Speak No Evil

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie. (Feist)

(In light of the recent upsurge in arguments over same-sex marriage due to Iowa and Vermont's decisions, I thought it apt to give a little insight into my own views. Take what you will, you have been warned.)

Probably the most common question anyone ever asks a gay or lesbian person upon the disclosure of their sexuality is something to the effect of, "How long have you known?" It's a funny question that sounds more and more absurd the more and more you are asked it, something akin to being asked "How long have you known you were a man?" or "When did you first realize you could eat?" For me, being gay is something so tied into my consciousness that the best response I can give to a question is the approximate (and vague) time of my full acceptance of my homosexuality: sometime around age 15 (there is a reason I give this number; I'll get into it shortly). But to tell the truth, I have never known the world or viewed it through any other lens than as a gay man: since the start of puberty at least I have never been attracted to anyone of the female sex, and even before then I am pretty sure that my fascination lay exclusively with uncovering the male form and body (e.g.: my childhood collection of Ken dolls). So to give a frank answer of how long I have known I would truly have to say something to the effect of "always." After all, I doubt that a heterosexual person ever has a staunch realization that he or she is straight; rather, they simply develop a natural attraction to members of the opposite sex.

But I suppose being gay makes you a bit of an outsider, someone with a slightly divergent perspective on life but a pretty whole view of people and their idiosyncrasies. After all, the idiosyncrasy you yourself possess is one of the most talked about and hotly contested concepts today. And let me tell you, growing up gay is not an easy feat, even if you were raised in the most open-minded or impartial family (certainly not the case for me).

As a child I had a pretty ideal life. My mom raised me by herself since I was about four, when she and my father divorced as the result of what was a pretty shoddy marriage (can anyone say shotgun wedding?). To her I was a bit of a miracle child: she had been told pretty early on that she would never be able to bear children. As such, I was pretty spoiled: from McDonalds lunches with my Omi (grandma, for those of you who don't know German) to frequent trips to Disneyland to a private school education, I had it pretty good. I was raised in a Christian home, although my mom has always had a very open mind about religion and encouraged me to explore and discover on my own. But throughout childhood I attended summer camp and Sunday school at my local Methodist church, and it was there that I really came into being in many ways. As a child in that church, I developed a very strong attachment to Christianity and to Christian values, following wholeheartedly its message of love, its moral system and, most importantly, the belief in the golden rule. But at the time camp only ran through age twelve, which, coincidentally, was also the time I transitioned from one school to another. But most importantly, age twelve is when I went full swing into puberty, discovering all the joys and, well, heartaches that it would entail.

I developed my first crush shortly after that, although I'm a little vague on the details on when it really began. Sparing the specifics, suffice it to say that this crush was on a girl: a very likable and certainly an attractive girl. I also had developed sexual attraction, but I found something very odd--I was only aroused by men. At this early stage I passed it off. "Whatever," I found myself wont to think, "I still have a crush on a girl. It's probably just a phase, it'll go away when I grow up a little." So I kept my crush, believing that one day I would be able to find women not only emotionally but also physically attractive. And in the privacy of my bedroom, I believed myself to just have a quirky fetish, an interest that would change with time. It was hard to reconcile these two, not to mention my belief that my God, the one I had known so well, had

Time passed. Sooner or later I learned that the feelings I had were not reciprocated, and I came to realize that what I had thought to be simply feelings of tender friendship with a male friend actually were more. I decided it unwise to pursue those feelings, and as I became more and more aware of my strongly homosexual identity, and the unusual nature that entailed, I sunk deeper and deeper into hiding.Yes , being gay makes you an outsider. It also makes you an extremely talented liar, great at covering up your true identity. From age 15 to about 18 I became so used to feigning a disinterest in relationships that I almost began to believe it was true (to this day I am still dealing with this belief, but that's another story). My days became harder and harder, as each day I faced questions that were common to teenage boys, questions of who I was taking to Winter Formal or whether I had a crush and discussions of the latest hot actress or model or whoever. And I had friends who probably talked less about these things than most groups of male friends at that age. With each question I dug myself deeper and deeper into a hole, making it harder and harder to find the courage to tell someone--anyone--what I felt and what I knew to be the truth of my identity. To boot, my church and my God, I was told, and in many ways my culture too, were saying that my desires and my vision of what love meant was not only incorrect but immoral. I could not reconcile my childhood morality with how I felt, and so I turned inward and hid--I avoided church altogether telling my mom that I no longer felt engaged in the church.

Then senior year things got complicated. Through a complex interplay of emotions and a latent desire to still find acceptance, I ended up dating a close female friend of mine while in Paris--a story many of my friends remember well. When she asked whether this would continue when we returned home, I avoided the question with vague answers like "We'll see" or "let's play it by ear," never admitting to myself the confusion I felt. But as things became more involved, it became clear to me that I would have to face facts: either I could in fact date a woman and have it work out well, or I would have to admit that I needed to pursue relationships with men exclusively. Considering my feelings for my date one night, I realized that I was, in fact, exclusively gay. I had no problem with cuddling and holding hands with a woman, but when it came to actual intimacy--to a kiss or a hug--I felt it only felt possible to share these things with a man. Ask a straight man to kiss another man, and perhaps you might have a glimmer of what the thought of kissing a woman was to me. So we called it off, and I had my first coming out experience. A year later I finally built up the courage to come out to my friends from high school, and with time I have become more comfortable in the skin I have been given. But I still carry a lot of the scars from the hiding, the secrets, and the lies I held inside each and every day for at least three years.

So what is the point of all this, why do I take you through this story? Well, of late, a lot of debate has arisen over gay marriage and over the gay community--is homosexuality a sin, for example, and does the right to gay marriage desecrate the value of the institution of marriage? Now, I understand where those who seek to deny the right of marriage to homosexuals (or, alternatively, to preserve the sanctity of traditional marriage) come from. I understand the fear that such a change can inspire, the thoughts of how this change could break down the fundamental standing of our moral system. And I even understand--although I disagree--the argument about marriage as a fundamental guarantor of our society's interests in child-rearing. And I understand how it feels like the acceptance of gay marriage goes against God's law and against the Bible or any other number of religious texts. But here is the thing: is it worth it?

After all, my story is no where near unique, nor is it anywhere near the hardest anyone has ever faced as a gay or lesbian teen. Every year hundreds of young people consider suicide as a way to escape the pain of hiding the truth of who they are, with churches and their parents and their friends telling them that what they believe is wrong. But here's the thing: it's not wrong. What I came to realize myself is that this is just one aspect of who I am, a small piece of the puzzle. And if God or the church wanted to tell me it was wrong, then why did He create me this way--I had certainly tried my hardest to "outgrow" this part of myself. And I can't help but think that if our society was to fully accept homosexuals, young people like me would not face as much self-torture and self-loathing as they grew up. So while civil unions or domestic partnerships are nice, they still say to gay people: "Hey, your relationship is not as valid as ours." And until everyone has the same rights (and I'm fine with everyone having the civil right to a union, as long as it is the same for everyone), I don't see how our society can say it fully embraces all of its citizens and views them as true equals. Until then, stories like mine will continue to be commonplace at every high school and in every neighborhood. To the majority this may be a political issue, but to the gay man or lesbian woman it is a reminder of that friend who stopped calling after you came out, that pastor who called you a sinner and threw you out, or that parent that disowned you upon finding you kissing your "best friend."

We may have our moral convictions and our beliefs, but sometimes I think its more important to consider how what we say and what we espouse sounds to someone else. I don't mean to offend or to humiliate or to desecrate; I simply mean to give a little insight into how this whole debate sounds to the millions of individuals caught in the middle of this tug-o-war.