by Sarah Moon
Okay, I’ll spoil one thing. Even though I know you won’t believe me, I’ll tell you this one thing because maybe it will make the next years a little less hopeless. This is the thing: You’ll love Dad. You’ll look to him for advice and support and there will be times when he is the only person you think you can call. He will be there for you. He will tell you he loves you and that he’s proud of you. And all this will happen after he knows your most hidden, most ashamed-of secrets. All those things that make you feel like a monster now. He will know them. And he will be proud of you. I promise.
And around that time you will stop seeing death as the only way out of all the worry and fear and anger. That desire to die will go away and in its place will be a need to be useful, and a first-time-ever comfort in being yourself. Right now you feel like an alien. I remember you telling a group of kids one night at a slumber party that you believed you were from another planet. You really believed it. And I know you do right now as you read this. You know what? You are. And it’s cool. You’ll find that planet years later and find other aliens and even then you’ll feel different. It’s how we are. You’ll just get used to it and eventually even be grateful for it.
I’m closing this letter, Billy, and there’s so much I want to tell you and yet I know that nothing I write or say now will change how you feel. I remember how impenetrable you were, how convinced of your aloneness. Just know that I can see you, across the years, from not so far away, I can see you clearly and I know all your worries and fears and shames and death-wishes and alien thoughts. I see and know all of it and many others will too, and they will love you, not despite those things but because of them. So just carry on, kid. Keep calm and carry on.
Love,
Bill
Dear Sarah,
Oh, honey.
First of all, stop eating lunch in the bathroom. Go to the back stairwell to read this, no one will bother you, and there’s a window. In the spring, you can eat in the parking lot. Spring’ll come soon.
ON GIRLS
You will sleep with lots of hot women. Calm down.
Later, when you’re smarter, you’ll sleep with nice hot women too.*
ON VEGETABLES
You should eat more of them, really. Revenge on your fruit-leather-loving, cauliflower-steaming parents by refusing to eat any vegetables until you are twenty-eight is just silly. Also, as it turns out, you don’t hate spinach. One day, you will have dinner parties and fill your house up with people you love and you will feed them.
And stop making fun of your father because you too will have a very particular way of loading the dishwasher.
ON THAT BODY OF YOURS
There will be women who come up behind you and grab your hips and take your breath away. That is how you will learn to love your hips. The rest of it, though, the tiny breasts, dimpled hands, soft belly, potato-shaped feet, baby face, even that one birthmark with the terrible, occasional hair, you’ll have to learn to love all of those things on your own.
ON TOUGHNESS
You put on a leather jacket and smoke cigarettes in the parking lot. You don’t tend toward classroom-appropriate language and if it weren’t for a laughably lenient vice principal, you would be in a lot more trouble than you’re in. All of that, sweet girl, and you’re still not tough. Not in the least.
It’s good news because tough is not going to do you any favors. It’s not going to make L fall in love with you, it’s not going to make Christina be your friend again, it’s not going to undo the spit or the names or the swastikas, it’s not going to make high school go by any faster than it’s going, it’s not going to make you not care that your parents’ divorce sucks, or make you stop thinking about Erin’s death, it’s not going to make Aunt Nan not have cancer, it’s not going to make you feel more like your mother or your sister (who are not so tough themselves, despite what you will continue to believe for a few more years).
So relax, stop trying to perfect your scowl, take off those steel-toe boots (you know they are not the right size and you have blisters for weeks), quit smoking (you’re asthmatic, idiot), and let yourself cry sometimes. No matter what you think, letting yourself start to cry does not mean you will never stop.
ON FAMILY
Your whole, entire family in every single version of it that exists and will exist (this is not the last one, sadly. I know. I’m sorry.) loves you with its entire fumbling heart. I know you feel like an alien and like these people are just waiting for the day the mother ship comes to pick you up, but they’re not. In fact, they each feel alien a lot of the time themselves. That’s how they know that you’re one of them.
Your parents and you get through this. They’re pretty distracted right now; divorce does that to people. Switching houses every three days is too much for you. You want to talk strength? Strength is being able to say, I have to stay in the same place for a little while; I can’t have all of my belongings in a book bag anymore. Strength means making difficult decisions, like who to live with, and who to visit. No one’s life will be destroyed by these decisions; yours, however, might be saved. And that’s all either of your parents wants.
ON HURTING YOURSELF
Please stop.
ON THE BULLIES
How did you think you got strong?
It’s terrible and scary. You are going to be fine. It is in fact true that Tim K. will pump your gas in five years, and that a slew of people will apologize and eventually some will even come out themselves. At the end of the day, you are strong and brave through this, and those are not such bad things to be.
ON GOOD THINGS
Next semester, you will find a note in your bag. This one will not say dyke, or die, or shut up. This one will say thank you. It will be from a senior who is scared, who says you give him hope.
When you graduate, your principal (in whose office you will have spent almost your entire senior year) will give you the award for leadership; she will thank you in front of everyone for pushing her to be a better leader and for making the school a better place. It will be wrapped in a rainbow ribbon. It will not fix everything or wash away the previous years of names and thrown eggs and graffiti and fear. But it will be a good start.
You like college. You choose good friends, mostly. You become a teacher, and you are good at it, just like you’d hoped you’d be. You thank Ms. Rose for that. You write. You are not crazy. You are not mean. You are not hard-hearted and cold. In fact, your heart is big and kind and holds lots of people. You are you, just more so.
xoxoxo,
Sarah
* Okay, just between you and me, we both know that the weirdest thing about coming out on your first day of high school in this tiny cow-town is that you haven’t even kissed a girl yet. All you’re going on is that feeling in your stomach when you see those pictures of the Spice Girls. It feels a little strange to go around proclaiming that you’re a lesbian when you’re not even sure that, you know, you’ll like it. That quiet fear that this isn’t the right thing, that you’re going through all of this trouble for nothing, that if you had Angelina Jolie right there in front of you, you wouldn’t know what to do with her, it’s very scary. I have good news for you: The trouble is worth it, and you’ll learn what to do, and that will be fun.
Dear Bruce-I-Used-to-Be —
I start with that greeting because I’m who you are going to become. I hope that won’t scare you too much. It shouldn’t, because you’re going to have a really good life. Also, for a while, a really confusing one. Which is the main reason I was so happy to have this chance to write to you. I have some important things to tell you.
First and foremost: It’s going to be OK!
Second in line, and nearly as important: It’s not going to feel that way sometimes, and it’s definitely not going to be easy. How can it be? Most people don’t even think that what you are exists.
I mean, seriously, you already know you don’t quite fit in. You’re just not aware, yet, how fully that is true. So, let’s g
et it on the table: You’re bisexual. Not straight. Not gay. Bisexual.
(Come on, just think about how much you like looking at the underwear ads in the Sears catalog … no matter which page you’re on!)
The thing is, the word “bisexual” isn’t easy to discover back then, especially not for a kid living out in farm country. So in a couple of years you’re going to invent your own self-descriptor, just to have a name for yourself. Knowing that people who can use their right hand and their left hand with equal ease are called “ambidextrous,” you will decide to think of yourself as “ambi-sextrous.” I still think that was clever of you. (You’re good with words. Stick with that: It’s going to pay off.)
The good news is that your “sexual orientation,” as it will come to be called, is actually pretty cool. It means there are so many more people you can have fun with. And you can take considerable pride in saying that when it comes to love you’ll never discriminate on the basis of gender!
On the other hand, it’s going to make life really tricky.
For one thing — and this will get really annoying — people are desperately going to want you to decide you’re either straight or gay. Most will want you to be straight, because they find that more comfortable. Your gay friends, in contrast, will be rooting for you to declare yourself in their camp. Only rarely will people simply accept you for what you are. In fact, they will want “clarity” of your identity so much that they’re going to tell themselves, and try to tell you, that what you are is imaginary.
I’m not kidding. Many gay folk are going to believe you just haven’t finished coming out yet — or worse, that you’re afraid or ashamed to admit that you’re really gay. Straight folk, especially the ones who don’t want you to be gay, will cling to the belief that you’re “just going through a phase.”
You’re even going to believe it yourself for a while. When you’re happily (but guiltily) exploring sex with your buddy Tom, even while you’re crushing on the gorgeous-but-unavailable Cheryl, you’re both going to be telling yourself that messing around with a male friend is just a substitute for “the real thing.”
This will turn out to be true for Tom — and absolutely false for you.
As to the guilt … try to shed it as early as you can! It’s an appalling artifact of a culture that is totally messed up and fearful about sexuality in all its forms. People are going to get healthier about this in the decades ahead of you, which is going to be a huge relief to everyone.
Just how tenacious is this idea that what we are doesn’t exist? It still persists. Only this month I saw a report on a new study where some scientists were amazed to discover that there really are men who are aroused by both men and women. We could have told them that a long time ago, but they wouldn’t have believed us.
To set the record (you should pardon the term) straight: By the time I’m writing this, you’ll have been going through that “phase” for almost fifty years. And it shows no sign of coming to a close. (A word of advice in that regard: It pays to take care of your body. Seriously, you’ll have a lot more fun if you do.)
Anyway, what you really are is Queer. Not “queer” in the sense of “a guy who only likes guys,” but queer in the sense of being really, really different. You’re going to find that even when you’re in a subgroup you don’t quite fit in.
Don’t worry about it. It’s a lot more interesting than being “normal” — which hardly anyone is, anyway. The whole “normal” thing is pretty much a made-up idea. And — oddly enough — even though “normal” is supposed to be the default option, and the goal, in their hearts most people want to be unique in one way or another.
On that matter, early me, we are definitely ahead of the game!
Happily, there are some real joys to come from this. A first kiss is, for most people, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You’ll have it twice, with the first girl you’ll love, and later with the first man you’ll love. It will be earth-shattering both times!
That’s about it for now. You’ll have the usual ups and downs, of course. I can think of some times that make me wish I could come back and give you a big hug and assure you it’s all going to be okay. Trust me, you’ll live through them, though it may not feel like it at the time. The thing is, as long as you can keep that cheerful attitude (it’s one of the best things about you), you’ll be fine.
You’re going to love, really love, a lot of people.
And you’re going to get a lot of love in return, for all kinds of things you do.
Which is pretty much the best thing that anyone can ask for.
That’s it for now. Take care of yourself.
And enjoy the ride.
With love,
Bruce-You-Will-Become
Spring 1988
My dear, dear Shay,
You’ve just closed the social studies text fashioned in a brown paper-bag jacket with doodled hearts and Alice’s name all over it; no doubt all enthused about some pillar of United States government, since at the moment you think you will become a judge. You can’t help it that you get all crazed in third period hearing about all those freedoms inherent in any worthy democracy. You’ve got it honest — you’re an American. Of course, it doesn’t help that she sits next to you wearing that cheerleading skirt whenever there’s a home game. Not to mention, your ancestors — your skinfolk and your kinfolk (you’ll learn the difference, trust me) — hoed a hard row for those liberties. For all the hoopla about freedom of speech, I wish I could tell you that you’ll meet lots of people who embrace freedom of thought and freedom of loving with as much zeal. Sadly, you won’t.
Still, you’re off to a good start following the beat of your own zany drummer, bearing in mind that Freedom is more than a word, it’s a way of life. Dear Shay, go hog wild jamming along your Freedom trail with those people who strike you for their originality, their goodness, their unabashed care and support of you, because some parts of the journey will be damn scary. I look down the road a bit to 1992 — pledge week for the sorority you dream about joining even now. The thought crosses your mind to introduce Alice (oops! Spoiler alert — yes, she feels the same way you do) as a relative instead of your lover. But it’s too painful to turn something so good into something as ugly as a lie. And the people you choose along your trail will support you. Ironically, it won’t be until you go to the books and cinema — they’ve always been your ports in a storm — that you’ll get off course.
It’s senior year of college and though you’re president of the sorority you’ve gone and gotten rid of all of your pretty dresses and high-heel shoes! Feminist theory, books by Joan Nestle, Leslie Feinberg, and Lesléa Newman — not to mention films like Go Fish and Bar Girls — have you all confused. If Alice wears dresses and makeup, can you? Dear Shay, being queer does not mean that you have to wear flannel or steel-toe boots, unless of course you want to. You see, it’s a good thing you like politics because every group has them. But, remember, you’re free to be a femmy-femme girl who also loves femmy-femme girls. How else will you ever really know what other shades of lipstick look good on you? Being queer does not mean all of your books, music, and entertainment will be gay, or that your poodle-loving heart will have to adopt a cat, go vegan, and vacation in Michigan every August, although you will love the Womyn’s music festival. Imagine Girl Scout camp full of adorable artsy chicks running around with their original songs, poetry, fiction, and manifestos on topics that run the gamut from what and who to eat (seitan) to which car to drive (Subaru) — in cutoff jeans and green sashes with nothing underneath. These festivals started out in the Midwest — land of your roots, Shay, so you see you’ve never been alone. You make it to Michigan, Indiana, Iowa, and a particularly memorable one in the woods of Pennsylvania. These girl holidaze are a Rite of Passage for you and many thousands of others.
Most important, and I know this is a big one for you, being queer does not mean that the same God everybody else calls on is somehow deaf to you. Really. Pardon me for sounding
like a commercial here, but yes, you too can have a spiritual life! This will blow your mind, but like many black lesbians, you’ll actually hook up with women from church — and not a “gay” church, though you will find your way to one of those too, but your traditional Baptist church. Next Sunday, open your eyes and you will see that you’re already in the company of others just like you; only they are not as brave as you will need to be.
Waiting on me to tell you what your queerness means? Here’s the thing, dear Shay, your queerness is going to change all of the time, like everything else about you — your skin, your hair, your distaste for tomatoes and beets, your thoughts on the literature of Baldwin and Morrison, Battle’s coloratura and Parker’s shrieking alto sax. What I know is this: Even in the face of all the scary shit you hear and see on the news — signs of hate ranging from the cardboard ones stapled to plywood to the tombstones bearing the names of Sakia Gunn (NJ), Jessica Mercado (CT), and Matthew Shepard (WY) — loving women does not preclude you from sharing beautiful intimacy with an amazing partner; having a child; belonging to a wonderful community; living a life of your own design, the life of your dreams.
Future social studies books will tell a different tale about your citizenship, one that won’t have you living in a land whose twenty-first-century take on same-sex marriage is a throwback to the nineteenth-century case Plessy v. Ferguson (separate but equal). Dear, dear Shay, you must love whom you will fearlessly, remembering that as an American it is your birthright. You are free to do it.
I love you,
LaShonda Katrice Barnett
Dear Howard,
Here’s a news flash from the future: Your penis is not a pervert. And neither are you.
Sure, the world has done its best to convince you otherwise with its snickers and sneers and smutty slang words (“fag”; “queer”; “cocksucker”; “fairy”). It’s important to remember, though, that the “world” that’s making you feel so bad is just a planetful of individual people, an astonishing number of whom are astonishingly ignorant about things they like to think they know all about.