkeys to “Fly!” Or ask the mirror “Who’s the fairest of them all?”

As a child from the South, raised in the Baptist faith, I am very aware of the Biblical stories. Never once have I heard homosexuality connected to Noah’s flood. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, always! That's a given. It seems to be the go-to major event for those citing homosexuals as the reason for an epic destruction. But Noah’s flood? That was news to me. Sometimes I feel that certain modern day Christians blame anything “wicked” from Biblical times on homosexuals. As if it’s not possible there was any other wickedness in the world of that day. 

I went home and grabbed my New International Student Bible, copyright 1992. It’s quite the departure from the King James Version of my youth. I immediately found the story of Noah’s flood and started to read. I combed every word of Genesis chapters 6-9. And you know what? I didn’t find anything resembling a homosexual act causing the flood. Then I decided to read the chapters preceding the flood. Again, no homosexual acts. I was confused at this leap by Mr. Barber, to say the least. So, I did a little research.

I discovered the website Delusion Resistance. The mention of Extraterrestrials and UFOs connected to the End of Days should have been enough to turn me away, but I found something interesting. Among the site’s many articles was one by David Ben Yakov under the heading "The Days of Noah." This find led me to the New Testament version of the Great Flood story told in Luke, chapter 17, verses 26-27. After reading it it hit me: it’s all about spin. I’ll explain. Here’s the Biblical excerpt from Mr. Ben Yakov's article:

“And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man. They did eat, they drank, they married wives, they were given in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark, and the flood came, and destroyed them all.”

It was unclear to me which version of Biblical text Mr. Ben Yakov was using, but according to the article, per the custom of that day women were given in marriage to men. Therefore, according to Mr. Ben Yakov’s interpretation of the text, "they" must refer to men. The conclusion is then drawn that because "they" equals men, the words "they were given in marriage" must mean men were given to men.

In my Bible’s translation, the word "they" is replaced by "people." It's interesting how different it sounds when you change the noun. Here’s the text from my Bible: 

“Just as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating, drinking, marrying and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all.”

What I see in the above passage is people (men and women) living their lives, doing what people do. That gays caused the flood seems to be all about interpretation and spin. Any of us can find the right translation and the right scriptural passage to make our point. What would be nice is if we stopped having to prove our point and could learn from the mistakes of old and live in the world of the present. 

I don’t practice any organized religion at this point in my life, choosing to focus on a spiritual relationship with God that is all my own. I am, however, proud of my roots, and proud of the courage I’ve discovered to question instead of merely follow. I don’t want to be a sheep who follows blindly. I want to understand why I believe something. I want my life to consist of more than who’s wrong and who’s right. 

I was put on this earth a gay man. There is no interpretation or spin needed for that. It is my truth. In this world full of naysayers who believe like Mr. Barber, I’m doing my best to live my authentic life. However, I’m smart enough to know that as long as people keep spouting their interpretations of the Bible, there are those who will believe them no questions asked.

So for now, I would like “The Power” by Snap! to be on constant loop reminding me that we gays have the power to make things happen. How’s that for spin?

The Pot Calling the Kettle Intolerant

This piece originally appeared on HuffPost Gay Voices

Let’s talk about tolerance for a second. I’ll begin with a definition. According to Random House Dictionary, it’s a noun defined as: “a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry.”

The verb form of tolerance is “to tolerate.” The adjective form is “tolerant.” I want to now define tolerant. One definition is: “to allow the existence, presence, practice, or act of without prohibition or hindrance; permit.” A second definition is: “to endure without repugnance; put up with.”

The reason for my English lesson of definitions above is because of the following:

Rick Perry, Governor of Texas, says that gay rights activists lack tolerance. That’s interesting. Does that mean we aren’t tolerant? In an article by Nick Wing published in The Huffington Post Mr. Perry is quoted saying, 

“This is a very unsettling time in our nation’s history. These are the days when a person is vilified when they state that they believe fundamentally that marriage is between one man and one woman.” 

We, the LGBTQ community, are fighting for equal rights and because we are very vocal about the desire to have those rights, Mr. Perry thinks we are intolerant. We are loud and proud, here and queer. We’re in your face: loud, proud, here and queer because it’s the only way to get you to see us; hear us; listen to us.

If you feel the LGBTQ community seems not to have a permissive attitude toward your opinion or religious beliefs it may simply be that you have no permissive attitude toward ours, and our push back against you is reflecting your own lack of empathy toward our desire, e.g. the right to marry whom we choose.

Is it fair that just because something has always been one way that we never change our way of thinking about it even if that change might be for the better; might benefit a lot of people?

The headline of the above mentioned article, “Rick Perry Warns Of ‘Unsettling Time In Our Nation’s History,’ Says Gay Rights Activists Lack ‘Tolerance’” caught my attention. I began to read the things Governor Perry said, and I got angry. I then began to read his words aloud to my gay coworkers. He can’t begin to fathom how much the LGBTQ community has had to tolerate; still has to tolerate.

I will not walk with my head down and my eyes averted from those who consider themselves superior beings because they love someone of the opposite sex. I will not let their ignorance of and disgust at how they visualize my sex life deter me from experiencing those feelings of joy and release. I refuse to feel shame about who I am and who I love. I don’t feel like Governor Perry has a permissive attitude toward the LGBTQ community. 

I’m tired of being tolerated. I refuse it. My life as a gay human being, is more than something to be tolerated. Just because I grew up to be a man attracted to another man does not make me any less of a person. I am worth more than something one puts up with or endures.

How many years have members of the LGBTQ community sat back and listened to the condemnation of our lives from the pulpits of churches? Now we get to add the political platform to that mix. How many times do we have to take being called “faggot,” “queer,” and “homo” at school, church, or simply walking down the street? The time for sitting back and taking it is over. We’re tired of it. We want more than toleration. We want more than you enduring your repugnance. We want acceptance. We deserve it as human beings. Don’t act as if I should be grateful that you tolerate me, but please accept my appreciation for your accepting me as a human being--living, breathing, and loving the person of my choice just like you.

In the same HuffPost article, Mr. Perry goes on to say, 

“The underling problem is that there is this very vocal, very litigious minority of Americans willing to legally attack anybody who dares utter a phrase or even a name that they don’t agree with. In a twisting of logic, they insist on silencing the religious in the cause of tolerance. Now I ask you, where is the tolerance in that?” 

I must admit that I have a problem with organized religion and those who hide behind it, and the words of the Bible to stand against something they know nothing about and are too scared to attempt to understand. That said, I have no beef with those who want to practice the religion of their choice. I just don’t agree that one’s religious beliefs should help create a law that prohibits me from marrying the man of my choice should I happen to find him one day. 

If it wasn’t for his disparaging speak against my community I wouldn’t even have Governor Perry on my radar. But the silence of the most vocal doesn’t stay silent for long. Eventually the echo of their voices beep again and you get words like those spoken above. How interesting would it be if the blip that is Governor Perry was suddenly absent because people stopped listening? If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it does it still make a sound? Yes, but does it matter? The same can be said for the blips on the radar of life that belong to people like Governor Perry. If we stopped listening, the words would still have sound, but they wouldn’t matter.

Perry continued, 

“The people of the state of Texas, myself included, believe marriage is between one man and one woman.” 

I think Governor Perry, and many others along with him, is afraid of change. Maybe even fears it. 

He is, however, allowed his opinion and I’m allowed mine. One is no better than the other, but if he wants to play the tolerance card, the LGBTQ community is having to tolerate a lot of bullshit coming out of his mouth and you know what they say about opinions. He might want to keep a handkerchief in his suit jacket for catching the brown dribble. Better yet, he could carry a roll of toilet paper.