She likes to shock people

Your words stare at me from the screen of my cell phone. Words like Concern. Blab and Rumors. Offensive and Sick. Rebuke with Anger. Risk, Damnation and The Darkest Pit of Hell.

But these are not the words that my eyes are drawn to. Out of all of these things, what sticks in my brain is the one word that should be the least harmful.

Shock.

According to you, I like to shock people.

Mom and Dad, no. I have never enjoyed shocking you.

I never came to you, with my heart in my hands wanting your disapproval. I never desired to look up from a moment of joy to see your faces stuck in that twisted, pained expression. I never relished letting my truth slip out only to be met with your disdain and I never yearned to have the core essence of my being to be so revolting to you.

For years you watched as imitated a pretzel, weaving myself in and around expectation after higher expectation, straining to one day be found worthy of some peace, some praise, some affection.

And now at a time when my twisted, broken pieces are falling away and I am finally pulling myself together, you get a glimpse of what I am trying to build and you are shocked.

Well then; I will meet your shock with my Awe as I crash recklessly into this light because I'll be damned if I continue to live up to your standard of misery.

 I would like to be happy.

Maybe that's what's so shocking.

homophobia's destructive power by e

I asked my daddy if he thought that I should be able to marry a woman some day. He avoided the question and told me that nothing could change how much he loved me; that parents love their children no matter if they do something the parents disagree with.  He then told me the story of how his friend, a man who loved his son dearly, had to turn the son into the cops because the son was molesting children.  "And I will love you no matter what you do," my father concluded.  Now maybe I'm being too sensitive, but I think that he compared me marrying a woman to molesting children...

One of my best friends is dating the woman of her dreams but their relationship is under fire from the girlfriend's fundamentalist Christian, homophobic family.  Because of this (and a few other things) the girlfriend is feel TONS and TONS of guilt and their relationship is on the rocks.

I'm involved with a girl.  A beautiful and intelligent girl who is in the closet.  And being with her is kind of hard because of it.  I have to accept her where she is at, I can't force to come out, that would be the worst thing I could do to her.  But I hate that I can't reach across the dinner table at her families house and hold her hand.  We have to sneak outside separately when we want to give each other a good night kiss.

I'm jealous that I can't hold this girl's hand any time I want. I'm jealous of couples that can show their affection publicly.  I want that.  I want to be able to show my affection for this girl any time I want to.  I want to hold her hand, kiss her on the cheek, and give her a hug in front of her family without them freaking out.  Why does homosexual affection freak the fuck out of some people?

Playgroups

One day my husband comes home with the children in tow, and announces to me that he just had the weirdest conversation. We had recently moved back to a small suburban neighborhood and were eager to ease our children's readjustment by involving them with old friends. My husband, J, had just come from the church where most of our neighbors congregate on Sundays, so I was eager to know how things had gone.

Apparently the odd conversation happened with a woman I'll call C. Now, every neighborhood has a group of parents that seem to be at the center of all the planning in the area. They know about every birthday, every soccer game, they are in the PTA, and they usually have a hand in every play group. My neighborhood is no exception to this rule. C is a major player in our local group.

After service she approached my husband, commented on how the children had grown, made polite conversation and then asked if my children and I would be going to the weekly play group because, "we would so like to see the kids there."

My husband politely explained that I wouldn't be doing much of that sort of thing because I was now working full time, but that he would be the one primarily taking care of the kids. Before he could ask any more about the play group, what time it was or where, she quickly lamented how it was just "too bad" and "I guess we'll just have to see the kids some other time." She didn't stick around to say much after that.

I was dumbfounded. I knew it was an overwhelmingly conservative neighborhood, but I never thought we would be dis-invited from a playgroup because we had a stay at home dad instead of a stay at home mom! It didn't take long to remember old conversations about how uncomfortable these women felt if a man was in their home if their husbands weren't present, cautionary tales of old neighbors who had had affairs because they had served on the same neighborhood board, and flippant observations that they won't speak to long to male neighbors at neighborhood parties because who wants the hassle of dealing with a jealous husband. I realized that it all came down to SEX. Men and women can't be together because , well ... Sex.

This is concerning on a number of levels. Under that umbrella of thinking, I can't be alone with the men because God forbid one of them want me. But I can't be alone with the women because God forbid I become sexually attracted to one of them!

So where does that leave me? Where dose that leave any of us who identifies as something other than a sig-gender heterosexual. Hell, where does that leave our families? This woman (as well as, I assume, the other parents since no one has broached the topic since) was more than willing to through my husband and my children under the bus for her "propriety." What would happen if they knew I wasn't the "safe" option to be alone with.

I'm the one that is more likely to find any of them attractive. I'm the one more likely to get turned on by a room full of women. I'm even the one that is most likely to sleep with one of them, given the chance. Would my children loose ALL of their friends if these people knew? Would our young family loose the few contacts that are still willing to say hi to us in the grocery store or on a walk? To be honest the list is short enough as it is.

I vented my worries and concerns to my husband. After my energy was spent I stood in my little green kitchen wondering if I was ever going to live a fully authentic life. J came up and wrapped his arms around me. After a moment he said with a smirk, "So, hypothetically, which one of our neighbors would you do if you had the chance?"

I swatted him playfully and said, "Well none of them now!"

Film at 11

In ten years of being an activist, I’ve gotten my fair share of press coverage, nothing national, but I’ve been in the local papers more than a few times and I’ve been on the local news a time or two. When I was away at college in Terre Haute at Indiana State University, it wasn’t really a big deal, but when I returned to my hometown after I graduated, I nearly caused a family panic.

It was back in March, there was a demonstration down in Indianapolis at the Statehouse, the Supreme Court was hearing the oral arguments in the DOMA and Prop 8 cases, so the community in Indy joined in solidarity across the nation to show our support for marriage equality.

I drove in with my boyfriend at the time, who was a bit nervous since he had never been a demonstration before. I assured him we would be fine, I’ve never had any trouble protesting in Indianapolis. We drove down to the protest site, signs in the back and some good activist music playing on the car stereo.

We got there, unloaded the signs and stood tall, we were amongst friends, several fellow cast members from our local Rocky Horror show were there, there was a couple guys from Terre Haute, and even a few of my old camp staff buddies had shown up to show their support and solidarity.

As the demonstration progressed, my boyfriend and I were tapped to hold this giant rainbow flag on the steps of the capitol building as the speeches rolled on. We stood up there with the others, holding the colors proudly as one speaker after another spoke on the bullhorn about the fight in the Supreme Court and what it meant for all of us.

Well the scheduled speakers finished up and the young lady running the demonstration looked around and said, “Does anybody else have a few words?”

The guys from the Rocky cast were looking at me, my old camp staff buddies had that little grin on their face, my boyfriend was smiling, and of course, my buddies from Terre Haute were egging me on a bit.

So I walked up and took the bullhorn, my blood pumping with that righteous anger familiar to all activists, I started rattling off about our birthrights to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, the progress of the movement, how we were seeing the beginnings of the last struggle, all that sort of thing. I finished up by getting the crowd in a good chant and then stepped back to the flag.

The demonstration wrapped up, we packed up our signs, drove home and went our separate ways. It had been a good evening, pretty good turnout at the statehouse, good speeches from the schedule speakers, and it always feels good when old friends share the picket line with you.

I was at work the next day, ringing up sodas, lottery tickets, and gas when this lady comes up to the counter. She was one of our regular lottery customers and she looks at me and says, “Hey, I saw you on the news last night.”

I got confused for a minute, thinking maybe she mistook me for someone else, so I replied “Really? What was going on?”

She got excited and said, “It was some rally downtown. I told my husband, ‘I know that guy! That’s the guy from the gas station!’”

I handed her the usual lottery tickets and wished her the best of luck. I didn’t think much about being told I was on the news, I thought it was kind of funny that I had been out of action for nearly a year and the first demonstration I show up at, I end up on TV. Still, it didn’t seem all together unusual.

Then I got home from work.

My mother called me in a near panic, “You better thank God that your grandfather no longer watches the local news!” Apparently she had caught the piece on Channel 6 where they used my fiery improv speech as their introduction to the story.

“Son, I didn’t care when you did that sort of thing in Terre Haute, we don’t have family out there, but the last thing your eighty year old conservative grandfather needs to see is you draped in a rainbow flag and holding a bullhorn on the local news.”

She was right, it would have been a nasty shock; my mother has accepted my sexuality, even if she doesn’t always understand my hellfire activism. The other members of the family? Well most of them don’t know about my sexuality and as far as the hellfire activism, yeah they’re a bit in the dark about that too.

My grandfather didn’t see the news story, but I’m pretty sure my Uncle Bill did since he hasn’t really spoken to me since.

Traditions by E

As the holidays as upon us I find myself pining for traditions that have nothing to do with Christianity.  This is something I have been feeling for some time.  When I left the Mormon church, I also rejected most of the traditions and holidays that revolved around it; I didn’t want to be associated with it anymore.  But it left me wondering, “What am I now?” I don’t want to be a cultural Mormon, I’m still too close to my leaving to be able to do that and be happy, I’m still too bitter.  I also resent being American, I feel like there is too much blood and shame in the history to be proud of that heritage.

I have been exploring religions, reading up on different kinds, taking quizzes that ask about my personal beliefs and so far I have been attracted to Unitarian Univeralism, Secular Humanism, and Neo-Paganism.  What I am looking for something in a religion, or belief system, is a group of people, close knit with a sense of community, that believes in something.  A group that shares traditions, that celebrates things together.  I would prefer a group that celebrates the changing of the seasons, like Paganism, or a group that celebrates scientists and scientific achievements.

Why is this important to me?  Why is this something that I have been investigating so heavily? Why do I have such a strong desire to define myself, even if by someone elses terms? Is it a desire to find a group that identifies the same way I do? That is plausible.  I wish that I wasn’t leaving the area that I was in.  I love the nature, the trails through the mountains and the way the summer is.  I like the people...kinda.  I would love to make more connections, investigate UU or some of the Pagan groups.  I would love even more to become a member of the Mounted Posse.

The more I think about it, the more I think that is right: I’m just craving connection, a group, my herd.  I’m even more excited to move to Wyoming now, if only to start to build more connections. I’ll miss the few connections that I have here in Small Town.  I’ll miss my bio family and my family-of-choice and my coworkers and my friends.  But I’ll have a chance to make new friends. And that is exciting.

When I Came Out By E

Five months ago today I was sitting across the table from my mom at our favorite restaurant.  It was my birthday lunch and I was super nervous because today I was going to tell her why I broke up with the guy she wanted me to marry, a guy I had been with for two and half years, a guy I loved.  This guy and I broke up because I decided that I liked women.  The following are the reactions of my family members after I came out them.

Agnostic Mom: Am I supposed to be surprised?

Blonde Sister: You’re an ally, not one of them! *tears*

Mormon Brother: *high five* Was that everything?

Red-headed Sister: Can I get back to my movie?

Mormon Dad: Nothing can change how much I love you.

The only adverse reaction I’ve gotten from the members of my family was from Blonde Sister.  She hates the idea that I like women because for my entire life she’s seen me as one way, liking only men, and now she has to see me in a different way.  I have wondered of the last few months why me liking girls is such an issue for her, even if it is because she has to see me differently.  I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why it bugs her so much. I wish I could talk to my sister about things, like girls I have crushes on and such.  Maybe one day… I hope.

My Mistakes

I don't think there's anything wrong with mistakes.
 
Well, to an extent anyway. I'm realizing more and more that success can't be measured in terms of what you have accomplished or the level of wealth one has obtained or even by the mass amounts of happiness you have. It's seriously by what you have done in your life and what you know.
 
I told myself when I was 18 that I was going to be a quad-zillionaire, very successful, didn't bat an eye to the way I viewed myself then and knew my dejection in high school was just a blip in the continuum of time I had. Well...that didn't happen. In fact, most who view my life probably would see me as a stalemate right now. I still haven't finished my degree. I was diagnosed with HIV at a very young age, I was a persistent drug and alcohol abuser, and I'm still doing the whole two-job thing I was doing back in college during my very early 20's. And yes, high student loan debt with very few personal possessions.
 
That's not the point though.
 
Have you ever wondered what does happen to the person when they admit defeat, when they give up? When it seems like no further reason exists for continuing? Easy. They die. They die either a mental or a physical death. Or both. They turn to depression, anxiety, anguish, hatred, and a bitter way of living life. And no I'm not talking about those who have mental health problems with these issues (trust me, I'm one of them).
 
What it is, instead, is persistent and long-lasting depression and so forth from feeling like an utter failure that never heals itself because that person is consistently in a ball of rolling hatred toward the world! So much, in fact, they shut down on the inside. Negativity attracts that lifestyle.
 
I refuse to be that person.
 
Why? Because I know the amazing and even Godlike possibilities of the human mind and how it can change your life.
 

 

The phrase goes, "As a man thinketh, so is he."
 
It's probably the only scripture I've held dearest to my heart, and I still do so today. Once I realized I knew what I wanted in life and how to do it, I instantly started to see change. Not drastic, but rather a small change that grew every day. And it made me into the best human being I could possibly be! And it's making me so much better.
 
The secret? My thought process. Anything you so desire can only be achieved by starting to think about how to get it. As a result, action enfolds and brings you closer to your goals. Simple, yet so farfetched in this world. My goal was to be a motivational speaker, to better the lives of people by sharing experiences of my personal self and being an entertainer through my music.
 
Now? That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm talking to high school kids, playing at the hospital, etc.and I love it. It never seemed to be something that I ever thought I would get to...but after realizing that I control literally EVERYTHING that happens in my life, why shouldn't I? My health has grown because of my understanding that I can fight off anything. My education is becoming brighter because I now want to learn this time and wish to finish my degree. I have goals now to date, to actually settle down, and refuse to sleep around with random people just to find the right guy for me. I envision ideas of becoming successful in my career, and even becoming known as the person who will change the course of the world. (Well, maybe not to THAT extreme, but I definitely plan on making a mark.) And now even going and becoming a great gym guy and trying to increase my strength because of seeing and feeling how it affects me and my personal well-being. ALL of this coming from one simple thing: how I view myself in my mind.
 
It was the hardest day of my life to look at myself in the mirror and say OUT LOUD, "I am happy with myself exactly how I am now." It took me a good half hour to really come to terms with that idea. But now? I feel that exact same statement every day when I get ready. I make time to get ready, to do my hair, to pick out the best outfit that everyone sees me in, to have a smile on my face, to push myself farther and farther into the person of whom I want to be.
 
But what I've also learned is sometimes it's okay to take things in strides and give people, things, and ideas a chance as well! Some people I've recently met have made me realize that there can be value in anything and anyone; it simply is your attitude in how you approach the situation and how it turns out. I was skeptical in sometimes giving new people and guys a chance because I've been burned in the past. But recently...I'm seeing that people as a whole are generally good people. They may not be the brightest, but in some light or another, they're just like you and me and should be treated with respect.
 
Now? I'm in a good mindset. :) I have a loving family, great friends, awesome jobs, and a great life ahead of me. And I hope, one day, that life makes itself into a better way that I am able to continue to grow and continue my life even more. All because of how I think and view myself as a person.
 
I am TRULY happy for who I am. I'm sexy. Yes, I'm gay (sorry ladies). I'm amazing. And quite the catch who loves Italian food, good conversation, and a genuine smile and eyes from people. And trust me....you WANT to get to know me! As a man, as a friend, as a lover (I want a man in my life), whatever you think or want ;) Because I will better your life for having me in it.

My Family of Choice by E

I love my family.  I have very supportive parents and loving maternal grandparents.  My siblings and I don’t always get along, but we will fight to the death for each other.  And I’m not going to write about them today.  Today I am writing about my family of choice.

A family of choice is a group of people you are close with, and would call family.  Did you ever have a friend whose parents you would refer to as “other-mother” or “second-dad”?  That is a family of choice.  My family of choice is the family I have at the barn where I keep my horse. 

D.J. and P.J. are two of the best people I have ever met, and they are like grandparents to me.  I had known of P.J. for years, she was very well known in town for her love of horses and passion for dressage and hunt seat.  I got to know P.J. and her husband D.J. over the summer when I started hanging out with A.F., a gal I had known from university and their “granddaughter”, more often.  I started going over to their barn to ride with A.F. and help out.  

After having only been there twice, A.F. told me that P.J. wanted me to ride one of their older horses, a mare (female) with a history of abuse who needed someone to love her.  My own horses had been taken from me by my abusive grandfather, a fact that A.F. knew, and I was very excited to start riding again.  I would ride Spotty, whose face is my picture for this blog, as often as I could, which ended up being four to five times a week. I went on trail rides with her, jumped her over low oxers, and schooled her. I quickly fell in love with her nervous personality.  One day, after a trail ride, I sat next to D.J. for dinner.  He asked if I liked riding Spotty; I said yes.  He asked if I wanted to own Spotty one day and I told him, emphatically, that I would love to own her one day.  He laughed and, looking at P.J., said to her that she was right.  P.J. told me that when I move, which I’m planning on doing in January, that it was okay if I took Spotty with me, she was mine.

My grandfather, my dad’s dad, is a physically and emotionally abusive, sexist bastard who can’t die because he’s destined for Hell and the Devil is scared of him.  My grandfather knew I loved horses and used it against me.  By the time I was 17, I knew I was fat, uncoordinated, unsuccessful and a failure.  I knew I would always be a disappointment to him and was not worth the time it took to teach me to ride.  He would show blatant favoritism to my male cousins, who learned from him that it was okay to exclude me from the barn, and to chase me away with a four-wheeler if I came around.  My grandfather would “give” me a horse, only to sell it without telling me and say that I didn’t do enough around the farm.  By the time I was 22, I couldn’t take it anymore- I was either going to kill him, or I had to walk away from the horses.  And I chose to walk away.  It was the hardest choice I have ever had to make, and I still cry over it.

I’ve told you about my grandfather so that you will understand why I was skeptical of P.J. at first- “what does she want from me?”, “is she being serious?”, “is this really happening?” were thoughts running through my head.  About a month later P.J. adopted a little mustang colt (a male baby) for a girl down the street to support her budding love of one thousand pound animals.  I told P.J. that she was a wonderful person, the best kind of person, she and her husband both, and her only response was, “Someone has to go the extra mile.”

P.J. and D.J. know that I like girls, they know about my paternal grandfather, they know that I am moving, and that I love Spotty.  P.J. builds my confidence, jokes with me, and has more than once tearfully told me that I will always, not matter what, be welcome in their home.  She buys me gluten-free food and has said that if I ever need to, I am more than welcome to stay at her house; “Just walk in and pull out the couch, no need to call ahead.” When I grow up, I want to be just like her. She is an amazing woman, married to an amazing man, and they are my grandparents-of-choice.

The Real Acceptance Project: Making Efforts to Accept Everyone and Every Experience

Friday evening, I had the opportunity to attend a film screening of the latest documentary, titled “Families are Forever,” put out by the Family Acceptance Project (FAP). This initiative, through San Francisco State University, outreaches to families with LGBTQ youth who are religious or ethnic, in order to preserve the family unit and foster acceptance and love of families toward LGBTQ identified individuals. For anyone wanting more information on the project, this is their official website, a statement by The Cesar Chavez Institute through which the project was done, and the project’s research as published in this journal and this journal.

I acknowledge, but do not wish to focus on, the technical and research aspect of the project. Those so interested can read about the research as linked to above. The one thing I will comment on is use of the “LGB” acronym in this research, and thereby the exclusion of the T: transgender. The articles in both published journals each start out by using the acronym “LGBT.” But as the study and article proceeds, the acronym explicitly becomes “LGB.” In fact, people identifying as trans have, statistically speaking, some of the highest rates of homelessness: one-fifth of respondents identifying as trans in this survey had been homeless at one time. 

I came into the film screening with two questions about the project, which I asked in the Q&A session following the presentation:

1. What, in this research, defines a family?

2. Does this project address the needs of those who left their respective religious communities, and repairing relationships between the family and the individual?

The project’s director did answer these questions, albeit in a manner I found to be indirect and dismissive. However, addressing them could benefit the project in assisting more LGBTQ and religious identified youth, as doing so dismantles the project’s prioritization of marriage and active membership in the church. In reality, the structure of families and the experiences of LGBTQ and religious identified youth vary.

What defines a family is crucial in when we discuss “family,” as the term is recycled throughout the study and project. Is family defined as a group of people headed by heterosexually married biological parents? Are single and widowed parents included? What about families headed by other family members, like grandparents or aunts and uncles? And, is family defined as having blood relatives? The different structures of family affect one’s experience within it. While I was assured that the project studied “many different types of family,” the research did not clarify this question for me. Knowing what I know about the LDS church and its enforcement of normative family structures, the possibility of relying upon other forms of family than the normative and traditional ones seemed slim. However, the variance in family experience should be accounted for, as the different heads of a family constitute a LGBTQ identified youth’s experience. Moreover, should family be defined as blood relatives who put others in situations such as homelessness? While this does not address the needs of LGBTQ identified homeless, maybe there’s something wrong with how we, as a society, are defining family. A crucial difference between blood relatives, who may disagree with us, and family, people who love and accept is, should be made. After all,

A reality for some LGBTQ and religious identified individuals is that they end up leaving the church they were raised in, whether forced to or voluntary, and remain content to not be attending church. I see this situation an important one to include in the FAP. Many will question why no longer religiously-involved LGBTQ identified individuals even matter in movement such as this. If they are no longer attending Church, why should this affect them?  Despite the inactivity or religious relocation of these individuals, their families may remain faithful and religious, which can cause friction in a relationship. The fact of the matter is that religion can be more than just sitting in a chapel. Religion becomes a way of life for many individuals and families. From these beliefs sprout customs, a culture, a navigation of how to live one’s life. As seen in the documentary “Families are Forever,” the Montgomerys had a life envisioned for their son before he came out to them. The religious culture within families rings true for Mormons, and for many other religions. And these traditions remain in tact with families, independent of a LGBTQ identified individual’s activity within an organized body of religion. I, personally, am still asked to pray and participate in prayer at family gatherings and meals. I, daily, deal with how was I socialized and how the conditions it mandates on my activities now. Simply quitting attending church does not free oneself from religion’s effects. And should LGBTQ youth want to leave their church, I would hope this project addresses, embraces, respects, and works with that. And should they want to stay in their church, I would hope this project addresses, embraces, respects, and works with that. I don’t think there’s one way to live as a religious and LGBTQ identified individual  – we have many different experiences. And they should not be placed on a hierarchy, with one lived experience prioritized over another.

I applaud the work that FAP is doing, as the homelessness and rejection of LGBTQ youth is a pertinent issue in our society. However, I desire for the FAP to be accountable for the variance in experiences of the religious LGBTQ community, and to not prescribe one way of living to the entire body. This privileging of family structure and activity within religious spaces does more to promote assimilation into traditional family structures and religious spaces, overlooking other experiences. And maybe those other issues are what need to be accepted, by everyone. 

The Discussion at Home

Matt here.

Picking up from last week, I'd just asked the elders to come over to my house so we could talk. They were in the city proper and I live out on the edge, so they said they'd be by in about an hour.

***

I'm a believing person. If you tell me you had a good time on our date, I'll believe you. If you say you're allergic to wheat, I'll believe you. If you say you care about me, I'll believe you.

One thing I've believed in is that the church has its members' best interests at heart. As a teenager, a few of my home teachees were inactive, and when we'd visit them every month I'd get a distinct sense that we were imposing and that they didn't really want us there. I couldn't figure out why. To me, it seemed like a nice thing, to have people who would check up on you and make sure you have help if there's a crisis. Yeah, we'd do a little spiritual thought thing that I guess could (in retrospect, did) get on people's nerves, but in my mind at least that was secondary. The primary purpose was to let them know we were willing to help with whatever they might need.

I haven't been hometaught since my first year at BYU, and that's hurt. I bring this up because in my handful of years as a less active or inactive member, I've also never been visited by the missionaries.The two are linked in my head because I had a different idea of what it meant to be inactive--I thought I would be pursued. I mean, isn't that one of the standard ex-Mormon rants, that they never leave you alone? Just because I didn't want to go to church doesn't mean I didn't want any contact.

But as I've mentioned, I'm trying to take Joan Didion's words to heart: "Character--the willingness to accept responsibility for one's own life--is the source from which self-respect springs." I called the elders because I'm tired of waiting for the church to come to me. I guess part of my goal for the visit was to assert myself. I'm still here, I'm still a member. What are you gonna do about it?

***

In the end, I committed to read the scriptures every day until our next meeting, one week later. I expected something like that going in, and I'd've been disappointed if they hadn't asked. There discussion that led there was interesting, though.

First, Elder M (the redhead) was gone; they were doing exchanges. When I answered the door, I found Elder H (with the interesting voice) and Elder T, who was gorgeous.

Damn, I thought. One of the reasons I'd been so comfortable around Elders H&M was that I didn't feel a physical spark with either of them, so it was easy to focus on other things, like religion or whatever. Elder T was just shy of my height, green eyed, and had a beautiful smile. I would find out over the course of our discussion that he was also my age, having left on his mission a few years later than normal. Damn.

I led them onto the back porch, where I'd put out a couple of green plastic chairs in a triangle. They didn't know this, of course, but the back yard at my parents' house is my special place. I've spent more time out there than anyone else in my family, playing around or swimming or laying in the sun or whatever. It added something to my sense of security, being on my turf. I took the chair with my back to the pool, so I could see the house on the off chance that someone came home early. (I was supposed to have the house to myself for a few more hours.)

For a couple of seconds we just sat there. Then I told them a little about me: not sure about religion or God or anything like that, but raised in the church and wanting to take another look at it. Came out at BYU, inactive for a handful of years.

Elder T started with (what seemed to me to be) a curveball: "What's the most important thing to you?" And of course I knew they were expecting me to say family, and I wracked my brain to come up with a different answer, but after a couple of seconds I gave in because my family actually is the most important thing for me. But I followed it up with an similarly important second thing--"my independence." We talked about our families for a bit, Elder H complimenting my parents effusively, as he should, but they didn't press into Plan of Salvation territory, like I'd assumed they would. Elder T said he totally understood having difficulty submitting to authority, since he was an "alpha-male" type, and I privately agreed, fervently, with that.

Elder H asked me if there was some particular event that pushed me away from the church. Later he'd confess that since finding out he'd be coming to California he'd been afraid of Prop 8 coming up, and that explained why his face fell when I told him there were two things: first, Prop 8, and second, the utter lack of spiritual confirmation I've felt. I explained that while I believe it's entirely possible to be a good person and be against gay marriage at the polls (e.g. my parents), I can't excuse the church's role in the awful, dishonest Yes-On-8 campaign.

Both missionaries were touchingly sympathetic. Elder H, I'm pretty sure, is actually in favor of gay marriage and feels very conflicted about it. Elder T distracted me with that damn smile of his, so I don't remember exactly what he said other than affirming his belief that the church is led by inspiration. Neither missionary tried to treat it as inconsequential, which I appreciated.

After a time we moved on to the lack of spiritual confirmation, and I'm not going to tell you most of this part.  The three of us were open about the things we knew and believed and hoped, and we all shared some things that don't see daylight all that often, even for them as missionaries I would guess. Elder H talked about different ways that the spirit might manifest itself, though, and Elder T cautioned both to be sure I'm not expecting some grand miracle and that getting a testimony of God or the church could take years, as it had for him. (Remember that he's twenty-four.)

We wrapped up by setting a place (a nearby park) and time (same time, one week later) for our next meeting. I showed them out, and made a list of study questions for the coming week:

1. Do I believe in God?
2. Do I believe in Jesus?
3. Do I believe in the Mormon church?
4. What would spiritual confirmation be like?

And if you'd like to find out how that went, as well as hear about my second meeting with the Elders, that's what my next post will be about.

***

Unrelated: What My Daughter Wore
Unrelated: Do You Hold Hands?
Semi-related: Ben and Matthew

The Point of It All

Matt here.

Some time ago I wrote a post about the phrase “I love you, but . . . ” and then a post about the hypocrisy of gay people denying other people’s feelings, and then a post about the importance of making people feel loved. It’s time to finish the series with today’s post, the fourth and last, about why I think all this is worth so many words.

---

This is my dad:

Actually, he's clean shaven now. And not Japanese.

Dad's a retired military officer and an active member of his local ward. Yesterday, he and I spent the day in Kyoto with Adam, the last man I dated before moving out here. Dad knows Adam was my boyfriend.

I wouldn’t have believed that this could be a good thing when I first came out and Dad was talking to me about hormone therapy to ‘fix my problem,’ but we had a blast.

This is my mom:

Not really. My mom would be smiling.

She married Dad at nineteen, raised five excellent children (I’m number four), and is now one of the masterminds behind her ward’s Relief Society.

When I was in college she consistently spoke about me finding the right girl someday; last year she blew my mind by casually mentioning that I should “get a man who sings.” She was not referring to party entertainment.

---

The point of this series is that when I first came out, my parents loved me but believed homosexuality was chosen sin. I had a choice in how to react to that. I could have insisted that their beliefs meant they didn’t really love me, or that if they really loved me they would change their beliefs. I could have bawled that it was the LDS church or me. I could have started dating right away and rubbed my orientation in their faces, ignoring how it would hurt them.

I did not do these things. I can’t say for sure how my life would be different if I had, but I seriously doubt I would have the quality relationship with my parents that I have now. Instead, I trusted that they did, indeed, love me. I respected that they had lived three-plus times as long as me and might know something I didn’t, and I came out slowly, in stages, as gently as I could.

---

Let me be clear: I am not saying that people should be given a green light for ass-hattery when they say “I love you, but . . .” I am not saying that there are no circumstances in which delicacy and respect for others’ feelings should be dropped.

I am saying that the “but” in “I love you, but [thing]” does not automatically negate the love. I am saying that when someone says they love you, there is no valid way to disprove them. I am saying that loving someone is often meaningless if you don’t make them feel loved.

I’m saying that it is best to not give people me-or-your-beliefs ultimatums.

I’m saying that eventually, after panicky gay adolescence, we can afford to be generous toward people who believe differently. Even when our rights are being voted on.

---

Maybe especially when our rights are being voted on: This article from The Atlantic tells the fascinating story of last year’s four marriage equality wins. The secret is pretty simple. We gave up on pointing out the factual inaccuracies of anti-gay rhetoric and focused on making people feel our love for each other.

There are many ways to stand up for ourselves, and some are more effective than others.

---

In the coming years, I hope to see gay marriage legalized in all fifty states. I hope to see fewer gay kids on the streets, fewer suicides, less bullying. At the same time, I feel the need to offer a counterpoint to the chorus of voices like Clyde’s, which seem to me to be saying that we have no power; that there’s nothing we can do; that we are victims. That our behavior, our attitudes, our beliefs are beyond reproach, and it’s up to Them to fix this mess.

I firmly believe that insisting They clean up the mess alone is a strategy intoxicated with righteous indignation, and it is a strategy that will keep the mess worse and leave it longer than it would be if we stopped thinking of ourselves as victims and did what we could.

I will not insist that "negotiations" consist solely of me getting my way, now--that is what children do.

I will not be controlled by indignation that is so there, even when stupid arguments are invoked.

The reason is simple: People who "love us, but . . ." are not enemies, and I am not a victim.

The Brightness of Today

Matt here.

My friends! My dear friends. Most of us have never met, but I’ve been writing to you for years from various places. Those of you who’ve been around the ‘sphere long enough have seen me grow from a dark, sad sixteen year old to a bright, happy twenty-four year old. And today, I’m so very thankful.

I’m thankful for your comments and emails, your Facebook friendships and Skype sessions, our meetups and adventures. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to go through the past eight years surrounded exclusively by straight people, who, while often wonderful, can’t connect with me in the same ways you can.

I’m thankful for my parents, who were devastated when I came out but who pulled themselves together, like me, a bit at a time. I’m thankful that this weekend my dad is flying out to Japan so that we can have a three-week foreign adventure together. I’m thankful that my mom Skypes with me most weeks and my sister, who is an EFY session director, asks about my love life.

My life is filled with cherry blossoms and sunshine, and even my impending unemployment (two weeks!) can’t get me down today.

Without the darker years it would still be bright now, but my joy, my understanding and experience and savor of today’s brightness, would be blander. If your bright time hasn’t come yet, I hope it comes soon. I hope you can make yourself strong, and when you can’t make yourself strong, I hope you can find people who’ll lend you strength. If your bright time hasn’t come, know that someday this pain will be useful to you.

---

Nature.

Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You.

A postcard

Matt here. The post I had planned for today isn't ready yet. In the meantime I thought I'd share something with you: 

My older brother sent me an email today. The one I haven't talked to in three years.

***

"We just got the New Year's postcard that you sent.  It's beautiful!  Thank you."

***

I don't think we'll ever agree about who was at fault in the events that split us up. He hurt me more and made me angrier than I think anyone else ever has. To me at least it's clear that I'm in the right, but he disagrees.

***

If I'd insisted he see things from my perspective before reaching out to him—building a bridge—I wouldn't have this little tendril of hope that maybe he's ready to stop insisting I see things from his perspective and one day we'll be friends again, even though it can't ever be like it was. 

***

I want my brother back.

Belated Christmas Thoughts

After a hiatus brought on by vacation and a lack of planning ahead on my part, I am finally back to writing my belated Sunday night posts. Yay! And many apologies.

I don't have much to write about still. I have now seen Les Mis three times, and I still really like it. Christmas with the family was funny. We watched the Doctor Who Christmas special, starring a new actress who is really quite adorable, and my (younger, innocent, cute, etc.) siblings were joking with each other about her; my sister was teasing my brother about how cute she was and he responded with a drawn-out, typical, sexual sigh of teenage longing--"yeeeeaaaahhhhh....sigh" Which I of course joined in on, which they were not expecting.

I also requested Louise Erdrich's book The Antelope Wife as a Christmas present, which has a kind of cubist painting of a bare-breasted woman on the front cover (a sexualization of the Native American female subject that bothered the Native American female author), but was not given it because my parents didn't want me opening it "in mixed company." Meaning that of my 14- and 17-year-old siblings, I guess. Or maybe that there were men in the room and it might be pornographic? Who knows. Anyway, I bought the book myself at a used bookstore in Washington a week later.

There were some less funny moments, like when my dad (intentionally or not) equated both suicidality and bisexuality with "choices" that he hoped I would steer away from making so that I could end up in "a good place" by making "wise choices." Also implicit was that suicide and sexuality are worldly ideologies that I have apparently bought into. My parents' view on suicide is fairly disturbing; when talking about a boy we know who committed suicide, they concluded their discussion on him with, "Well, but he did commit some pretty serious sins, so." As if that explained the whole thing. Only those who choose to sin choose to commit suicide, I guess.

What bothers me more is that my parents, who are tired of all the emotional pain I apparently heap on them with devilish glee, have adopted an attitude of disinterested disapproval; rather than listening to me when I talk, they have taken to informing me that what I do as the Laman/Lemuel combo of the family is no longer their problem. They have, as they said, chosen to step out of the path of the "speeding train of self-destruction" that is now my life. It was nice of them to take me to see Les Mis with them and to give me Christmas presents and all those traditional family Christmas things. And I kind of hate to be talking about all this on a blog, knowing what would happen if they saw any of this anywhere on the internet. But there were just these moments where my parents so affectedly do not care about me at this point. When I tried to explain to my dad about how I was feeling about this, he just said, "Well, we're trying to help you feel welcome at our house, so stop feeling anxious about it." I think that they think I'm a robot now (which they've said many times to my face), which I guess means I have no feelings--apart from devilish glee and a general delight in sin and mayhem--but when I say that I feel stressed and anxious I'm just told not to be, like it's not something that is a part of my makeup anymore even though they know that I've been stressed and anxious for my entire life. In the past they've tried to help with that. Now, not so much. They just don't care. So those are the reasons why Christmas mostly just ended with me sobbing every night. It was not that great.

Happily, I only had to be there for like three days, and then I went to lovely Washington, which was good. And I'm trying to focus on the positive aspects of being back in Provo, like finally going to the Sundance Film Festival with friends in a few weeks. I feel bad about the people who also had crummy Christmas breaks but didn't get to escape to Washington at the end of it. That sucks, and I'm sorry.

That concludes the summary of the bad parts of Christmas break. To be clear, even though they seem to believe otherwise, I do love my parents and especially my cute little siblings. But that doesn't mean that hanging out with them doesn't suck sometimes.

In lieu of the Leslie Norris poem I wanted to share, since I can't find the full text anywhere, here's a poem I read on Christmas that I quite liked. Cheers.

"Nativity"
Li-Young Lee 

In the dark, a child might ask, What is the world?
just to hear his sister
promise, An unfinished wing of heaven,
just to hear his brother say,
A house inside a house,
but most of all to hear his mother answer,
One more song, then you go to sleep.

How could anyone in that bed guess
the question finds its beginning
in the answer long growing
inside the one who asked, that restless boy,
the night's darling?

Later, a man lying awake,
he might ask it again,
just to hear the silence
charge him, This night
arching over your sleepless wondering,

this night, the near ground
every reaching-out-to overreaches,

just to remind himself
out of what little earth and duration,
out of what immense good-bye,

each must make a safe place of his heart,
before so strange and wild a guest
as God approaches.

With Apologies

I'm not sure what to post on today. I probably wouldn't post, but I feel bad about not blogging last week. In my defense, I'd just finished finals, and spent a pleasant day with my cousins shopping and watching Lord of the Rings and I didn't really feel like doing anything else. Now I'm over at my parents' house for the next three days, hoping everything will be okay. It probably will. I'm still anxious about it, in spite of reassurances and the fact that it is only for three days.

I'm glad it will be a white Christmas here in Utah. That should be nice.

Christmas is sad because traditions are supposed to remind us of how everything is the same. But nothing is the same here; we're watching home videos and I'm up on the screen reading two poems I wrote where every line ends with "because of the baby Jesus." I'm like 11. It's adorable. And long and silly and kind of weird. We were cute kids. So I guess there's that. But now we're all grown up and sad. And it's kind of sad.

I feel bad that I don't have anything else to say. But I hope you have a pleasant holiday, whatever you do or do not celebrate. Either way, here's a poem by ee cummings about christmas, but also about being sad and lonely, so it can apply to multiple circumstances.

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid

look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel"