I’m a child of the 70’s and 80’s. I grew up in a family that was right of center - not very far right, mind you. But, a ‘conservative’ suburban family. My mom was a registered Democrat, my dad, a Republican. We lived, at various times, in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the suburbs of Charlotte and then in a town that was a bedroom community and a stop on the NJ Transit line.
That last locale was a pretty formative part of my upbringing. I fell in with the wrong crowd. And by “wrong crowd”, I mean conservatives. I wanted to be Alex P. Keaton when I grew up. I even wore knit ties and penny loafers. I had a teacher, who I admired dearly, who was a <gasp> liberal, and I would debate with him all the time about abortion or trickle down economics or any other topic that I wanted to take opposition with him on. But, I think even then there was a rebellious side of me wanting to come out.
I won’t spend too much time dwelling on these years, but I can assure you that while I wouldn’t use the “N” word, I will also admit that the “F” word came out of my mouth many times. After all, nobody I knew was gay. Right? Right??
When I went to college (and fell in, again, with a group of pretty conservative people), I spent the better part of 4 years again using slurs, not once believing that I was actually hurting anyone I knew. Everyone was straight. Right?
After I graduated college, I was somewhat aimless. I ended up waiting tables. Switched to another restaurant after a year and, horror of horrors, started working with an openly gay man. Gay people in the restaurant business? Why, who ever heard of such a thing.
Now, in between my sophomore year in college and my sophomore year in the restaurant business, I had some other incidences that began my shift away from pro-life and Reganomics and other childish beliefs. But, nothing opened my eyes as much as working with, well let’s just call him Peter. I was never hostile to him, openly or otherwise. Even though I can’t say I really got it, I liked him. He was funny, cutting and sharp. He was a hoot to be around and we shared a birthday.
So, while I wouldn’t say he and I became friends, we were friendly and he was friends with my roommate.
Well, one day Peter came to our apartment in tears. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but his boyfriend broke up with him and he was upset about it. And, like the scales falling from Saul’s eyes, I got it. This guy loved his boyfriend the way I loved my fiancé. There was no difference in that emotion. Love is love and Peter was hurt, just as I would have been if my relationship was ending.
So, this great awakening had me look at a lot of the world in a new light. I had already ditched the forced birth contingent and laughed at anyone who still thought trickle-down was a thing. I hadn’t completely abandoned my conservative ways, though. I was a complicated person and while I don’t really remember all of my thoughts of the time, I’d be willing to bet I didn’t think gay people should marry. I probably questioned their ability to serve and thought Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was a reasonable policy. I still had a lot to learn.
I’ve talked ad nauseam about my favorite band of all time. And, yeah, I’m going to do it again. In 1993, they released the album “Counterparts”. One of the tracks is called, “Nobody’s Hero” and one verse talks about a friends of Neil Peart’s who he worked with that was gay. Neil said he “prevented me from ever being homophobic”. Peart was working in London at the time and, as friendships often do, they drifted apart when he moved back to Canada.
The first verse is:
I knew he was different in his sexuality
I went to his parties as a straight minority
It never seemed a threat to my masculinity
He only introduced me to a wider reality
As the years went by, we drifted apart
When I heard that he was gone
I felt a shadow cross my heart
Well, now we have a gay man, who died of AIDS being written and sung about by my favorite band. This is getting interesting.
Around that same time, I was asked to be in a wedding for a friend of mine from high school. One of the other groomsmen was a guy from the same class who, back in school, was a small, almost mousey guy. Smart as a whip. Probably would have been called a nerd then. He was another guy I was friendly with, but not really a friend of. We ran in the same circles, but we didn’t hang out together outside of that. Well, he shows up at this wedding after having a growth spurt in college. He’s probably an inch or two taller than me, broad shoulders and really good looking. He actually had to reintroduce himself to me - he had changed that much.
I don’t think I found out then, but years later (probably with the advent of Facebook) that this bear of a man was, well, a bear. (As a straight guy, I hope I’m using that term correctly). I think back to those high school days and wonder if he new he was gay then. I also wonder what I might have said when he was around that was yet another blow to him. Had I known in 1985 that he was gay, how would I have handled it? Would I have come around sooner because someone I knew and liked was gay? Would I have been an asshole? Is that insecurity about how his friends would react the reason he didn’t tell us?
Fast forward to 2009. I had a friend whose wife, and by extension he, hung out with a group of lesbians. What do you call a group of lesbians? Anyway, we met up with this circle of rowdy, fun and welcoming group for a weekend and had a blast. We enjoyed our time with them so much that it was one of the reasons we decided to move to Memphis. And, once we did, we hung out with them a lot. And, had fun. And didn’t give a shit. And laughed at jokes they made about lesbians. What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul.
There are conservatives that tell people in a Big Coastal Elite City™, “Get out of your bubble and see what the rest of the country is like.” The funny thing is, I’ve found that the more I travel, the more I experience, the more people I meet, the more liberal I become. People are just people. Whether they’re gay, straight, bi, or pan. Whether they’re trans or cis. They’re all people. They live and they love, they celebrate and they mourn, they work and they play.
I can’t imagine looking at someone and saying, “You don’t have a right to be who you are, but I do. You can’t be your authentic self, but I can. You can’t love who you want to love, but I can. You can’t get married and be miserable like the rest of us.1”
So, in this Pride month, with all of the idiocy going on over Bud Light, Target and, heaven help us, Chik-Fil-A, I want anyone who is celebrating to know that those of us who see you and love you may not be perfect and may have taken a long time to learn the lesson, but we’re getting there and there are more of us every day.
Just seeing if my wife is still reading.