When I saw this picture, I was immediately reminded of the novel The Lord Won’t Mind by Gordon Merrick.

The Lord Won’t Mind was the first overtly gay themed novel I ever read. I managed to get hold of a copy when I was in high school. I saw it in a book catalogue that I regularly got in the mail, and I ordered it. Doing this made me quite nervous. I was terrified someone would find out I had ordered this dirty little queer book. But I simply had to have it.

It came in a plain brown wrapper just like all the other books I had ordered. My mother was seriously out of it at the time, and my father was completely uninterested in books--he hadn’t read a book since he was in school--so he just assumed I had ordered yet another classic. Haha

The novel, which was published in 1970, was about two young men in their early 20’s, Peter and Charlie. I believe they were still in college at the beginning. They were described as handsome with a privileged background. They were the type of young men who hung out in country clubs, drove sports cars and traveled to Europe. One was shy and vulnerable and the other was athletic and outgoing. They immediately developed an intense romantic relationship, but trouble starts when the shy one quickly realizes he’s gay and declares he’s in love with his new friend. The other wants to go on pretending he’s straight and only messes around with boys for fun. The sex scenes were remarkably graphic, and I was pleasantly shocked by that.

When Dad brought the package home from the post office, I took it to my room, opened it up and I began reading. I read and read and read until I was finished. I devoured that book. It was basically a romance novel for gay guys, and I was starved for such a story. I remembered that I literally trembled when I read it the first time, and my heart was skipping beats all over the place. I wanted Peter and Charlie to be real. I wanted them to like me. And I wanted to somehow slip into their story.

Marian Morningstar and Her Baby Boy

by Gary Cottle

Marian had fond memories of growing up. She was raised on a playground outside of an elementary school in Daedalus, Maine. Actually, she lived above the playground. Her family’s nest was high up in an oak tree on the playground.

Several times a day she heard the happy sounds of human children playing when they would come out for recess. For the longest time she could only hear the children and not see them, but eventually she was big enough to peek over the side of the nest and watch them. It filled her with joy when she saw that some of them shared food with her parents. Her mom and dad would happily accept the scraps of bread and cookie crumbs, and then they would fly home to the nest to feed Marian and her brothers and sisters.

Sometimes the children would stare up into the tree in order to catch a glimpse of the nest Marian shared with her family, and when they did see it, they would shout with joy. “There it is!” one would say. And another would add, “And there’s the babies!” Marian grew up feeling loved and protected.

Marian was the first of her brothers and sisters to fly out of the nest. She was just so overcome with the joy of being alive she felt compelled to spread her wings and fly at the first opportunity. But she didn’t go far. She stayed relatively close to the nest she had shared with her family. It wasn’t long before the children were giving her food, and Marian was so unafraid, she was almost willing to take it directly from their outstretched hands.

Then one day an awful thing happened. She saw two human boys lure her parents to the ground with a Ritz cracker, and while they were happily pecking at the gift, the boys began pelting them with stones. Both her mom and dad were killed before they had a chance to get away.

Marian’s brother Joe was still in the nest, so she took it upon herself to feed Joe until he was strong enough to fly. But one day when she was in the nearby woods collecting worms, a stray cat went up into the tree and found Joe. When Marian was flying home, she saw the struggle, but it was too late for her to do anything. By the time she reached the nest, the only thing left of little Joe was a few feathers. The cat slinked away with a satisfied grin.

Marian was dishearten and depressed. A few of the local birds dropped by to visit Marian, but she wasn’t in the mood to chat. When the other birds started flying south, Marian’s friends tried to talk her into going with them, but at first she refused. However, she recalled what her mom and dad said about winter, how cold it was and how hard it was to find food, so eventually she decided to join her friends and she flew to Florida with them.

All of the other birds seemed to love Florida, but Marian didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Then she met Lionel Morningstar. He was so nice and attentive. She soon fell in love with him. They began talking about flying home to Daedalus, Maine, in the spring, building a nest in the same tree where Marian grew up and raising a family.

They were so happy when weather reports indicated that it was getting warmer up north. Marian and Lionel immediately took to the air and began their journey home. But sadly, Lionel became ill and it was difficult for him to keep up with Marian. One day when they were flying over Georgia, Marian looked over to her side expecting to see Lionel, but he wasn’t there. When she looked down, she saw that her beloved was falling to the earth. The poor dear’s heart had stopped.

Marian began to dwell on all of those whom she had lost--Lionel, her brother Joe, her mom and dad. She longed to return to the oak tree where she grew up, but she remembered how her idyllic life there had came to a tragic end. Since she knew she would be raising a family on her own, Marian decided she needed to find a safer place to build her nest. So she flew deep into the woods by the playground outside the elementary school in Daedalus, Maine, picked the biggest evergreen she could find, and she constructed her nest near the top.

The nest was very comfortable, if a little cool and breezy, and Marian enjoyed sitting on her eggs. But then the eggs hatched, and Marian had three hungry mouths to feed. Without Lionel there to help, Marion found the task to be difficult, especially since she was terrified to leave the nest for very long. Every time she went in search of food, she would remember what happened to Joe and her parents, so she would rush back after finding a few berries.

If she had been asked, Marian would not have admitted to favoring one of her children over the others, but deep down, she knew that she loved Harry most of all. There was something about him that reminded her of both her little brother Joe and her beloved Lionel. So without thinking, Marian began to feed Harry first every time she returned to the nest with food. She made sure he was good and full before she would move on to her other chicks.

Marian ignored the fact that Harry was growing strong and healthy, but her other two were not. Then one morning she awoke to find that they had both died in the night. Harry asked what was wrong with his brother and sister, but Marian couldn’t bear to tell him. She told Harry to look away as she rolled her dead babies out of the nest.

After that, Marian was determined to see to it that Harry survived. She made sure that he had plenty to eat, and she repeatedly warned him about all the dangers he might expect to find in the world. Much to her surprise, Harry went from being a happy little boy bird to being fearful and anxious. He told Marian that he didn’t want to ever leave her and that he wanted to stay safely in their nest forever.

Marian knew that despite his insecurities, Harry would one day feel compelled to leave the nest just as she had done. And she watched with unease as Harry grew stronger and bigger. Marian kept telling Harry about all of the terrible things that could happen to him if he left her, but she became convinced that Harry would find the resolve to fly away any day.

So one night when Harry was fast asleep, Marian did something unspeakable, something irrational, something she had never imagined herself doing. She took Harry’s left wing in her beak, and she snapped it. Harry immediately awoke and began screaming in agony. Marian hated that her little boy was hurting, but she wasn’t sorry for what she had done. She did not want Harry to fly away. She didn’t want to lose anyone else. So she told Harry a lie. She said to him that she had noticed his wing was growing crooked and that breaking it was necessary so that he would one day have a strong, healthy wing.

It wasn’t long before Harry became restless. He saw other birds flying overhead, and he longed to be with them. When he noticed that a lot of them were beginning to fly south, he wanted to know when he and Marian would join the migration. Marian lied once more and told him they would go soon, and she comforted him by telling him stories about Florida.

Harry grew so large that the nest became crowded, and the Maine air became quite cold. Marian was having difficulty finding food, but still she clung to the belief that she had done the right thing in breaking the wing of her little boy. He was safe in the nest with her at least. But then something unexpected happened, Marian became ill, very ill. She was simply unable to go out in search of food, and both she and Harry began to starve.

Then one day Harry managed to summon enough strength to lift himself up. He hopped to the edge of the nest and got up on the rim. Marian screamed and begged for him to come back, but Harry looked over at her and said, “Mom, I know you broke my wing because you wanted me to stay with you, but I can’t. Not any more. I have to get out of this nest before it’s too late. I know that I probably won’t make it, but I have to go. Hopefully I’ll feel completely alive for the first time as I fall.”

Before Marian could respond, Harry jumped. He managed to sustain himself for a few seconds, but then his bad wing crumpled and he began to plummet. Marian dragged herself over to the side of the nest and looked down, and she saw her little boy’s lifeless body on a bed of pine needles.

　
　

Reflections on Howards End

I just finished watching this. It’s one of my favorites. (Of course I have many favorites.) Those who haven’t read the book or seen the film may not realize that Howards End is a house, and the story pivots on who will inherit this old country house. What Forster, the author of the novel, was really asking was who will inherit England. In his story the answer is the illegitimate son of Helen, a woman who comes from the landed gentry but has lost her home, and Lenard, a man who comes from peasant stock--farmers who used to work for the gentry. Lenard has been swept up in the industrial age. He tries unsuccessfully to rise above his station by becoming a bank clerk in the city. Modernity kills Lenard. He is simply not strong enough to endure the bare-knuckled capitalist system of Edwardian England. But Helen, with her education and modest but secure income, perseveres, and we are lead to believe that their son will lead an idyllic life at Howards End.

Interestingly, Chekhov asks a similar question in The Cherry Orchard, but Chekhov’s answer is a little harder to stomach than Forster’s. In Chekhov’s play, the cherry orchard is acquired by industrialists who immediately destroy it for a quick and fleeting profit without regard to future generations.

Both stories seem particularly relevant to the concerns of the Occupy Wall Street protests. Forster wanted to believe that perhaps some universally beneficial compromise could be reached. Chekhov was sure we were headed toward disaster.

Maybe both men were right in a way. Although England has had serious trouble in the last 100 years, it has prospered, and a large percentage of its citizens have managed to lead decent lives. Russia, on the other hand, was a basket case. But the problems the two stories examines are still with us, and the ultimate answers to the questions posed remain elusive. Who will inherit? Who will be left out in the cold? Can we manage to create a fair and equitable system? Or will the majority live under the thumb of an overprivileged minority, as has been the case for much of human history? Was the expansive middle class that had some measure of wealth, education, and political power a mere anomaly of the modern age, one that will quickly fade into the past?

The above clip is the opening sequence. I love how the film starts on an extremely dramatic note, but then drifts into something quiter and more lyrical. The opening serves the film well. On the surface, the film is about the lives of several families that cross and interconnect, but underneath something very profound is taking place that has consequences for an entire civilization.

Coming Out of Heterosexuality

A bit of satire

by
Gary Cottle



Hi. My name is Josh. It all started when I was six years old. At that age, I didn’t really think about sex or gender identity that much, so I didn’t know that it was weird for me to have a girl best friend. I liked her a lot, but sometimes when we were alone, she would touch me in the naughty place. She also used to insist that I come into the bathroom with her while she peed, so I saw her muffin like a million times. I shouldn’t have seen that. It made me feel totally weird. We spent every day together until we were like eleven. We got along great, so there was no outward sign that anything was wrong. Most of the time we just hung out and played, but every now and then she would touch me, or she wanted me to go to the bathroom with her, so she was totally molesting me. I must have known that it was wrong because I never told anyone at the time. I didn’t know that she was changing me on the inside.

By the time I was twelve, everyone assumed I was straight. They told me I looked straight, walked straight, talked straight. Guys would point out girls at school and say they knew I wanted to have sex with them. They called me "Stud" and "Butch." One guy invited me home and showed me a copy of Playboy magazine. So naturally I thought I was straight. I started thinking about girls, imagining doing stuff with them, really sick stuff…getting naked with them, and rubbing my body against theirs…you know, really hard core heterosexual fantasies.

I got heavily involved in sports. I was a real jock boy. In high school I was on the football team, and I became friends with the head cheerleader. One day she told me that she knew I was struggling with heterosexual feelings and that she was, too. She admitted that she often thought about doing stuff with guys like me. We started dating, and it wasn’t long before she started putting her hands down my pants.

After that, I was completely convinced that I was straight. I believed I would spend my life chasing after girls. I met this one girl at summer camp. She lived a couple of hundred miles away, so the only way we could keep in touch was by texting and exchanging emails. Eventually, we started sending these really sappy, completely heterosexual love letters to each other.

My brother Johnny and his partner Zach suspected I was involved in the heterosexual lifestyle, so they had me come live with them. I was scared to death they’d find out I was messing around with girls. Then one day my worst fears were realized. Johnny was driving me home from football practice, and he confronted me about the mushy, straight emails I was sending to the girl I had met at camp the summer before. I tried to deny it at first, but he had printed out one of the emails and started to read it aloud. I was so disgusted with myself when I heard my brother read those sick words about how I wanted to be with this girl every day for the rest of my life.  He demanded that I explain myself.  He wanted to know how a brother of his could get involved with girls.  I broke down and told him my best friend was a girl when I was a kid, and we used to go to the bathroom together.  I cried like a baby, and I promised I would change.

He kept me home from school for the rest of the week and made me listen to a ton of Adam Lambert and Ricky Martin songs. We watched Brokeback Mountain like ten times, too. I knew that my brother and his boyfriend had a good life together, and I wanted to be just like them. So I asked God to deliver me from all of those wicked thoughts I was having about girls, and when I did, the thoughts suddenly disappeared. I knew then that I was gay and had been all along. When I told my brother, he was so overjoyed, he started singing I’m Just A Sweet Transvestite From Transsexual Transylvania. I tried to join in, but I didn’t know all the words.

I’m a public speaker now. I tell boys that they’re not really straight. I tell them that they’re fooled by heterosexual activists who want to suck them into the heterosexual lifestyle. I tell them no one is born straight. Some of us merely choose to identify as straight. And doing naughty stuff with girls when we’re young makes us vulnerable to dark forces that want to fool us into thinking we like girls.

I used to hate the color pink, but now I try to wear a pink shirt at least once a week, sometimes twice. I’ve been learning show tunes, and I’ve given up football. No one is going to mistake me for a heterosexual ever again. I hope to have a boyfriend like my brother one day. Zach is fixing me up with his gay cousin next weekend. I’m looking forward to kissing a boy for the first time. I think I’m ready. I’m sure I’m ready. …you believe me, don’t you?

___________________

This absurd story was inspired by another absurd story:

Young man's fundamentalist family finds out he's gay and uses emotional blackmail to push him to deny his feelings

Young man's fundamentalist family finds out he's gay and uses emotional blackmail to push him to deny his feelings

Notice that the brother admits to demanding this young man explain why he would be flirting with boys online. After that comes all the silly rationalizations--early childhood experiences are now labeled "molestation", kids called him gay so he thought he was gay, he was tempted by internet porn and other boys, etc.--because this kid knows his family isn't going to just accept him at face value. He has to "change" and he has to explain how he "went wrong."

It's bad enough that they're not letting him tell his own story, but they're turning parts of his story into something pathological. In his father's and brother's eyes, his activity and interest in boys has to be explained. If he had been caught flirting with a girl online, would there have been a need to find some reason for it--some early experience with a precocious neighbor girl? No. And on top of the pathology, there is the suggestion that spooky, evil forces were taking hold of him when he engaged in these activities. It's an insane way of viewing normal human experience. And they're forcing this onto him. The brother admits to demanding he explain his interest in boys, and he made it clear that he wasn't going to accept any answer other than one involving this young man "going wrong" at some point. In the brother's and father's eyes, he can't just naturally have these feelings or have a desire to flirt with a boy. It can't be something as simple as that. He had to create a scenario in which he was tempted, became sick and diseased, and now he is delivered. And in an attempt to further please his family, he is pushing the same kind of formula onto other young people who are LGBT or questioning.

The way this boy's family ganged up on him, manipulated him, and basically forced him to create this bogus narative to explain something that they insist is evil and somehow not right is frightening. And there are people who will sit there and watch this and shake their head thinking that yes, yes, two little boys touching each other will let the gay demons in. It's crazy. This young man is given no space to simply be himself where he doesn't have to justify his every feeling and behavior. It's so scary. Who could live like that?

The father and the brother are the ones molesting this kid. They are molesting his mind.

Spirit Day--Oct. 20, 2011--A few of the Lost Boys to remind us of all the ones we don't hear about.

There are the professional homophobes, the Christianists who make a living out of selling hate. There are politicians who get ahead by dividing us. There are run of the mill haters who simply enjoy hurting people. There are the young bullies tormenting school kids.

And then there are a number of people who let the haters have their way because they don't really want to deal with this issue. They especially don't want to deal with gay youth because that would mean they would have to rethink all of the misinformation they've been hearing for years and half believing, and they would rather not think about it at all.

‎"We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Our generation will have to repent not only for the words and acts of the children of darkness, but also for the fears and apathy of the children of light."

--Martin Luther King, Jr.

That's still true today. The problem really isn't just a few bad apples, a small group of bullies that need to be rounded up. It's a systemic problem. The fact that schools are having such a hard time addressing this problem is evidence of that. They don't want to face this problem because in large measure they don't really want the problem solved. At the core there is this idea that some people are better than others. And in regard to this specific problem, there's the idea that people who don't conform to preset gender roles are not as valuable as those who do, and this includes but is not limited to sexual interest and activity.

Larry Was Murdered

I keep hearing people claim Brandon McInerney shouldn't have been tried as an adult, and they seem to use that as an excuse/explanation as to why McInerney wasn't convicted, but the system wasn't on trial, McInerney was. The juvenile system isn't designed to handle violent crimes. No matter what someone does, they are typically released by age 25 if they are tried as a juvenile. Should we change that? Should we do something about that? Maybe. But this trial wasn't about that.

Who would want this person living beside them in a few years? And all this crap about him being 14 and not mature enough to be held accountable... That is an insult to the vast majority of teenagers who would never do something like this no matter what kind of stress they are under. What McInerney did is far outside the bounds of expected and acceptable behavior for anyone regardless of their age.  And the lawyer's defense of McInerney, this "gay panic" defense was shockingly offensive.  McInerney isn't the victim here.  Larry King is the one who is dead.  McInerney murdered him. 

McInerney is a threat. He should be locked away because he is a threat. And we should give a clear message to bullies that there will be consequences for their actions. You shouldn't be able to get away with killing a gay kid just because you're 14. God help all the LGBT kids out there who are already catching way too much shit if we tell their tormenters that they have a get out of jail free card.

Could McInerney change? That's possible. It's possible for anyone to change. But he has killed another human being. I wouldn't want him walking the streets until it has been proven that he's changed. Let a parole board or the governor decide if he's safe enough to be let out at some point in the distant future, after he's spent enough time in prison to show that we take murder, including the murder of LGBT people, seriously. 

I do not hate McInerney, but I do recognize he did something that is horrendous, unspeakable.  I recognize that he has proven to be dangerous.  I want him put away so he can't kill again.  And I want his punishment to serve as a warning to bullies who may take it into their heads to kill an LGBT kid that we as a society aren't going to tolerate that. 

I know that 14 is young.  I know that a person's brain hasn't fully matured at that age.  But guess what, a person's brain doesn't fully mature until he or she reaches the age of 25.  Obviously, it would be ridiculous to suggest that we view young people as children until the age of 25.  So the question becomes when do we begin to hold them accountable?  I don't have an solid answer for that, but I do know that we already hold young people accountable for far less serious offenses.  And this is murder.  This wasn't an accident.  It wasn't the result of thoughtlessness or recklessness.  It wasn't a youthful indiscretion.  Because of Brandon McInerney, Larry King is dead and gone, dead and gone forever.  McInerney deliberately murdered him in front of a room full of people.  I think we should expect 14-year-olds not to do such things, and I think we should recognize that there is something seriously wrong with them when they do, something that may not necessarily be corrected by the process of maturation.  And I think it is time we stand up for young people like Larry King.  We have been excusing and overlooking the abuse they've endured for far too long.  They have suffered at the hands of thugs like Brandon McInerney, and even when these thugs kill, people still somehow find excuses for them.