by Dan Savage
Kean: Let the choir say:
All: It gets better. Amen.
Kean: It gets better, and gaymen!
Kean: We are successful. I’m a director of finance. David does PR. Lenox is a journalist. And Rannon is an analyst/HR/business man.
So we’re all very successful in that aspect but that’s not what makes us successful. What makes us successful is the fact that we didn’t let our gayness define who we are. It’s a part of us, but it doesn’t define who we are. And I think that’s what makes us a unique group of guys and a unique group of people. Because “we is who we is,” but we’re not letting anybody tell us that just because you’re gay you can’t do things. You were meant to be great. Everybody’s meant to be great. It’s the question of what are you going to do to make yourself great. That’s the question you have to ask yourself.
Lenox: And you will find the answer to that question. It’s really hard but you just have to keep the faith and keep believing in yourself and loving yourself and it will come. It all comes to you. It really will.
David: What I do now, and what I did back then, are affirmations. I know it sounds crazy talking to yourself in the mirror. But, honestly, I kind of have a theme song I carry with me throughout the day. I think it was Ellen who talked about that, about having a theme song every day or having some type of mantra to get through my day. It’s really been a positive thing for me. It’s given me a shield of armor, if you will, against all those elements that were negative affecting me. I started seeing things in a different perspective. Think about doing something like that, saying something that’s great about yourself every day and wearing that on your sleeve. Letting that guide you through your day and for the rest of your days, even as an adult.
All: It gets better!
Lenox Magee has had more than ten years of national and international experience in journalism as an on-air personality, journalist, blogger, and writer. The Chicago native was the former editor-in-chief of Bleu Magazine, a national LGBT publication; a radio cohost/producer for Windy City Radio, Chicago’s only LGBT radio station; a reporter/producer for Vatican Radio, in Rome, Italy; and online content manager for the GLO TV Network, a new urban gay network.
Outside of his full-time responsibilities as an associate director for AT&T, Rannon “Ray” Harris still finds time to work as an entertainment editor for two major publications (360 Magazine and Bleu Magazine), write his book, and further develop his locution by working on press releases, interviews, stories, and reviews.
David Dodd currently serves as communications manager for Windy City Black Pride (WCBP), a volunteer-based 501(c)(3), not-for-profit organization that provides resources, conducts outreach, and hosts the largest event in the Midwest for the African American LGBT community. He is responsible for developing and implementing the organization’s local and national advertising, marketing, and public-relations strategies while writing for his popular blog, The Real BGC (Black Gay Chicago).
Kean Ray has such a passion for educating that he has served in the higher education sector for the past six years, working for Northwestern College as the director of finance; the University of Phoenix; and Ellis University as an adjunct professor facilitating business communications and interpersonal communications. He is currently working on his PsyD in business psychology at the Chicago School of Professional Psychology and has just started his first business venture, K Dock Media, an event-planning marketing firm.
DROP DEAD, WARLOCK
by David Sedaris
LONDON, ENGLAND
I’m so old that when I was in junior high school calling someone a queer was like calling him a warlock. This is not to say that the word was never used, just that no one had actual faith in it. A kid might be girlish. He might tape pictures of other guys to the inside of his locker or pack for Scout camp in a patent leather purse but no one believed he could truly be a homosexual, as such creatures didn’t really exist—did they?
We certainly didn’t see them on TV. My school had no information on gay people, and neither did the public library, not even in novels. Perhaps it was different for kids in big cities but in Raleigh, North Carolina, in the late ’60s and early ’70s, I honestly believed I was the only homosexual on earth. It’s the way that a zoo creature might feel—these seals, for example, I saw on a recent trip to New York. Born in captivity, what do they know of the oceans, and of all the other seals living contented lives out there?
A gay fourteen-year-old in the year 2010, even one living in the smallest of towns, must surely know that he’s not the only homosexual on earth. He might need reminding, though, that all the best people are tormented in junior high school. If they’re not getting harassed for being gay, they’re bound to get it for being too smart, too loud, or too independent. It’s always something, and then you get older, and things change for the better.
If you had told me when I was young that by the turn of the century, I’d be a published author, I would not have believed you. If you told me that I would have a long-term boyfriend, and that the two of us would live in New York, and then Europe, I’d have accused you of reading my mind—the innermost section where I hide my wildest fantasies. With the exception of owning a proboscis monkey, everything I wanted when I was a teenager has come to pass.
This is not to say that every homosexual automatically gets what he or she dreams of. A miserable youth doesn’t guarantee you a happy adulthood—that would be too fair. It helps to be flexible, especially in regards to what you might think of as your “type.” Decide you will settle for nothing less than Thor, the Nordic God of thunder, and you’ve essentially drained your dating pool. Loosen up. Be kind. Allow yourself to be surprised.
It helps, too, to keep a diary, to record the many injustices you’ve suffered, and later turn them into stories. You can’t do anything with people being nice to you. People being awful, though; that’s gold, so mine it while you can.
David Sedaris is the author of seven books, the most recent of which is Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk. He is a regular contributor to The New Yorker and Public Radio International’s This American Life. He and his boyfriend, the painter Hugh Hamrick, currently live in London.
GWENDOLYN GONE
by Meshell Ndegeocello
HUDSON, NY
To be honest, bullying was such a regular part of growing up for me that it doesn’t seem like days, moments, or events to remember, but just a chunk, an era, and one of the hardest parts of my life.
I do remember the first time like it was yesterday, though. In the fifth grade, I had a friend named Gwendolyn. We stuck together at school and hung out in the afternoons. Gwendolyn was tall, athletic, kind of a big girl. We were alike in a lot of ways; butchy, indifferent to what the other girls seemed to care about, and, the big one, uninterested in boys. But when one boy teased us, saying we were “tomboys together,” Gwendolyn turned to me and said, “No way!” and pushed me. She chased me home until she caught me. She told me she wasn’t my friend anymore and hit me in the face. I didn’t understand what I had done, but I felt terrible about myself. It felt like something must be really wrong with me if Gwendolyn, who I thought I shared a lot in common with, didn’t want to be my friend any more than the other kids who seemed so different from me.
I was afraid to make friends after Gwendolyn. And I was teased for years after that. I was pretty isolated and often lonely in middle school and high school. I went to the prom with my own brother. I wasn’t sure why I wasn’t like more of the girls in my grade, but at some point, I realized that what set me apart was not what I was wearing or eating for lunch or listening to on my headphones, but that I was gay. Once I knew that, which wasn’t easy to realize, I looked outside my class and outside my school for a few people who I thought might recognize me. And there were lots of them once I looked. With a little time and a few people on my side, I became brave enough not to care about the people who didn’t like me. I even became brave enough not to hate them for being mean to me. My w
orld did get better, but I got better, too.
I don’t know what happened to Gwendolyn, but I do know this: When I look back, it is still a little painful. When I think about being a teenager, I don’t usually feel nostalgic. But I don’t have to feel bad about how I made someone else feel ashamed or unwanted. Despite how painful it was to earn it, I cherish the wisdom I have about accepting myself and other people, all kinds of people, for who they are. When I make a friend now, I make sure they know that I don’t care if they are weird, or popular, or straight, or pretty, or black, or like me, or different. I just want them to know that I like them, that I am their friend, and I mean it.
Meshell Ndegeocello was born Michelle Johnson in Berlin, Germany, and raised in Washington DC. Her records, eight to date, have offered lyrical ruminations on race, love, sex, betrayal, God, and power, and she has simultaneously embraced and challenged listeners with her refusal to be pigeonholed musically or personally. Along the way, she has earned diehard fans, critical acclaim, the unfailing respect of fellow players, songwriters, and composers, and ten Grammy Award nominations. Meshell was the first woman to be featured on the cover of Bass Player magazine and remains one of few women who lead the band and write the music.
GROWING UP GAY . . . AND KINKY
by Dart
MARCY, NY
When I was a teenager, back in the ’80s, I went to a boarding school. I was ostracized and hazed and mocked for being different. Not only was I dealing with a very, very tough puberty but I was confused by the gay feelings I was starting to have. Add to that confusion my realization that I was also kinky and into leather.
In this close-knit, little boarding school community, I was treated really, really badly. The boys used to write really cruel things on my dorm room door, like “fag” and “homo.” And to this day, I can still remember going to use the bathroom one day and finding all this graffiti written about me on one of the stall walls. The worst of it showed an arrow pointing to my name and, scrawled beneath it, was, “It’s because of him we have AIDS.” This was in 1983, when so little was known about AIDS and there was so much fear and panic around the epidemic, so you can imagine just how painful that was.
I felt suicidal at the time. I thought there was no hope for me. I knew I couldn’t help these feelings that I was having, and I was stuck in this environment that didn’t like or accept me for who I am. I just didn’t know if I could go on.
I’m here to let you know that you can go on. There is a whole wonderful world outside this teenage high school environment that you may be feeling oppressed in. And it’s a world where you can celebrate who you are, you can embrace who you are, and you can actually have fun being you.
After I left boarding school, I went to UCLA, right in Los Angeles, right near West Hollywood. I discovered a whole new environment that nurtured, supported, and celebrated diversity. It was fun being a gay man there; I actually felt encouraged to go out and experience new things. I met some of the most wonderful people during that time of my life, who liked me because I was different.
I also realized then that the rest of the world is not necessarily as the media portrays it. You have to watch the news and watch political commentary with a grain of salt. You’re seeing some extremes on FOX News. It doesn’t speak for the rest of the world, and it doesn’t speak for the rest of America, either. There is a lot of support out there and a lot of celebration for being a gay person.
I love the life that I’m living right now. If I was given the choice to have any other kind of life, I wouldn’t choose another one. I like to say, “When I die, I want to come back as me.” And recently, I went back to my twenty-year high school reunion and brought the man I was seeing. All the guys that I hung out with at the party were the same guys who used to haze me in high school. But they were awesome; they had all grown up, just as I had. In fact, one of them gave me a big hug and said, “You know what? You turned out really, really good despite all the challenges we gave you. And you know what, if I was gay, I’d do ya.”
It does get better. Hang on. I think you are really, really going to enjoy who you are.
Dart is an active educator, performer, and player in the leather and BDSM world. He has traveled extensively, teaching various topics in kink and sexuality. He has a monthly podcast available on iTunes called Dart’s Domain. He also blogs regularly on his website, www.dartsdomain.com.
THE BIGGEST GIFT
by Stewart Taylor
NEW CANAAN, CT
Growing up in a small, conservative town in Connecticut, I found that being different was not something other kids took well to. I was always the awkward, skinny kid that liked to sing in school talent shows, and most people usually assumed that I was gay. After a while, I felt trapped in the stereotype that all male singers were gay, and grew tired of being treated a certain way for just being myself and pursuing my music.
Middle school became a giant charade for me, as I tried desperately to act cool and prove to everyone that I wasn’t gay. I grew my hair out; I tried to act more manly; I only listened to certain singers on my iPod; and I bragged about all the girls I was hooking up with after I got leads in the school musicals. I was suppressing who I really was to please my peers, and I acted like a complete asshole as a result.
But changing myself in order to gain popularity and acceptance wasn’t making me any happier. Instead, I discovered that being afraid of my true self was incredibly debilitating, and by high school, I had had enough of the charade. In truth, I not only liked girls but boys, as well. Yet I had become so set on the idea that any form of gayness was a bad thing that I suppressed that side of myself.
In high school, I had to completely relearn how to just be me. Little by little, I clawed out of the hole I had dug for myself and learned to distance myself from the people who didn’t accept me. I stopped caring about the way I acted or about what kids I was seen with. I befriended people based on who they really were. I got involved with the school theater program, where I continued to hone my talents. I was around other kids who loved music and performing as much as I did.
The final key to fully accepting myself was coming to terms with my sexuality, something I’d struggled long and hard with. Yet, it is this struggle that’s made me who I am today.
Bisexuality is probably one of the more difficult orientations to understand because it’s neither black nor white. For years I went back and forth in my mind trying to figure out if it was even possible to like both sexes. But now at eighteen, I can confidently say that I am bi.
Needless to say, the path to acceptance has not been free of obstacles. Much of our society is still extremely homophobic. And many kids get the message that being gay is the worst thing you can be. Getting over that initial belief and reversing the damage it had done to me psychologically was the first step to accepting my orientation. I was also fortunate enough to seek solace in another bisexual schoolmate who came out before I did. She was further proof to me that I was not alone and that other kids struggled with the same issues. With her, I was finally able to experience what it was like to be my true self. I could spend time with her and openly comment on girls and guys without feeling the need to censor myself. Slowly but surely, I came out to my two best friends, both of whom were incredibly accepting.
It wasn’t until my junior year in high school that I completely cast aside the apprehension I felt about other people knowing my secret. One evening, at my best friend’s Christmas party, I had a conversation with an older musician about orientation that literally changed my life. I’ll call him Frank. After talking with him for a while about music, he asked me if I was gay. I was taken aback by his question and told him that I wasn’t. Frank then proceeded to ask me if I was bi, to which I fearfully gave the same response. He apologized for being so blunt, but I could tell he knew I was lying. So, eventually, I opened up and told him I was bisexual. He then proceeded to tell me that the moment someone asks you if you’re gay and you freeze up and deny it, you’r
e giving that person the power to walk all over you. You’re giving them the power to judge you. However, if someone asks you the same question and you immediately, and proudly, respond, “Yeah, got a problem with that?” suddenly you have the power. You’re showing that person that you know who you are and you’re fine with it.
Frank will probably never know what a profound impact his words had on my life that night. From that moment on, I didn’t care what other people thought. I went straight home, logged on to my Facebook page, and proudly wrote that I was attracted to women AND men. I was done hiding. People would just have to take me as I was, otherwise they didn’t deserve me at all.
As the week went on, friends confronted me and told me how proud they were that I had made such a brave move. I had my doubts about the way my guy friends would respond to the news, but thankfully, they were all supportive. The news snowballed around school and became a much bigger deal than I ever thought it would be. Unfortunately, the news reached my younger brother before I could tell him myself. He came home from school that afternoon and asked me if the talk around school was true. I simply told him that, while he probably wouldn’t understand, I was in fact bisexual. What I didn’t know was that he’d go straight to my dad and tell him.
My father did not take the news well. He tried to convince me that my decision to come out was not okay. The next morning he told me he was kicking me out of the house.