There is the reality of sexual orientation that we've all experienced, and then there's the fantasy version that people like Linda Harvey cling to. Their fantasy is much more important to them than real people, and they're willing to hurt real people, including children, in order to keep their fantasy.

They can call it Christianity if they want to. They can claim we're attacking their religion if we criticize them. But, in my opinion, they are truly hateful and destructive people.

I don't think they're merely confused or misinformed. Not people like Linda Harvey. In my opinion, people like Linda Harvey are gutless psychopaths who don't have the nerve to go out and do the dirty work themselves, so instead, they send out shock waves of hostility hoping that they'll inspire their society to move toward genocide.

I’ve decided to establish a new religion. There will be some lip service to peace, love and harmony, but at the core of the religion will be the idea that there is no such thing as a heterosexual orientation despite what those who have chosen the straight lifestyle say. We will proclaim that those in the straight lifestyle are out to recruit children and impose their perversion on all of society. We will insist that schools teach our beliefs as if they’re proven facts. We will ignore the needs of so-called straight children to be affirmed and included and insist that they have either been molested by a straight person or they have not been nurtured enough by a loving gay parent, and that the best remedy for these things is exclusion and ridicule. If anyone dares disagree with us, we will say they are attacking our religious freedom.

How Many Dead Homos Will It Take?

Back in the summer, a gunman went into the Washington offices of the Family Research Council with the intention of taking out a few homophobes. Or at least that seems to have been his intention. We still don’t know much about Floyd Corkins, the man who stands accused of attempting to murder FRC employees, other than he only managed to injure a security guard before he was stopped. As to be expected, most of the prominent LGBT advocacy groups were quick to denounce the violence. Violence is abhorrent, and it’s usually senseless, and this particular act of violence seemed to serve no purpose. I heard very few people express any sympathy for Corkins, and perhaps this, too, was to be expected. It’s hard to have sympathy for someone when you don’t understand their motives, and, as I’ve said, we don’t know much about Corkins even now. But what I found puzzling was that so many were quick to claim that violence was never justified. Never.

Of course there are people who are simply not inclined to fight even when they’re under attack. I also know that human beings are inclined to posture and strut, present themselves as morally superior. It makes them feel good about themselves, and it possibly could further their social status. Nothing like having people think you’re the reincarnation of Gandhi, but when push comes to shove, just how peaceful would these peaceniks be?

In any event, I’m wondering if it’s really a smart move to go out of our way to claim that LGBT people are so peace loving that there is virtually nothing that would cause us to lash out at our attackers.

Friday, October 19^th was Spirit Day, the day when we’re asked to think about bullying, the victims of bullying, and how we might help alleviate the problem. Given the huge percentage of LGBT youth who experience bullying, given that LGBT youth are four times more likely to commit suicide than their straight counterparts due to relentless bullying, given the large numbers of LGBT youth who are homeless due to family rejection, should we really show them by our example that we will endure anything and never fight back? Are we really so desperate to have others believe that we’re among “the good guys”? Don’t bullied people, young and old, have a right to defend themselves?

I realize that many of the young people who are bullied have a passive nature, and in many instances, this is why they’re targeted. I was one of those passive kids, and I was a victim of bullying. It got me in two ways: I never felt safe, and I felt unworthy because I was taught that “real” boys could take care of themselves. So I would never add insult to injury by reinforcing that stereotype about boys always being tough and never needing anyone to defend them. But shouldn’t we encourage bullied victims to fight back if they can? Shouldn’t we commend the stronger ones when they stand up for the victims of bullying?

I wonder if some of our passivity steams from a belief that we’re not really worth fighting for. Have we been so demoralized that we’re slow to raise our fists even when our physical safety is at stake?

I suspect that most have seen the film Thelma & Louise. Soon after its release more than twenty years ago it became a cultural touchstone. The story moved many, including me. Thelma was about to be raped in the parking lot of a nightclub, and Louise managed to prevent this from happening by pulling a gun on the would-be rapist. Louise had the upper hand at that point, but when the would-be rapist expressed his contempt for the two of them, Louise instinctively killed him. Many, if not most, who watched the film sympathized with Louise. We all know there are men out there like Thelma’s would-be rapist. They think they can take what they want from women, and our society often allows them to get away with it. And you can’t reason with them. They just don’t care. They might change their attitude at some point in the future, but how many women will they harm in the interim?

Human history is replete with unimaginable violence, war and bloodshed. Most of it is deplorable. But there are a number of people who we celebrate as heroes because they lashed out with violence. George Washington, the father of our nation, was a killer. We celebrate the men who fought to preserve the union during our Civil War. We celebrate those who fought against the Nazis, the Fascists and the Japanese during World War II. We celebrate veterans on Memorial Day and Veterans Day. We cheered when Osama bin Laden was killed. President Obama even proudly claims the killing of bin Laden is one of his administration’s most important achievements.

A lot of violence has been directed toward LGBT people. Most of us have been intimidated and threatened. A lot of us have been physically and sexually assaulted. Some have been killed. But a lot of the violence is indirect. In the past it was common to “sanitize” an LGBT person’s biography--burn letters and journals, deny relationships with significant others of the same sex, create fictional straight relationships. There has been a long and sustained effort to erase evidence of our presence for hundreds of years, and the result has been that most members of our tribe in the past lived in isolation, fearing someone would find out their secret.

But the truth is now out in the open. We know that a significant portion of the population is LGBT. We know that homosexuality is not a disorder. We know that prejudice and discrimination harms LGBT people. We know, and yet there are those who simply don’t care. They persist in warning others that LGBT people are to be feared and treated with hostility, and they often do these things in the name of their god.

There are those who insist that everyone is born heterosexual and that everything else is the result of some kind of trauma, manipulation or willful abandonment of supposed natural desires. They ignore the science, and they ignore the testimony of LGBT people regarding our own experience. They claim that the science has been corrupted by “activists” as part of their evil “agenda.” And they present their fantasy version of homosexuality to the world as if it was real, and if it was approved by their god. They are attempting to convince as many people as they can that LGBT isn’t real, that it’s a hoax, and that all of those who identify as LGBT are either deluded or lying. Why? Because you don’t have to be concerned with those who don’t exist. You can’t be accused of harming those who don’t exist. It’s a subtle attempt at annihilation. And when they foist their “ex-gay” therapy on vulnerable members of our tribe, they are basically attempting to convince them to annihilate themselves.

We know that homophobic bullying is real and pervasive in our schools. Most of us remember seeing it when we were young. Many of us were subjected to it. And we know that even straight kids are often subjected to homophobic bullying. We know that many kids live in fear every time they go to school. And yet there are those who would deny this reality, and they claim any attempt to address the problem is an attack on their beliefs. They claim that if kids are taught that it’s okay to be LGBT, more will “try” it and fall into the “lifestyle.” This idea has no basis in reality. It is a complete fantasy that harms real kids, but these people are allowed to influence school policy anyway.

Part of their fantasy is that LGBT people pose a special threat to children. It doesn’t matter that the statistics and science indicate that LGBT people are no more likely to assault children than anyone else. They go right ahead and make their claims anyway. They often say that we target children in order to increase our numbers. Those who aren’t willing to go that far often link homosexuality with pedophilia in the minds of as many people as possible by bringing the topic of pedophilia up in relation to homosexuality at every turn no matter if it’s relevant or not. They warn that if our society accepts homosexuality, it would also, by some strange logic that only makes sense to them, would have to accept pedophilia. And they say that marriage equality will lead to adults marrying children.

Even though AIDS is a disease that is transmitted in specific ways and most in the world who have it are straight, many suggest that AIDS is a byproduct of “accepting the gay identity.” They claim that every kind of psychological disorder an LGBT person suffers from is caused by “accepting the gay identity.” They blame the early deaths of LGBT people on their “acceptance of the gay identity” and “participation in the gay lifestyle.”

There are those who do everything they can to convince as many as possible that LGBT people are scary, evil, disease carrying parasites who want to harm children, and they claim we can stop being LGBT if we wanted to. They do everything in their power to thwart our efforts to gain acceptance and our civil rights.

These people are not merely confused. The know the truth. It’s been explained to them. But their fantasies are more important to them than the truth, even if those fantasies harm others. And the idea that these people simply represent a fringe element of society, a mere vestigial hiccup that will fade away in time is Pollyannaish in my view. They influence society at all levels. They influence politics at all levels. They do real harm to real people, including LGBT youth. And their destruction is often overlooked and ignored. Christians rarely condemn them. The media can’t be counted on to bother to look up the facts and correct the misinformation they spew. And our straight allies often have bigger fish to fry.

So how much are we willing to take? When is it okay to fight back? When is it our duty to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves?

Almost Kissed

Back in the summer and fall of 1988, I lived with my aunt and uncle in Alexandria, Virginia. Their house was near the Huntington Metro stop, and every day I took the train into the city. I worked at a gourmet food store in the Dupont Circle neighborhood, which was a gay neighborhood at the time. There were gay bars around, and the gay bookstore Lambda Rising, and my friend Nathan lived in the neighborhood.

I worked in the bakery, and there was a cute boy who worked in the deli on the other side of the store. He was always pleasant and polite. I got the impression that he was straight, though, and in any event, I never imagined he would be interested in me, but that didn’t stop me from looking. He was just my type--sweet natured and thin with a boyish face and blond hair. Every chance I got, I stole a glimpse.

The kitchen and the supplies were down in the basement, so I made regular trips down there throughout my shifts. And one day when I came out of the kitchen and headed up the narrow stairs, I found the boy from the deli that I liked was in front of me. I didn’t say anything because it would have been awkward for him to turn around. I figured I’d say hello to him once we reached the top.

Apparently he didn’t realize I was behind him, and he started moving up the stairs at a glacial pace. It was ridiculous how slow he was moving, and I quickly realized that he was deliberately wasting time. He was taking a little unauthorized break from his work. I certainly didn’t blame him for that, but I was right behind him, and after a while, it felt a little strange.

Normally I’m very shy, but every now and then, I manage to be a little playful even with people I don’t know very well, even with cute presumably straight guys. And on a whim, I lowered my voice and said with menacing authority, hoping that I sounded like our boss, “Alright, let’s try to get up these stairs a bit faster.”

I must have really startled the boy because he suddenly sprang to life and spun around before I finished my sentence. When he saw that it was just me, his expression turned to relief, and he let out a sigh. But then he pretended to be angry with me and did something unexpected. He grabbed me by my collar and pushed me against the wall. And then his face was very close to mine.

Knowing that I scared him, if just for a moment, made me laugh, and I continued to laugh when he grabbed me. But after a couple of seconds, it registered that his face very, very close to mine. His lips were very, very close to mine. And he held us in this position for a while.

When my giggles trailed off, and the situation was in danger of becoming awkward, he let go, dropped the pretence of anger, smiled and said, “You scared the shit out of me.” We then went on up the stairs. A couple of weeks later, I quit and I never saw him again. But not long after that I began to wonder if I had almost been kissed on those stairs by that cute blond boy. I now wish I had been daring enough to kiss him. All it would have taken would have been for me to pucker and our lips would have touched. That’s how close he was to me.

My little secret homo thing for the boys is what saved me.

I was a shy and withdrawn boy from the start, and my home life only exacerbated my reticence. Luckily, I went to a little grade school not far from my house. Most of the teachers there were mature, disciplined, dedicated women who seemed to like children. The school provided me with the structure and stability that home didn’t. I wasn’t a very social kid, but that was okay. The teachers declared that I was “independent”, and they didn’t seem to think this was anything to be alarmed about.

Then I went to a much, much larger middle school on the other side of town. Middle school was a very scary place to me. Fights broke out all the time, and there were a lot of very rough kids at this school, many of whom were older than the rest of us because they had been held back. They used drugs and alcohol, and I sometimes saw drugs being sold in the locker room and rest room. There was lots of explicit talk about sex, a lot of four letter words. I was called names and threatened regularly even though I was careful not to bother anyone. I hardly ever said a word, and still I was the target of abuse. But some got it a lot worse than I did. A lot worse. Some were tormented every day all day long.

I hated going to middle school. It was an awful experience for me, and I never felt like I belonged there, and I never felt safe. I realized that I was gay while attending middle school, and I started noticing the boys at this time. But I dared not tell anyone about that. The thugs would have surely used that information to destroy me. Harsh homophobic language was used almost constantly. Every day I heard words like “faggot”, “queer” and “cocksucker”. They weren’t always directed at me, but I heard them all the time. I was terrified that someone might find out that I actually liked boys.

When I saw the films Close Encounters and Star Wars, I developed a fascination with UFOs and aliens. It was my escapism. I began to imagine that the loving and accepting aliens from Close Encounters would some day rescue me. Eventually, I came very close to actually believing it would happen. It became a kind of religion to me. It gave me hope and comfort. I sat around and thought about how all the hell would one day come to an end when I would be whisked off to a faraway paradise were I would be loved and appreciated.

My personal development was stunted at this time. Rather than learning how to play the piano, or acting in school plays, I withdrew into a shell. Sometimes people would ask me about my interests and opinions, and I couldn’t answer. And I started to think that I was empty and worthless. I lived in terror, I didn’t feel like I could trust anyone, so I was in full survivor mode. About the only thing I could think about most of the time was the threat of torment and abuse. I was stunned with paralyzing fear.

There was a point in middle school when my body began to rebel against the torture that I was experiencing daily. I became listless and exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. I stayed home for a couple of days, and then my father took me to see a doctor. At first he thought I was developing diabetes, but the blood tests came back normal. When everything else was ruled out, he used the word “depression” to describe what I was going through. He was the first medical professional to use that term to describe my symptoms. But he didn’t take it very seriously. He just told me to go back to school and tough it out and I’d get over it in time.

I did recover from the extreme exhaustion, but I began to suffer from migraine headaches. Several times a month, I would get these crippling, painful headaches. Light and sound made it hurt worse, as did moving around. I eventually told the doctor about the headaches, and he said they were most likely caused by stress, but again, he didn’t take it very seriously.

I actually think that my attraction to boys helped save me. Looking at and thinking about their bodies and their beautiful faces, and imagining having sex with them gave me intense pleasure. I enjoyed the attraction even though I knew I could get hurt if anyone found out about it. I started to dream about one day moving away and finding other people like myself. It was my attraction to boys that led me to give up the desire to be taken to another planet. It seemed unlikely that there would be cute gay boys on this other planet, so in time it just didn’t seem very appealing anymore.

Ever since I was a small kid, I loved stories and movies. But I watched old movies and read children’s stories mostly until I hit puberty. Then I discovered that gay characters sometimes showed up in the adult programs on PBS--Masterpiece Theater, American Playhouse. This got me interested in more serious literature, and I started watching the history and nature programs, too. My personality which had been submerged by fear was starting to develop, and I began doing well in school, and I began to think about going to college. College became my escape, and it seemed much more practical and likely than alien abduction.

It all started with boys. It was what I felt for them that proved to me that I was a real person, and that I wanted certain things in life regardless of what the people in my life thought. Boys opened up the world for me. Suddenly life was more than about survival. There was also pleasure and joy and hope.

"Ex-gay" ministries and the testimony of those who claim they're no longer part of the "gay lifestyle" serve as Potemkin villages. It's a false front for those who want to believe in the lies and don't care go past the superficial validation of their prejudices.

Living With Uncertainty

When you concretize a mythology, you ruin it in my opinion. If there is a spiritual dimension to life, I don’t think it can be contained or defined by any religion. I think the stories we tell about the spirit reflect our encounter with the mystery. I don’t think the stories explain the mystery or make it apparent.

I don’t know what the ultimate truth is. I’m just flying by the seat of my pants and trying to figure it out as I go along.

I studied religion and philosophy in college, and I came away believing that no one has all the right answers. And 15 years ago, I came close to dying. I’m 47 now, not in the best of health, and a lot of people in my family have died young. I know that I can go at any time. I can feel it in my bones. I dread it, and I’m afraid, but I try not to let the awareness ruin what time I have left.

I’m starting to wonder just how many of my dreams will come true. Things could have worked out differently, I know. I have my regrets. But you can’t change the past.

I just hope that it’s a little easier for the young ones and the ones who haven’t arrived yet. I wish the ones who are so terrified by the mystery would stop choking the young with their ideology. I wish someone would stop the con artists who have discovered they can use religion to better their social standing at the expense of others. When religious dogma takes precedence over our experience, when we bulldoze people with our religion rather than dare question our beliefs, when we rip ourselves apart in an attempt to mirror an idealized image that was born from our dogma, that’s when religion and ridged beliefs become destructive.

The Summer of '85

The summer of 1985 I was 19 years old. I had just finished my freshman year at college. I had done well despite my intense anxiety and social phobia. Maybe because I had looked forward to it for so long. Maybe because I was determined to make it work. I made good grades, and I discovered that I loved my classes. My teachers back in high school were not generally very knowledgeable or scholarly, but my professors at WVU… They knew their stuff. I took a class on the ancient history of Western Civilization, and it turned out that it was taught by an Egyptologist who could read hieroglyphics, and Latin and Greek. He had traveled extensively all over the Mediterranean region. So when he talked about ancient Greece, for instance, he’d include his personal impressions and experiences of the various cities and scenes of important battles. I was seriously impressed.

I also discovered Morgantown’s clandestine gay community which centered around a dive bar on High Street, not far from the downtown campus and within walking distance to my dorm, called The Double Decker. I spent many Friday and Saturday nights there. I made a few gay friends. And I danced with a few boys, and fooled around with some, too.

I started therapy, and I was lucky enough to get a kind and gentle psychologist who happened to specialize in the effects of homophobia on young gay, lesbian and bi people. She became an important person in my life for a number of years.

Because I didn’t care for dorm food all that much, and because I had been walking all over campus and Morgantown, I had slimed down considerably. I was getting noticed at the bar, and I was getting attention despite being very shy and not the easiest person to approach.

The year didn’t end on a high note, though. I went home with a boy who had been drinking a bit too much and he was kind of direct and surly with me. But I overlooked this because I thought he was cute, and I thought of myself as lucky for the chance to go home with him. It turned into a date rape type of situation.

Looking back now, I guess it probably wasn’t a good idea to go home and live with my parents for the summer. But I didn’t have any money, and I lacked the social skills to arrange to an adventure with a friend and share expenses. However, that is exactly what I should have done.

Oak Hill was a major culture shock after a year at college. I had changed, my attitude and expectations had changed, but my old hometown was the same confining place it had always been. I went back to work at McDonalds, and I went back in the closet. While my young straight coworkers parties and dated, I kept my distance for fear that someone would discover my secret.

I used the money I earned to buy some pretty gay clothes though. I remember a pink oversized t-shirt, and a pair of Madras short shorts with strips of pastel colors like yellow, pink and turquoise. (I still have those shorts, but it’s been quite a while since they’ve fit.) I also got a spiky haircut. I was a teenage gay boy dressed up to have a good time, but I was stuck back in my hometown.

And then soon after I got home, I realized that my mother was sick again. My mother had schizophrenia, and it went untreated all while I was growing up, but she was finally diagnosed and began receiving treatment in the spring of my senior year of high school. I was so thankful and relieved to learn that her illness could be treated, and like the young, hopeful thing that I was back then, I assumed that all the drama was finally over. It was such a huge disappointed to learn that we had only been given a reprieve.

I think that summer was the pinnacle of my youth. I had one year of college behind me, and I knew I liked it and that I could hack it. I was as fit as I would ever be. My confidence in myself was the highest that it has ever been. I felt reasonably attractive. I could have had more fun that summer than I had ever had. I should have been with boys like myself. I should have been able to party, hang out with friends, get lucky a few times, and maybe even have a romance. But instead I went backwards.