National Coming Out Day

Here is what I read in public for National Coming Out Day. Some of it may seem familiar if you've read any of these entries before. ;)

People are here today sharing their coming out stories, which is a wonderful, commendable thing, and I am proud to be in their valiant company today. There is one caveat, however: we may all have a really good story or one “first coming out story,” but we each have many stories. Coming out is a continuing process, renewed (or not) in new places, among new people. Of course for some people *coughs* *my family* it never ends or never even really begins since the thing they ignore long enough goes away until you cast light back onto that area that they chose to let get overgrown by brambles and shadows, then the pattern starts anew. You can get any number of responses when you come out:
“Really?!?”
“Ewww!”
“Well, DUH!!!”
“I’ll pray for you!”
“Get away from me!”
“I respect your choice.”
Choice. That’s the one that still always gets to me a little bit. My father was a career military man. You don’t ponder, think about, consider whether it’s a good idea, choose whom you salute. (I’m a guy, remember, so I’ll let that image process properly a sec.)

NEWAZ, the other question in discussing your own personal tale of coming out is do you relate a story about coming out to someone else or to yourself? Which of all the possible tales is the most touching story, the most important to the teller? Is it the drive to claim power over your self-expression to share with those you care about or even to tick off those that need to be taken down a peg or 72? Is it the emotional account of revealing an integral and important part of your life to your family or best friend? Is it that time you tried to be subtle, but you were apparently too subtle because no one picked up that hairpin your dropped? Is it some hilarious anecdote involving those you work with when the office goes out for an after-hours drink and you end up singing ABBA or quoting Margaret Cho endlessly? Is it that moment within yourself when you stand in front of a special someone first stammering then pursing your lips afraid of saying the incredibly stupid thing that you know you’re inevitably going to say only to have those lips open in acceptance of that first kiss while those worries and the very world around you melt away in a flash of warmth? It all depends on the teller choosing among the myriad possible narratives to share.

I suppose that one of my personal favorite coming out stories involves telling my friend Charlie. Charlie is a registered Democrat and Mormon from East Tennessee. If anyone could understand feeling different, I suppose he could. The day I came out to Charlie was a very strange day. I was at my parents’ house in northeast Tennessee during summer vacation when I was an undergrad. Charlie was coming through town on his way to Washington, DC. He was going to stop by to break up the trip and “sit a spell.” While I was waiting for him to arrive, I received a phone call from Matt, my first serious boyfriend. I had never told anyone about it even though it was a crucial part of my life because I had been raised in a very strict Southern Baptist family. They say my grandfather was a snake-handlin’ preacher. I wasn’t then prepared yet to say that I might be called to a different kind of snake handling.

NEWAZ, Matt was calling me from his folks’ house in Florida. It was the usual “hey-how-are-you-I-miss-you-I-am-so-alone-without-you-we-had-so-much-fun-all-during-the-school-year-and-I-really-love-you-but-now-it’s-summer-and we’re-apart-and-I-wanna-get-my-freak-on-while-I’m-in-Florida-so-let’s-see-other-people-in-fact-why-don’t-we-just-end-it-but-could-you-teach-me-some-cool-things-to-say-to-those-hot-Cuban-boys-I-see-at-the-beach” call. You know that call; we’ve all had them. I wish I could tell you the witty ways in which I let his casual call not faze me, but I can’t remember them, (except for the part about telling him to tell the Cuban hotties that their sisters were old pork by-products). Not long after I hung up from that thrilling call, Charlie arrived. I greeted my friend, but I was a bit dazed. Charlie was starving; he had not had breakfast and it was time for lunch. We decided to go somewhere to get something to eat. At the restaurant, we talked about his trip, what we had both been doing since school got out for the summer, and all manner of trivialities. Charlie is a jokester by nature and was in rare form, but I just wasn’t laughing as much as usual. Charlie noticed that his captive audience wasn’t as chucklebound as usual, so he asked me, “What’s wrong, man? You usually at least laugh politely when I’m tossing the jokes around.”
“I’m sorry. Just a bit distracted, I guess.” I said glumly
“What’s going on?” he asked
“I really doubt you want to hear about it.” I scoffed
“Man, you can tell me anything. Anything but a joke funnier than one of mine!” He laughed.
I felt tired of carrying weight around someone with such levity. “Truthfully? I’m just bummed about a failed romance, I guess.”
“Anyone I know?” he asked
“Not really. Someone I met at school.” I replied
“You know people other than me? What the hell? What’s her name?”
I don’t exactly know why I decided that I would tell him at that point, but I looked at him, took a deep breath, and said, “Matt.”
“HA! That’s a guy’s name! That’s really funny!” He stopped laughing as he realized that this was not some joke. “Oh!...OH! You mean you like guys?”
“That’s half of it, but…Yeah, I mean.” I think I just rolled my eyes when I said it; at least I didn’t cry, or not so much that I’d bother telling y’all…
You could see on his face the way the news processed in his head. “Okay. Well, that’s not what I would’ve thought.”
Like Bette Davis on that ocean cruise in Now,Voyager, I decided to open up: “Honestly Charlie. You’ve seen me snap, and I don’t mean lose control like some postal worker, I mean *snap*. And recall how I sang those Eartha Kitt songs without a trace of irony?”
“Hmmm…I guess you’ve got a point there.” Charlie grinned and looked me right in the eyes. “Look, I don’t care, okay. That doesn’t bother me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m a good joketeller, but a lousy liar. You can talk to me about anything, although I may not want too many details, fair enough?”
“So, no blow-by-blow accounts, huh?” The fact that it was pennes that he proceeded to choke on was something I found just a little appropriate.
“Robert, I would smack you if I didn’t think that was so damn funny!” He laughed heartily, genuinely. I felt a lot better. I showed him a couple of wicked snaps from the heyday of In Living Color. We talked at ease about all manner of things again until it was time for Charlie to get back on the road. He said to me, “I am glad you told me. I am very glad that you felt that you could tell me. Makes me have liberal pride, it does, although I don’t get a parade.”
“Is there such a thing as a parade that’s not somehow gay anyway?” I snapped.
“Again, you’ve got a point.” Charlie gave me a big hug before he got in his car. As he was driving away, he rolled down the window and waved. I waved back. Then, he put his hand out the window again, and snapped. So, if you meet a straight Democrat Mormon with a wicked ability to snap, you’ll know who taught him. His comfort with me being myself gave me the courage to tell other people when I returned to school, & Charlie and many of those to whom I came out those many years ago (you damned whippersnappers!) are still some of my greatest friends and allies.