Tell Me A Story

Pride month has officially come to an end. It is the 183 day of the year and that means the year is halfway over. And as my social media feeds change, like seasons, from thirst traps and rainbow colors, to 4th of July memes, barbecue recipes, malignant summer heat, and repetitive political fodder, I am reminded of a time when I was young and niave. I was semi-out when I was in high school. I remember telling one girl that I liked guys. She was friends with the known gay guys in school and I thought it would be an easy way to be welcomed into the gay community. I wanted to know the boys that she knew. I wanted to hangout in her circle, but I wasn't prepared to be a part of the circle that included certain guys that had obvious gay traits. I own that I was homophobic towards my effeminate brothers. I was just trying to get through school without adding another target to my back. I already had enough of them slam on my locker and call me faggot when they saw me in the halls. I was also friends with girls who had boyfriends that were obviously gay (they would later come out, so my suspicions back then were purely my own). Being gay in high school wasn't like it is today, where girls have their super gay best friend and the entire school is openly accepting of the queer community as part of the population. Even back then it was like finding a four leaf clover. The obvious guys that I wanted to know, like Joe or the hunky tall guy that he used to hang out with all of the time, they didn't notice me. It was probably best that they didn't in any case. I did my best to try not to be noticed. That was, until I became a senior. I wanted to be seen by everyone. I joined choir. I was one of 2 boys in dance. I was in the Senior fashion show. And let me tell you, I am not.....nor was I ever a pretty boy....but I wanted to be seen as someone who made an impact. I was photographed more than 5 times in my senior yearbook. Hell, I even made the very last page. It was my greatest time in school. And it was because I had no more fucks to give. But I was still cautious. Because as much as I wanted to be the one who was out and proud, I still didn't want to get my ass kicked. I also didn't want adults making me feel uncomfortable. One teacher, Mr/Coach Saunders, made me feel the most uncomfortable. Coach Saunders was my 1st hour teacher and he always made me feel like I was less of a person because I didn't fit into his idea or mold of what a young man should be. I will admit that for a moment I thought he was cute, but cute in the same way I thought Tim Allen from Home Improvement was cute for a 90's dad. But Coach Saunders was a sesspool of disgusting rhetoric and he was definitely very homophobic. One time in particular the class was discussing something about gays. He made it a point to say that gay men ate each others poop and the class gasped in disgust. It was as if he had picked up a trashy scat video and did the research. He went so far as to demonstrate with his hands like he spoke facts about a community he had no business talking about. He was disgusting. And he was one of the main reasons why I kept my silence. Oh I tried to talk to counselors about my situation. I wasn't confused, but I wanted to talk to someone about being gay. All I really ever did though, was show up and shut down like I had no idea why I was trying to communicate with adults. In my mind, admitting that I was gay to an adult meant that someone would tell my family and I would have hell to pay. I should have apologized to the one gay male counselor that I tried to come out to, I wasted his time. Back then things were still very complicated and people weren't so understanding.