Another Coming Out: I’m Non-Binary, My Pronouns Are He/Him, But I Also Respond to Hey Gurl.

LGBT Foundation, a United Kingdom-based charity whose roots date back to 1975, defines non-binary as “people who feel their gender cannot be defined within the margins of gender binary. Instead, they understand their gender in a way that goes beyond simply identifying as either a man or a woman.” 

It can go deeper than that. Some people identify as both male and female while others identify as neither. Some feel that their gender fluctuates with fluidity between the two. 

I am that. That is me.

I have written more than a little about my young life in small-town Kentucky. As early as three- or four-years old I discovered my mother’s shoes. Specifically, a pair of white platform sandals. I loved those shoes. Who knows why? How often do we hear that children like playing with the box better than the toy that came in it? All I know is little boy Michael loved those shoes. 

What I also know is that I always got in trouble when I got caught wearing them. I know our memories can cloud and change as we get older. What was once just a statement can become a stern reprimand. But I do remember the words always being a stern reprimand to take off those shoes.

I will always believe that this is when the seed of my shame was planted. And that it has been growing since before I understood what shame was or that I was feeling it.

I’ve written about when my foot had finally grown to the size of my mother’s and what pure joy I felt when her high heels actually fit my feet. I loved getting to stay at home alone while my parents were away grocery shopping or running other errands. I wore a pair of her heels from the minute the car was out of sight until I heard it pulling back into our driveway. Of course, I always made sure to put them back where I found them because I didn’t want to get caught. And I sure didn’t want the reprimand (possibly in the form of a spanking) that would follow.

Fast forward to 40-something me living in New York City. I was dying to paint all ten of my fingernails, but afraid to do so. I allowed myself just one at first, then two. I professed them just a part of my style. I always felt like I needed an answer for why I only painted the one (eventually the pair). My therapist at the time said my answer need only be that I liked it. I tried that for a while. 

Eventually I felt brave enough to let my inner female show herself. But not on my hands.

I bought a pair of Gucci platform heels and I felt fabulous while wearing them and supported by those around me. Jewelry followed: cocktail rings, jeweled bracelets, earrings. It was baby steps in the coming, these outward expressions of femininity. 

Eventually I got all ten nails painted—September 12, 2019. I felt complete. I was nervous to be seen…a man with painted fingernails. But I loved them. I had been denying myself this happiness of expression out of fear for way too long. The color was dark slate gray. A very masculine color for fall. Masculine. I remember thinking that. As if the color being masculine would somehow be a distraction from the fact that I was a male with painted nails.

The gray was fine and the reaction was positive. But what I really wanted was pink. 

It took a while to get there. I had tried pinks and reds when I was still painting only one (or two) nails. The color made me uncomfortable. I found myself hiding the nail when coated with one of these shades. I was embarrassed by it. I had no idea why? Maybe because I saw pink as feminine?

Eye shadow, lipstick, perfume, and a white asymmetrical Halston jumpsuit joined list of feminine expressions

Eventually I succumbed to my desire and got all ten nails painted pink. It was life. It was empowering. Pink is so vibrant and alive. It has energy that no gray will ever possess. I became a pink-nail queen. I almost feel incomplete when my nails are not some shade of pink. I do allow other colors to live on my nails from time to time, but it always comes back to pink.

All of these things are mile markers on my journey: questioning myself, discovering myself, revealing myself, accepting myself (if only in small increments).

I’ve been questioning my gender for some time now, though I would always conclude I’m a cis gay male: assigned male at birth and living as male. However, the questioning began in earnest one day when I approached a person on my subway platform wearing pearls. I was curious if this person felt nervous and guarded like I always do when wearing categorically feminine attire and/or accessories. We got on the same train and as we rode into Manhattan we talked. She was a trans female and younger than I. She was kind and generous. She let me ask questions and she answered. She posed questions. After that conversation I couldn’t stop examining myself. I know there are a lot of people who hate labels but I wanted to figure out where I fit. I wanted a label to help me understand, accept, belong.

I did a lot of thinking. 

I thought about how when I was a child I always liked to be the wife or girlfriend when I played house with my male cousins. If I could be pregnant in our make-believe world I was even happier. And I loved being a bride.

I thought about how I often feel pretty not handsome. 

I thought about how I often feel female not male.

But I didn’t feel as if I was in the wrong body. One of the questions I asked the woman on that subway ride was: “When did you feel like you were in the wrong body?” She said she’d never felt that way. Her answer was a revelation. 

I couldn’t get there until I got there.

I don’t feel like I’m in the wrong body either. I like my penis. I don’t want breasts. I just don’t feel like I’m wholly male. I truly feel I am both male and female, yet not exclusively one or the other. I definitely feel more feminine most days but the male side of me comes out to play sometimes too.

I admitted the truth: to myself and others. It's been there all along. I finally feel brave enough to admit it.

On October 3, 2023, I finally had the courage to say that I am non-binary. At the time of this writing I feel happy. I feel light. I feel as if I might be even closer to understanding, accepting, and loving myself than ever before. I feel like admitting this out loud to my friends makes it even more real to me. As if admitting it has allowed me to breathe in my skin for the first time in years. Maybe now I will finally begin to dispel the shame.

My name is Michael Rohrer. I am non-binary. I am human. I am gay. I am queer. I am a person in progress. I am on a journey and my most recent discovery is “huge,” to quote my friend Mandy.

I am.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put on some lipstick then change the sheets on my bed.

The Woman in Me

I want you to take a second and look at yourself in the mirror. You may be thinking: I do that everyday what’s different about today? Well, today I want you to really look at yourself. Who do you see staring back at you? Is it the real you or the mask of you, which you hide behind? Are you brave enough to be who you really are?

I was standing on the platform of my subway stop in New York City waiting for the train to take me to work. I remember feeling fabulous that day--to use an overused word. I was wearing a pair of camel-colored, wide-legged corduroy pants with vertical stripes in black, charcoal, blue, and teal; frayed edges where there should have been hems. The pants were a throwback to the 70s from the first time the 70s made a resurgence in fashion. I was wearing a jewel-toned teal button up with a wide brown belt and brown Frye boots. It was a bit chilly that day so I was also wearing my I-Feel-Like-Olivia-Pope-From-Scandal-when-I-wear-it charcoal gray trench and carrying a brown distressed Marc by Marc Jacobs tote. I was boldly and happily expressing myself in my personal style. I felt pretty.

My mind was adrift as I waited. I was listening to my iPod--lyrics running through my head, drum beats pounding in my ears, thoughts of “Where is the train” beginning to frustrate me. While my mind was wandering down its own path untethered, my subconscious took over. When mind and body reconnected I honed in on that word “pretty.” I didn’t feel handsome. I felt pretty. (I know there are men who are more pretty than handsome but societal gender rules tend to leave no room to call a man pretty.) This wasn’t the first time I’ve felt this womanly feeling. But as I'm finding myself more introspective about who I am, I became very aware that I was thinking of myself presenting more female than male. Everything about my clothing was decidedly male, but I wasn’t thinking of myself as male. It was a very strange moment to realize, connect with, and acknowledge that feeling. No one around me knew what was happening to me on the inside, but clarity was washing over me. 

Growing up in a small town I became aware very quickly that my appearance was very important to the adults around me. I remember a time specifically in the 80s when highlighted hair for men was very popular. I wanted highlights so badly I took the hydrogen peroxide bottle from the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink, poured the clear liquid into my hands, slicked it through my hair, then waited for my brunette strands to lighten. They didn’t lighten, of course. Wrong kind of peroxide. But hey, give me some credit for trying to be resourceful. 

When I asked permission to get the highlights done by a professional I was met with a response that still annoys me to this day: “What will the older ladies at church think when you get up to sing?” That question wasn’t so much about me as about the asker, but it was the spark that ignited my flame of apprehension. It wasn’t even my spark and yet it has consumed me for most of my life. For too long I have feared what other people think about me—what I’m wearing, what I’m doing, what I’m saying, how I live--and their response if they object. 

"In all our lives what we believe colors how we feel about ourselves..." Deepak Chopra.

I believed I had to act, dress, and present myself in society’s idea of a man because of the people around me. I struggled to do it, only presenting my authentic self behind closed doors because I was afraid and ashamed. All because I didn’t fit the mold someone else wanted me to fit into. 

My self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-worth were colored for years by the ideals of other people. As an adult, I have often stepped outside the expected boundaries but not without fear of rejection, retaliation, humiliation, and/or punishment. If I experienced none of those things from outsiders, then I’ve been known to heap one or more of them upon myself. The seeds of being ashamed of myself were planted so long ago in the garden of my youth, that no matter how much preening I’ve done there remain thorns sharper than ever in the landscape of my adulthood.

I had an epiphany that day on the subway platform. I don’t know why it took so long. I know I’ve always been more feminine than masculine. It’s in my mannerisms and style choices. Since the day I discovered fashion magazines I’ve been more drawn to the creativity and beauty of women’s fashion. To this day, I read Harper’s Bazaar, Vogue, and W to be inspired by what’s new in women’s fashion. I then take that inspiration and apply it to my own male based wardrobe: a color here, a ring there, a brooch on a lapel, a shoe with more of a heel; mixing masculine and feminine. This is not new information, but it was an Aha Moment--a turning point if you will--toward fully accepting who I am as a person and expressing who I am as a person with more courage and confidence than ever before. 

This has been a very thought provoking few weeks for me. I began to wonder if I was gender-fluid (is that preposterousness?). I don’t feel I’m transgendered. I’m not a transvestite. I don’t want to be a drag queen. Some days I simply feel more female than male, but ultimately I believe my inner and outer genders are a match. This questioning, however, led to some research and a deeply honest conversation with my dear friend, MJ, who considers herself gender-fluid. MJ let me talk about what I was feeling and ask questions, then without fear of judgment revealed details of her own life’s journey to me. It was personal and eye opening. I’m proud of her and respect her. She is one of the brave ones courageous enough to live her life in the light instead of just the shadows. I was searching for a label; a group to identify with (I probably fall somewhere on the spectrum between Metrosexual and Dandy), but I didn’t need that at all. I just needed to be brave enough to be myself, show myself. MJ helped me see that.

I am a man--a homosexual man. I present as a man. I’m attracted to men. I just happen to like to mix the masculine and feminine aesthetics in my everyday presentation. And what of it? It’s simply about having the courage to express my personal style. 

If I want to wear eyeliner, I wear eyeliner. It looks good on me. I'm more confidently embracing the fashionable embellishments with which I choose to adorn myself. I’m also more confidently embracing myself and living as a more authentic me than ever before.

My courage grew three sizes that day on the subway platform when I turned the corner of acceptance and found my own arms open to welcome me. I’m now less worried about other people’s reactions to my trying on women’s shoes or testing nude lipsticks. What does any of it really matter? It’s my life. I own it. Courage and confidence are key factors for any of us attempting to be a self that deviates from society’s norm. 

There’s a newfound joy in my heart. It’s a joy I’ve found because no matter how often I said I was being my authentic self, I realize I wasn’t until now. My journey has taken a turn down a flower-lined path that I’ve honestly been afraid to walk down. Blurring the lines between masculinity and femininity (though not being androgynous) is something I think I’ve been searching for the courage to do since I became aware of fashion and style back in high school.

“Be brave. No one remembers a coward.” 

That quote came to my attention in a story about Marigay McKee in the November issue of Harper’s Bazaar--the Daring issue. Daring is an appropriate word to be swirling around in the mixed bag of descriptor words in my head right now. As an adjective it means “bold or courageous; fearless; adventurous.” I’ve never quite seen myself as any of those things. I often sell myself short though. We are our own worst enemy; harder on ourselves than anyone else could possibly be.

Now back to the that request that opened this piece. The reflection in my mirror has often been distorted by cloudy black spots of fear and self-loathing revealing a dysmorphic, shadowy, confused image. Is that my truth? I think not. But I’m only now beginning to fully accept my truth and have the courage to see the man--his beard and his curled lashes--staring back at me.

In one of her trademark voice overs, Meredith Grey of Grey's Anatomy spoke this kernel of wisdom: "They say shame controls every aspect of human behavior. It's about who we believe we are. But in the end you can't hide. The truth is right there for the world to see. Our shame can choke us, kill us...if we decide to let it. Don't let that happen to you.”

I refuse to be ashamed of or scared to be myself any longer.

The time is now to find the courage to be who you truly are. I, for one, have wasted too much time worrying about the opinion of others. I refuse to waste another minute. There are heroes and role models and pioneers out there for you to glean courage from. Or you can be a pioneer and forge your own path. The world needs you. 

I’m brave enough to be me, to show the world the real me! Are you? Embrace yourself. Accept yourself. Express yourself. Be yourself. If I can find the courage, you can find the courage. We’ve got to be who we are, people.

“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit” E. E. Cummings.

(Here is where I end this chapter. It felt like the complete truth when I wrote it, yet somehow still feels less than fully honest. The journey (and the questioning) continues…)

Wanted Versus Needed

I kept waiting. I kept waiting and watching for something I could latch onto; something that would make me want to write. It never came. At least not in the guise of the spiritual journey I was craving. I’m speaking of watching Life of Pi, the new film directed by Ang Lee. A friend’s response to my disappointment helped me see that maybe what I needed to write about was that disappointment.

I read the novel Life of Pi by Yann Martel many years ago. I remembered enjoying it and from the first moment I saw the trailer for the film version I knew it would be visually stunning. In that department it didn’t let me down. What I’d hoped was that my heart would be filled with some kind of joy at Pi’s spiritual journey on the sea. I wanted to watch his journey because I’m on one of my own and I wanted to see how his played out. Unable to fully remember much more than the essence of the novel, I was prepared to be enlightened on how he saw God.

The thing is: I wanted to take his journey because I don’t know what my journey is. My quest is not like taking the ring to Mordor. I don’t know where I’m going. I was hoping to use this fictional character’s journey as an example, a road map, inspiration.

I’m afraid of God. I always have been. Growing up, God was always presented as a father figure; one that would punish you, like your human father, for your wrong doings--you know...your sins. The punishment from an omnipotent life force, however, is much more daunting than getting spanked or grounded. The punishment from God could be extreme loss (i.e. a job, a loved one, your home). Punishments that carry greater weight and teach a vital lesson of the importance of towing the line, living a good life.

To paraphrase something my father used to say to my sister and me from the front seat of the car as we argued in the back, “If you two don’t stop it God’s going to take one of you away from the other.” Holy shit!! That’s a scary thought. How mean and vengeful is this God I’m supposed to love and serve but can’t help being afraid of? I realize that what he was saying falls into the same category as, “Don’t make me pull this car over.” Both are threats to achieve the ultimate goal of calming the arguing children, but the choice of words used in his threat (more than once on me) helps one understand some of the fear I have of God.

There is a part of me that still believes God will take away my health, job, happiness, life, family member’s lives, etc., if I don’t tow his line.

The ultimate punishment is Hell. I’m terrified of Hell and of spending eternity there. There is a part of me that has not fully accepted the idea that my being gay is not an eternal sentence to the lake of fire. I can’t imagine a God who would allow people to be born with inherent feelings that are already wrong and then punish us for the feelings he allowed us to be born with. I can’t believe that’s true, but at the same time because of my religious past I can’t turn my back on it either. These conflicting feeling are constantly duking it out in my heart. It makes for a disquieting life to be sure.

I want to be able to find my own personal relationship with God--the creator, the universe, etc. I feel like I’m turning my back on God by turning my back on the teachings I learned as a child, though.

I have to find a way to integrate my belief in God--the creator of all life and love--with who I am, separating out the human element of organized religion and how God’s words to us through the Bible have been clouded and made murky by the humans who interpret them the way they see fit.

Back to Life of Pi. Piscine Molitor “Pi” Patel, believes everything is possible instead of believing in one thing. Maybe that is the way to believe. That would mean I have to be open to the possibilities that all teachings regarding the God figure have some truth and that no one knows the full extent of what that truth is.

In going to the film, I wanted to gain some kind of incite into Pi’s ability to survive his dilemma. I wanted to gain incite into his belief in a higher power helping him through his days lost at sea. What I took away was imagery that was more beautiful than some of the most beautiful images in Avatar, but I wanted more than imagery. I didn’t take away a feeling of recommendation. I enjoyed myself and was glad I had seen the film, but I didn’t feel the need to rush out and tell my friends and family they must see it. Argo, on the other hand, I couldn’t stop talking about and have recommended many times.

Maybe I need to see Life of Pi again. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe a second viewing would open my eyes to possibilities of faith and believing that I missed the first time because I was searching too hard.

I struggle with faith--in God, in myself, in my friends, in my coworkers. I don’t trust that I might actually be good at my job and that making the wrong choice one day doesn’t mean I’m not making 100 right ones the next. It doesn’t mean that I’m not good at my job. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. Questioning my life in respect to God and how I perceive him and the relationship I have with him is not wrong either. Humans are wired to question. I started questioning when I left home for college in 1989 and nearly 24 years later, I still wonder if I’m doing the wrong thing by questioning even though I know I would be a fool not to question. 

Change doesn’t happen if we just let people tell us what to do without standing up and saying, “I don’t believe that’s the right course for me.” 

I have to find my faith. I have to believe it’s okay to question. I have to develop a relationship with God that is mine and no one else’s. I have to be strong enough to let no one stand in my way with said relationship, and I have to be strong enough in my faith that it can be questioned by someone else and I can know that my choice was the right one for me no matter what any one else thinks. (Validation rears its head)

I’m not there yet. I’ve been trying to get there for a long time. I think there’s still a certain amount of fear of disappointing my parents where all things religious are concerned. Imagine a boy who leaves home at 18 and at 41 is still struggling with disappointing his parents over the way he believes in God versus the way he thinks they want him to believe in God.

It should be as simple as I believe in God. Enough said. But in my head it’s not enough.

Pi was strong. He believed what he believed as a child and carried that with him into adulthood. He believed. He survived.

It’s interesting how a movie that I thought I got nothing spiritual from actually opened the door for me to admit my own spiritual desires and fears. I guess I did get something important from Life of Pi after all. Something more important than the copper-colored clouds hiding the sun beautifully reflected on the bluest of seas. 

I didn’t sit in the darkened movie theater crying and finding my heart overwhelmed with faith beyond my own. What I got, after the fact, was the questioning of why I struggle so hard with my faith and the desire to create my own personal relationship with God.

It is true: sometimes you get what you need instead of what you want. The trick is to see what it is that’s being presented and use it to your advantage. 

The journey continues...

Validation

Who am I kidding. I have a validation problem. I look for it everywhere. From strangers, from old friends, from acquaintances, from people I haven’t seen in 20 years. It doesn't’ matter who they are as long as they pat me on the cyberspace back.

My quest for validation: a desire to prove my worth from the responses I get from other people. Responses from people who tell me how much they like something I’ve written, or tell me how much they enjoyed the song I sang. I’m never in a better mood than when I am complimented for something I’ve created, performed, or dressed myself in that day. It makes me feel good about myself. That means I’m not finding that joy within me but relying on other people to create it for me. I’m at the mercy of someone else’s opinions and feelings. That sucks! Plain and simple. 

Lets go back a few years. I wasn’t popular in high school. I know, waaa! Poor me! But seriously, I wanted so to be. I wanted to be one of the desired crowd. I wanted to be one of those people who lifted other people’s spirits if I deigned to talk to them. I realize how horrible that sounds even as I type it. It was a long time ago in the age when high school meant everything. Instead, I was one of the people whose spirits got lifted when the “in” crowd spoke to him. Now, I’m not going to paint myself as a complete social outcast. I wasn’t. But I was fumbling along in the middle. I thought the one thing that set me apart was my voice--I was one of a handful of people in my tiny high school who sang everywhere and anywhere. That didn’t set me apart in a good way. It made me a target. It gave people (mostly my male classmates) a reason (or another reason) to call me names. And that, many of them did. 

I can’t believe that I’ve been out of high school for nearly 24 years and I am still striving for popularity. One of my coworkers says that I am adored at work. Says that people light up around me. They want to be my friend. They laugh at my actions, words, or reactions because the intention is to make them laugh. Or to shock them. These people are not laughing at me. There’s no finger pointing and snickering behind my back. The feeling that comes over me during these moments must be how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes. I have a sense of joy and acceptance that makes my skin glow like that of a pregnant woman. I feel like Sally Field and I want to say, “...you like me, right now, you like me!” I am validated. Oops. There’s that word.

I have somehow connected validation and popularity. I notice it when my blog hasn’t gotten enough page views. I notice it when my tweets don’t get enough retweets or favorites. I notice it when my Facebook status doesn’t get enough “likes” or comments. I feel that no one cares, and that makes me want to slink away into the corner of some room, make myself really small, and wait and wonder if anyone will know that I’m missing. It’s a pattern. It’s a ridiculous pattern, but the good thing is I recognize it. That means I can address this action, ask myself why I do it, and then start stopping it in its tracks.

Mixed in with the popularity and validation issues is my subscription to low self-confidence. It surprises me that I have a lack of confidence. That person who used to sing all the time sometimes did so in front of crowds that numbered in the thousands. That person used to sing and dance in musicals. That person danced in dance concerts. I used the adrenaline kicked in by the nerves as power. I knew I could do it. I knew I could remember the words, the notes, the dance steps. I knew I could deliver the goods. Now, that kid from high school, who hated walking into a populated room of classmates is back, and fearful of the mockery that he thinks exists on everyone's lips where he's concerned.

Validation, popularity, and confidence.

• I know that I have to be proud of myself and step away from the need for validation by others.
• I know that popularity is a status I’ve concocted in my brain.
• I know that I have to find confidence within myself.

I know all of the above listed things. The problem is: knowing and believing are two different matters. I can say I know and understand the bulleted lines above over and over, but there are times when I’m drowning in my lack of self-confidence, grasping for validation from someone if only to prove that I’m doing the right thing, that I’m good at what I do. I can’t seem to keep a firm grip on my desires to be self-confident and to live my life for me, not for others. I can’t seem to hold on to the desire to live a life where other people’s opinions--good or bad--don’t matter.

My lack of self-confidence makes so many of my choices become questions instead of statements. I look to someone else to validate those choices. I haven’t been able to pinpoint what happens mentally, physically, on those days when I exude self-confidence, but I can usually tell you what happened that caused me to cower in the corner questioning every decision.

These are all things I’ve been talking about in therapy. They keep coming up because I realize they exist and I’m trying to understand how I got this way so that I can move forward with my life--trusting myself, having confidence in myself, needing no validation, being proud of who I am and the work I do.

I know it’s a process. I struggle with that. I like the quick result. This is not going to have a quick result. This is going to take time. I’m going to have to dig deep and come to terms with what I desired in my past and what I have in my present so that I can create the future I want.

This entry is not intended for gaining sympathy or pity from the reader. This entry is an attempt to put into words my feelings so that I may better understand how to move past them and move forward in my life. It is merely an admission--an effort to expose once again, my secrets, hangups, and flaws.

The journey continues...

Hateful Ch(r)i(stia)cke(n)s

Something is stirring, shifting ground...it’s just begun. Edges are blurring all around, and yesterday is done. Feel the flow, hear what’s happening: we’re what’s happening. Don’t you know? It’s our time, breathe it in: worlds to change and worlds to win. Our turn coming through, me and you, man, me and you! [1]

I have so far staid my opinion from social media on this subject, choosing instead to ask questions and express thoughts in dialogue with friends and coworkers, but when my brother-in-law “liked” the I Support Chick-fil-A page on Facebook last week, my heart fell. It felt like a slap in my face; a blatant disregard for me as a person. He knows I’m gay and he doesn’t approve. I don’t deny him his feelings, they’re his feelings. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I’ve known about Chick-fil-A’s anti gayness for years. I express my distaste at their practices by choosing to exercise my freedom of choice and not eat there. I haven’t patronized a Chick-fil-A in so long I can’t remember the last time I tasted one of their waffles fries. 

Here’s what I don’t understand: would we (the gay community) be completely disgusted if Boston’s mayor, Thomas Menino, suggested that Boston wasn’t necessarily the right place for a gay owned restaurant? By saying in a letter to Chick-fil-A founder, S. Truett Cathy, “I urge you to back out of your plans to locate in Boston” and “There is no place for discrimination on Boston’s Freedom Trail and no place for your company alongside it,” he sounds as if he’s discriminating. Isn’t it discrimination? Shouldn’t the owner be able to believe what he chooses whether we agree or not? I’m honestly asking. What happened to “Judge not lest ye be judged?” What happened to “Live and let live?” What happened to “Live together, Die alone?” Discrimination is discrimination, right? 

We will not all agree...ever!

JUDGE NOT, LEST YE BE JUDGED

My parents do not believe in gay marriage. Does that mean, should I ever meet a man and fall in love with him and choose to commit my life to him, with the exchange of rings and vows, they wouldn’t be there? I don’t know. Maybe if that ever happens they will have a softening of the heart and show up anyway. Maybe they will change their minds and just be happy for me. I can’t worry about that (even though you know I do). It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that they love me as a person, but disapprove of my life. I can admit that. But the person I am and the life I live are connected. I know they love me, but knowing they disapprove gnaws at the back of my head more than I wish.

It doesn’t change my longing for them to choose me, their gay son and his feelings, over dining at a restaurant whose owner views me as less than the person he is. 

I often question how my (relations removed upon request) will feel when they finally learn the truth about me. Will the guidance of Christian parents who disapprove overpower their willingness to accept and love me for who I am? Because they are so young and I’ve always been in their lives, will I be the difference, the example, to them that I never had growing up?

Should I shun all the friends I have who don’t agree with equality as it translates to basic rights or marriage? Should I cut them out of my life? No!! What I’m prone to do is cut them from my Facebook news feed. We don’t have to agree on politics or religious views. That’s my freedom of choice. 

I saw these words in my news feed on Facebook recently, “...Family values is not hate speech.” Every person in the world is allowed their own belief in what constitutes family values. To some it may be a married man and woman having children and going to church three times a week. To others it may be an unmarried couple buying a home and sharing a life together. And yet others may see their homeownership and parentage of a child with a same sex partner, married or not, as the most joyous of family values. What constitutes a family is a gray area. It's not always black and white. I understand the gray area is difficult, believe me, but there isn't always a set rule.

“I wish we could all get along like we did in middle school...” Remember that line from Mean Girls? Okay, maybe we didn’t all get along in middle school, but jeez this constant bickering between the pro gays and the anti gays is exhausting. Pretty soon we’ll all just have to cook at home because the anti’s will boycott anything that supports gay people and the pro’s will boycott anything that doesn’t. It’ll be segregation all over. We’ll be planting gardens (good for the environment) and raising chickens (bad for the chickens) and making our own clothes (bad for everyone).

What if Verizon started supporting hate groups, but Sprint didn’t? Would I have to switch to Sprint? Would I be expected to cancel both of my American Express cards if I suddenly found out they were anti gay? How can I find out to whom the farm that grows my organic blueberries donates their money? What about Johnson & Johnson and their slogan, "A Family Company?" What if I'm not part of their "family" idea. Would "No more tears" be nothing more than a Donna Summer/Barbra Streisand duet? When does it stop? The point is, there’s probably something within each business that each of us can find to disagree with.

LIVE AND LET LIVE

Someone is on your side, someone else is not. While we're seeing our side, maybe we forgot. They are not alone. No one is alone. Hard to see the light now, just don't let it go. Things will come out right, now. We can make it so. Someone is on your side. No one is alone. [2]

All we truly want is to be treated as people. Human beings. Everyone equal. Everyone with the same rights as the next person. How is anyone affected by the union of two people? I don’t understand that. It seems so simple to me. If two people want to get married what does it matter? When my sister got married I didn’t lose her. I gained a brother-in-law. When my cousin Leah got married I gained a cousin-in-law. When my cousin Casey gets married, I’m gaining another cousin-in-law. Their lives are their lives. Deciding to join their life with another person should do nothing more than bring me joy. 

Why does it have to be so difficult? Why are we fighting so hard to get our way? Both sides are doing this. Butting heads and hating. Everything is out of the closet. The haters stand on the corner with their nasty signs spitting their hate speech and the ones fighting for nothing more than equality in humanity are spitting back. We’re all covered in spit and we need to take a shower. We need to get back to remembering that this country was created by people who wanted freedom. This country was founded with the desire that all men be equal. ALL! That is all of us. No one can speak for how our founding fathers would react to our nation today. They’re all dead.

The Bible cannot be used to decide policy in America. It just can’t. Believe the Bible or don’t, but it can’t be used to determine my rights or your rights. I can’t be governed by the Bible. The Bible tells me I’m going to Hell. I can’t believe that. I made no choice to be gay. I made a choice to believe in God and Jesus and live the best life I can live. I made a choice to try every day to do unto others as I would have them do unto me. I don’t always succeed. But I have goals. Tomorrow I try again. What makes my life worth living if I am to believe Hell is the only thing that awaits me?

LIVE TOGETHER, DIE ALONE

No more giants waging war! Can't we just pursue our lives, with our children and our wives {or husbands}. 'Til that happy day arrives, how do you ignore...all the witches, all the curses, all the wolves, all the lies, the false hopes, the good-bye's, the reverses? All the wondering what even worse is still in store? All the children? All the giants? No more. [3]

We’re fighting with each other except this time instead of Yankees and Confederates we’re Pro-Equality and Family Values. It’s a Civil War fought with words and picket signs and images. Christians are not superior. Heterosexuals are not superior. Homosexuals are not superior.  

I am frustrated that with all that goes on in our world on a daily basis we’re provoking each other over a restaurant that serves chicken and waffle fries and is closed on Sunday. Of course, this is not about chicken. It’s about where the money goes and the hate it is used to fund. I don’t have time to worry about this restaurant or its founder. I just don’t eat there. My money is not spent there, but I can put my money toward anything promoting equality. That’s my choice. So he gives his money to hate groups. Let’s give ours to love groups. 

Should the gay rights activists stoop to the level of the haters? No! It’s my opinion that we are a kinder, more loving population, striving to push this country forward. Yes, we have to push back against them. We can’t be wall flowers bullied by the majority, but we don’t have to instigate the argument. We don’t have to provoke the Palin’s and Bachmann’s of the world back into the spotlight. 

“Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet.” Words by Maya Angelou. She’s right. There’s a lot a hate going on right now. I think fear causes most of it. Being uneducated about people of different creeds, races, religious beliefs and sexual orientations freaks people out. Those who choose to stay uneducated let that fear, that creeps in from lack of knowledge, boil until they seethe with hate. Take a second. Learn something. Try to understand someone else. Knowledge truly is power.

So, Mr. Cathy is a family values-oriented Christian man. That’s great. Good for him. I will not patronize his restaurant. Not because he’s a Christian, but because he thinks I’m not. What I can do is patronize his competitor. What I can do is give money to organizations that I believe in, organizations that believe in me, organizations that support equal rights for all.

Through every generation there has been disappointment and progress. Hate groups are a disappointment. The right to marry the man I love in New York City is progress. For all the progress Pro-equality is making the Family Values team is fighting back. What would happen is this country if we didn’t fear each other? Didn’t worry about the bedroom antics of each other? What if we didn’t judge? What if we lived and let live? What if the Bible was treated as a guideline instead of the rule book? What if everyone believed there was a higher power who loved each of us for who we are and wasn’t sitting on a throne way up in the sky hidden behind the clouds shaking his head, waiting for the moment he could take revenge? What if love one another meant love one another not just the ones you deem worthy? 

I’m worthy. I’m trying to live the best life I can live on a daily basis. I’m trying to show anyone who will see me, read my words, or listen to me that I’m just a normal man, who laughs and cries, walking through this life like everyone else. So what if I’m gay? Being born white, being born black, being born gay, being born straight, being born female, being born male, being born with blue eyes, being born with crossed eyes, being born with brown or blond hair was not in my control. I was born at 12:28pm on June 8, 1971, a gay, white baby with blue eyes (the left one crossed). My hair was blond initially and by about 3 years old it was well on its way to brunette. I had no control over any of it. I’m worthy. I’m striving to love myself and be proud of myself every day. The vile haters in the world do not make it easy, but with time comes strength and with strength comes courage. 

I have the strength and courage to say that Chick-fil-A will not receive my money. I will not protest with a gay kiss-in in front of one of their locations. I will love who I love and say that I do. I will not be ashamed of the way God made me. I will continue to believe there is a higher power that supports me. I will believe that my beautiful niece and nephew will have a better understanding of me and that I’m not a threat to them or anyone else just because we’re different. I have to believe that as slow as it’s coming, change is afoot in our country and in this world. Change for the better.  

People make mistakes. Hate is a mistake born out of ignorance. Hate is learned. My hope is that one day those who learn tolerance and those who learn to accept other people's differences overtake those who learn to hate on the bar graph of life.

[1] lyrics from “Our Time” from Merrily We Roll Along by Stephen Sondheim

[2] lyrics from “No One Is Alone” from Into The Woods by Stephen Sondheim 

[3] lyrics from “No More” from Into The Woods by Stephen Sondheim

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.” That line from The Wizard of Oz is part of pop culture now. I am reminded of it and the vicious animals it mentions as I think of some of the candidates vying for the Republican presidential nomination. Bachmann and Perry and Gingrich, oh my! Singsong it with me. Bachmann and Perry and Gingrich, oh my!!

Bachmann. She won’t respond to an 8-year old who says his lesbian mother doesn’t need fixing, but she’ll certainly cast an icy glare at said mother. She’s a coward, Mrs. Bachmann. Maybe the child’s mother shouldn’t have put him up to saying those words to Mrs. Bachmann. Maybe the child thought them up on his own. Who cares? The child spoke the truth to her. To him, the lesbian is nothing more than his mother. Bachmann and her husband call the Kinsey Report a myth. That’s their defense when asked to respond to the alleged fact that 10% of the population is gay. It seems to me that the Bachmann’s like to make feather-ruffling statements to goad liberal-public outrage. They then stand back and watch or walk away and watch. I’ve always wondered how gay people getting married affects heterosexual people. I mean lets face it, heterosexual people getting married doesn't affect me. Bachmann has been asked by a gay-friendly, heterosexual man what her issue is with gay marriage. She has been quoted saying, "Public schools would have to teach that homosexuality and same-sex marriage are normal, natural and that maybe children should try them." Bullshit! That’s like telling a heterosexual person to try homosexuality if they really think it’s a choice. All people, children included, she be taught that all people are equal no matter their color, sexual orientation or religious beliefs. Gay is not a disease. It can’t be cured. I’m not sick. To me, being gay is normal. I’ve been gay all my life. Maybe if children were taught that being gay is as normal for some as being straight is for others we wouldn’t have so much gay bashing and bullying in schools.

Perry. He seems to think the country was better off when gay people couldn’t serve openly in the military. He uses his religious beliefs as a basis for his comments. You see, he thinks being gay is a sin. Doesn’t religious teaching come from man? Isn’t it man’s interpretation of God’s word? My question is, why is it better for someone to risk their lives for the country, in time of war, hiding the truth of who they are? Doesn’t the real problem with the repeal of DADT have to do with the heterosexual people who are scared of homosexual people? Let’s be honest. There are straight men who think that every gay man wants to sleep with them. I’ve worked with one of those men in my life. While living in Nashville, Tennessee I had a manager who on my last day of employment wished me well in my new venture, but said he still didn’t want to shower with me. What a confusing statement to make. I’m sure my face registered some sort of shock as I said I didn’t want to shower with him either. He responded to me saying, “Yes, you do.” Truthfully, I didn’t want to shower with him. I didn’t want to sleep with him. (Perry thinks we gays should just abstain from sex.) I might have wanted to see him naked, I will admit that, but it was nothing I ever would have acted upon. I thought he was handsome, but I knew he was straight. I also knew he was uncomfortable with me being a gay man. Everything about that situation was his problem not mine. I never flirted with him. Not even accidentally. I was very aware of my surroundings and his homophobia. Is my desire to see a handsome man - gay or straight - naked any different from a straight man’s desire to see a beautiful woman naked? As for that abstention, maybe Mr. Perry should abstain. No, that would be silly wouldn’t it. Who am I to say that because we don’t have the same kind of sex that I think you’re wrong and should just bury your desires somewhere in the back of the closet you wish I would crawl back into?

Gingrich. He’s a heterosexual man against same-sex marriage who thinks the government should be defending DOMA even as his record stands at: marriage - 3, divorce - 2. He cheated on his first two wives. So much for the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. What makes his current wife think that his desire to "uphold personal fidelity to my spouse" is really going to work this time? Maybe he wasn’t listening to those vows about honoring until this third marriage. Gay marriages have as much likelihood as straight marriages at being successful. People cheat, both gay and straight. People stay faithful, both gay and straight. One of my best friends from college - a person who has been in my life through tears and laughter, ups and downs, loneliness and companionship - has been with his partner more than 10 years. They have been husband and husband for 7 years. They’re faithful and loving. It’s a gay marriage that’s working. Love is what should matter, not the plumbing of the two people exchanging rings.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could all just treat each other as equals? As people? Instead of the governing few spewing their rhetoric upon the masses and trying to make it law? What if we could just respect each other instead of living in fear. What will happen in this country if we elect leaders who want to do nothing more than stop the progress of human rights for all people?

I realize that I live in one of the most - maybe the most - liberal cities in the country. We all live together - gay, straight, bi, transgender - in the biggest melting pot of races and sexual orientations around. I’m here, a citizen of the United States of America. I’m not invisible. None of the aforementioned politicians represent me and none of them have my best interests at heart.

The fight for equality is going strong and that makes those opposed fight just as hard to block it. There’s a heightened sensitivity to any comment, look or gesture that might be misconstrued as prejudice. I’m very conflicted about that sensitivity. It’s a fine line between allowing the bullies to walk all over us and realizing there was no harmful intent. We need balance. When will the road even out? I don’t remember necessarily being offended when someone said, “That’s so gay” before it became such an issue. I’m not saying we shouldn’t stand up against the big things, but being sensitive to every inconsiderate, ignorant, button-pushing person out there makes us look like weaklings, like tattle-taling children. That’s an odd statement, I know, considering how strong the gay community truly is. My dad used to tell me to ignore the bully and he will eventually leave you alone. That’s easier said than done; I know that. Shouldn’t we start ignoring some of the slanderous verbiage so that those who spout it will realize they aren’t affecting us anymore and they will slink off to pick on someone else?

Gay people in the 21st century have gained enormous strides. We are stronger and more represented than ever. We have more support from the heterosexual community than I realized. What scares me is the unsupportive who listen to the bile spoken on a national platform from the lions and tigers and bears mentioned above. They would have us back in the closet, sitting quietly in a corner, averting our eyes in shame. They would have us be second class citizens, unworthy of human respect and protection. There is no closet. There is no shame. There is no hiding.

I may not be wearing a neon button proclaiming I’m gay to the world as I walk down the street, but I am tired of the sexual orientation prejudice that divides us as people and families. Love is inherent. Hate is taught. How about instead of teaching the children of today fear, lets teach them tolerance, acceptance and love. Let's teach them courage. Let’s teach them that it’s okay to be you and me. How about we teach them equal rights for all.

Melancholia

In the new film Melancholia, written and directed by Lars von Trier, Melancholia is the name of a planet that has been hidden behind the sun and is now visible, rapidly moving toward a collision with Earth.

Melancholia (from Greek meaning sadness) according to Wikipedia is a mood disorder of non-specific depression. Dictionary terminology defines it as: a gloomy state of mind, especially when habitual or prolonged; depression. In his New York Times review, A. O. Scott quotes Freud’s description of the emotional disorder melancholia as: “a profoundly painful dejection, cessation of interest in the outside world, loss of the capacity to love, inhibition of all activity, and a lowering of the self-regarding feelings to a degree that finds utterance in self-reproaches and self-revilings, and culminates in a delusional expectation of punishment.”

It seems appropriate that a planet ready to wipe out our very existence would be given a name meaning depression. A gloomy state of mind with loss of interest in all activity seems par for that course.

The film is broken into two parts. “Justine” and “Claire” respectively. Justine is a girl battling her demons of depression and Claire is her sister, the one who holds it all together. In part one, we see Justine on her wedding day. Claire is trying to keep everything moving smoothly as Justine tries to just be present. In part two, we see Claire become the unhinged sister as the threat of total annihilation sets in while Justine remains calm. Inspiration for the film is said to have come from Trier's own life after suffering a depressive episode and gaining insight that depressed people remain calm in stressful situations. This makes the title an apt choice. Nothing I’m saying here is a SPOILER. All of the above plot points were revealed to me in the New York Times review.

What’s it all about? That’s a question I kept posing to myself during the first part of the film. I have to say here that I thought it was slow. I found myself interested but wishing for something to happen. I was intently watching Kirsten Dunst who plays “Justine” so as to not miss a look or breath. She has been well received in the film and already won Best Actress at Cannes. However, I found myself wishing to see Alexander Skarsgard, the man playing Justine’s husband (and the hot vampire Eric on True Blood) strip down to less than his wedding tux. Alas, we managed a glimpse of him in tuxedo shirt and boxer briefs, but that was all. Focus!

I kept thinking, “What is going on at this wedding?" "Why is she so weird?" "Why is no one talking about the planet?" Then everything changed and my reason for sticking with this film was made known.

What would you do if you knew you were going to die? In the distance, that planet you see approaching. Yeah, it’s going to hit us.

Charlotte Gainsbourg plays “Claire” and to me she was the breath of exciting air that this film needed. The moment that her story took center stage I was more intrigued. She’s a wife and a mother. She fears the approaching planet. She tries to not look up information on the Internet about its approach but fails. She can’t stop herself from viewing the planet’s ever-nearer proximity to Earth. She doesn’t want to believe the inevitable, but can’t resist. When she checks one more time to see if the planet is closer her despair is palpable. As Claire began to have trouble breathing, I found myself focusing on my own breathing. Watching her was like getting a glimpse of the way I would act should this be happening to Earth in 2011. Or for that matter December 2012. Thanks Mayan calendar. Prepare to comfort me folks. I tend to get a little unhinged myself.

If life as you know it were going to end in a matter of minutes or days, what would you do? Would you freak out? Would you remain calm? Would you cry? Would you be able to leave your house, your bed? Would you spend every moment with your family and friends? Would you be able to sleep? Would you be able to not sleep? Would you enjoy your favorite glass of red wine? Would you sing a song? Would you soak up the sun and breath the air? Would you commit suicide?

Life is fragile and precious. Do we take the time to live every moment as if it was our last? No. I don’t think most of us live as if we might not take another breath. I don’t. I get inspired to live that way when I see a film like this or hear a song about said ending, but it doesn’t always stick. Life is fleeting. It may seem like we’ve been here forever when we’re 40, 50, 80 years old, but we’re just a speck in the great scheme of life. We have to enjoy it while it lasts. Live it while we’re in it. What Claire suffered from is the fear of impending doom; it all but paralyzed her ability to continue living. I suffer from that dread when something – a spanking from my father, the results of the doctor’s exam, the rapture, a planet crashing into Earth – is pending and I have to wait for it to happen. I know it’s coming and that makes everything worse.

I’m left to ponder the question, “What would I do?” I know myself well enough to know that I would freak out. I would stress myself into a blithering heap of blood and bones, barely able to leave the house. I would probably take a sleeping pill to ensure that I calmed my anxiety-prone self into sleep. There would probably be no relief from the pain that would take up residence in my chest. That dread of impending doom. How do you even pretend to live when you know the worst is coming? Even though I know man cannot predict the rapture, I was a wreck the day of its predicted happening. I sat at my desk, the very desk where I am now writing, and I watched the still water in the glass sitting next to my computer. I thought if there was going to be an earthquake and we ascended to Christ the water would surely move. It didn’t move. I was watching for any ripple, ala Jurassic Park. Nothing happened. The appointed time came and went. The sense of relief I felt was stupid considering I had worked myself into the frenzy.

Melancholia will not be for everyone. It can be slow and tedious, but it can also be beautiful and thought provoking. The acting by its two females – especially as they change emotional positions – is the first reason to get sucked in. I do not regret watching it if for nothing more that to connect the beautiful pieces together and to see a little bit of myself that I know I should change.

Reconciliation Pending

So here it is October 2010. I’ve been living life out-of-the-closet for 17 years. I’ve been out to my sister for 13 years, out to my mom for 4 years and out to my dad for almost a year. Funny how I still can’t seem to reconcile my homosexuality with religion.

Kurt: The reason I don't go to church is because churches don't think very much of gay people…I think God is kinda like Santa Claus for adults. Otherwise God's kind of a jerk, isn't he? I mean he makes me gay and then has his followers going around telling me it's something that I chose. As if someone would choose to be mocked every single day of their life!

Those feelings were brought back to the forefront of my life by the unlikeliest of things. Glee. That’s right, I said Glee. The “Grilled Cheesus” episode, which aired on October 5, 2010, is still running rampant through my brain. Kurt, the gay character on the show, spoke the words italicized above. The writer of the episode, Brad Falchuk, had his finger on the pulse of my past and present. The words issuing forth from the mouths of the characters were words that I myself have said aloud – pros and cons. I can’t seem to let it go. Maybe that’s because it’s always been an issue for me. Hell, it’s more than an issue; I’ve had a subscription for years.

• Religion – a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons
• Church – the whole body of Christian believers
• Faith – belief that is not based on proof

My early life is completely shaped by religion. Or is it church? Or is it faith? It’s all so confusing. In a medium-sized building add Christians and sinners. For texture and color sprinkle in a few homosexuals, a dash of the self-righteous, a backstabber or two and some truly good people. Add faith in God. Mix together until smooth and Church-like. Smother completely with religion. Simmer on low until inevitable boil(over).

I’m from a small town where there’s a church building on every corner instead of a Starbucks. I jest, but not a lot. I was raised Baptist. My family attended three times a week – Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night. When there was a revival or summer tent meeting, we were there every night. Most of my friends, if not all, were part of the church.

I was very involved in my church growing up. My involvement was mostly in the form of music. I was 7 years old the first time I sang in church. If I remember correctly it was with my dad’s family. My first solo was a song called “Consider The Lilies.” I remember that like it was yesterday. I was at Central Baptist Church. Over the years, and in many different churches, I was a soloist or part of a group. The interesting thing is that I would stand up there in front of a congregation and sing of God’s love, all the while struggling in silence with my inner demon of homosexuality. Also knowing that most of the people who were listening to me sing, and enjoying it I might add, would not approve of my homosexuality. Truth be told I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to sing in church.

Sue: Do you believe in God, Jennie?
Jennie: Do you?
Sue: No, I don’t.
Jennie: Why not?
Sue: Because when we were little girls, you were perfect in my eyes and I watched the world be cruel to you so.
Jennie: God never makes mistakes. That's what I believe. You want me to pray for you Sue?
Sue: Yeah, that would be nice

The above is dialogue from the before mentioned episode of Glee. It took place between ballsy, tough-as-nails Sue Sylvester and her older sister Jennie, who has Down syndrome. I spent a lot of time praying that I wouldn’t have the feelings I had. That meant a lot of time praying that I wouldn’t be gay. That meant that I was trying to change the fundamental way I was born. I never would have chosen to be a gay man. I have felt shame for it, but that shame was derived from the way other people made me feel. I wasn’t strong enough to just accept me. I am thankful to work in a community where diversity, individuals and gay people are welcomed. Everyone doesn’t get that opportunity. I’m hard enough on myself, I don’t need to feel guilt over who I was born to love, particularly from a church of people who pick and choose what passages of the Bible are most important to teach. I said to my mom when we had the “coming out” talk that God doesn’t make mistakes. I still believe that. What if the gay teens that committed suicide could have turned to their church for support? Forgive me, but I just don’t think it would be there. As a pre-teen/teenager, the pastors that I had in my life would have done nothing to support me and everything to scare me into change. What is painful is the void left by the church family that I once had.

Here’s what I don’t understand. We’re all created in God’s image, right? That means that I am, as well as every other gay person in the world, created in His image. So if we’re all created in God’s image and God doesn’t make mistakes, why is there so much fear and hate? Why is it that I feel, as a gay man, I wouldn’t be welcomed as a church member? Why is it that I feel most of the prayers that would be sent up to heaven regarding me would be in the hopes that I would change my sinful ways instead of prayers lifted up just asking for blessings and support for my life. Life is hard enough. Maybe I’m the one stuck in the past. I’m willing to admit that all of these feelings could very well be residual from the fears of my youth. I don’t know.

So many people depend on their church for support. The world is a tough place for anyone that is different. Gay people don’t have the support of a church in a lot of cases. God is love. At least He is in my life. I feel that where religion is concerned a person has to believe, without question, what is being taught from the pulpit. After I left for college I didn’t really attend a church anymore. The more I began to understand and accept myself and question religion, the harder it was to go back and sit in a pew amidst people that I knew wouldn’t accept me for who I am; for the way I was born.

Why do people still, STILL, insist it’s a choice? How can anyone think being gay is a personality disorder (that one’s for you Christine O’Donnell of Delaware) or that it can be overcome (that one’s for you Elder Packer)? In her song “One of Us”, Joan Osborne asked the question, “What if God was one of us?” Can you imagine how God would react if confronted directly with all the hate and fear that fills many of us these days? I don’t understand how God could allow so many of us to be born gay and allow such hate to be directed at us. Hate is a human condition. You have to be taught to hate.

Journey sings “Don’t Stop Believin’.” I haven’t stopped believing. I just have a hard time believing on someone else’s terms. I believe what I believe and I’m probably more spiritual than ever. Nobody can take that relationship away from me. Nobody can tell me I can’t talk to God. I pray more now than I ever have in my life.

I asked Christ into my heart to save my soul from hell when I was 6 years old. I was gay then. I believed that my soul was saved from eternal damnation. I was gay then. I didn’t know it yet, but I was. God knew it. Now that I know it, am I supposed to believe the verse in the Bible that tells me I cannot see the Kingdom of Heaven? Really? But I believed I was saved from hell. Nothing changed. Sometimes it’s just maddening.

I believe in God. I pray to God. I didn’t denounce God for not changing me into a heterosexual man. That is not who I was born to be. I just ask God for the strength to live a good life and speak the truth, my truth, about him and me. God loves me. I feel blessed every day! I wish closed-minded churchgoers could see beyond the fear and just love and accept.

©2010 Michael Rohrer