*********This piece was originally written in August, 2009***********
If my high school experience could have matched that of my high school reunion, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The teenager inside me was fighting an anxiety attack as I pulled up to the venue with my best friend of 25+ years, Sue. She was my security blanket and she did her job well. She was always close by, but gave me the space to “work the room.”
When I parked the Jeep, I found myself psychically embracing that teenager and helping her to find her courage as I checked my lipstick in the mirror. Walking into the reunion being completely authentic resulted in the most joyous “coming out” experience to date.
The warmth and acceptance in the room was nearly palpable. First, I was greeted by my elementary school friend, Annette, who affectionately referred to me as her “bitch.” Believe me, only Annette could get away with THAT! She also had memories that I clearly buried out of sheer embarrassment; one of which was me pretending to be Wonder Woman when I was in second grade (and beyond). What can I say except that the 70s had a unique effect on all of us.
The next highlight was seeing another elementary school classmate, Keely, who exclaimed, “It’s my favorite lesbian!” Now, if only she had realized that back in high school. And, if only I could have been myself during high school. We have all grown up so much.
So many classmates asked about my lovely wife Donna, who graciously stayed home with our children so I could pretend I was 18 again. Of course, she sealed the deal by threatening to impersonate a Mandingo warrior if she were to accompany me. Needless to say, that image stamped out any ideas I had about asking her to change her mind and come.
My high school reunion was remarkable. I often say that being a lesbian is only a part of who I am and is no more important than anyone else’s orientation is to them. Even I have tried to downplay how much of who I am and how I see the world has been shaped by my orientation and the fear I had to live with about how being open and honest could have endangered my well-being. While I may like to believe that I’ve underestimated people’s willingness to embrace differences like mine, I still remember the real danger that people like me live with even today, in small towns across the Nation.
Twenty-five years ago in July 1984, Charles O. Howard, 23, an openly gay man, was attacked by three teenage boys, tossed into the Kenduskeag Stream off the State Street bridge in Bangor and, despite his cries that he could not swim, left to drown. I was thirteen years old when that happened and acutely aware of my own orientation. I was hurt every time I heard people joking that the Penobscot Indians called the bridge in downtown Bangor the “Chuck a Homo” bridge. I can’t even start to tell you how many dimensions of ignorance that joke demonstrates.
I do know that Charlie would have been proud of all of us the night of my reunion. I reflect on how profoundly easy and joyful it was to share pictures of my children with my friends and share stories about family and spouses. Charlie must have been smiling down on all of us. The redemption I felt in my own experience gives me hope that other young men and women who are gay can be themselves and feel safe from the moment they know they are different.
I am hopeful because I’ve seen how my dear friends have learned to accept me and I pray they will raise their children with an appreciation for all dimensions of diversity. It’s a beautiful, brave new world and I’m glad to be part of it.
To the Class of ’89, God bless you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment