A Christian, hard-rocking gay man

While this blog was always intended to be filled with posts under a pseudonym (Metalhead39), the use of a pseudonym does not make the person I am any less real. My first and last name has no bearing on the story, though I can say I never experienced hatred, name-calling nor any sort of physical or emotional abuse because of my ethnicity and gender. I wrote this post as a way to give some teenager or 'tween' someone to identify with, especially in light of multiple suicides successfully committed by several boys in recent weeks.

The first time I spoke the phrase "I'm gay" to anyone happened when I was 18 years old. If that was the beginning of the story, this would take a lot less time to write. Within months of my official coming out, I met others who identified as gay or lesbian. I have known maybe one or two bi-sexual people and only know male-to-female transgendered people (though I may well know female-to-male transgendered people and they have not 'outed' themselves to me yet).

The story starts in the mid 1970's when I started Kindergarten in Wyoming. Within my first year at elementary school, I knew I was different from other boys. When on the playground, I sought out the company of and preferred playing with girls. Though thin through my college years, I was always the slowest runner, only played one season of soccer and, except for the typical child's outdoor games, avoided joining any sports organization until college, when I rediscovered my love of bowling.

I was skipped a grade ahead from 2nd to 3rd grade. This made me the youngest and the shortest child in every class until puberty started early in 9th grade. Growing to six feet tall shut a lot of mouths!

I did reasonably well in school, though soon learned that being extra smart led to being singled out. As much as any parent wants the most educational challenges for their bright children, children seek to keep their peers at their level. I first learned the power of teasing and bullying somewhere in 2nd grade and it started with bullying from girls. Yes, that fits a stereotype for a boy who is destined to grow up gay; however, I did not know the stereotype existed as a child.

I cannot recall the first time I heard the word "faggot" pointed at me. I cannot even recall how many times I was called "faggot", "fairy", "queer", or any of the other derogatory words for gay. I also cannot recall the number of times I returned the insult with the very same word ("faggot", "fairy", "homo", etc.) or how those whom I insulted felt as I tried using words to defend myself. High school and, especially junior high where the bullying was most intense, was over 25 years ago. I have long since accepted apologies from those who offered them to me for the way I was treated. I have also offered apologies for those to whom I redirected that rage, anger, confusion and self-hatred and I pray that those who needed to hear an apology from me took it as sincere. All of the negative feelings I had as a 'tween' and a teenager rose up as quickly in me as a grade-school volcano lava flow as I followed news of these multiple suicides.

When puberty started, I would fantasize as I explored my ever-changing body about what sex would be like with someone. The fantasies, try as I might to shape them, always involved only men.

The only gay men I ever knew were those few guys at school who were very effeminate. Even though they were in school, they never came out to me. In the mid-eighties, the Internet was something that was 'nerds-only' and consisted of Windows/DOS computer language screens with squaking modems connecting nerds to a network of bulletin boards. No FaceBook, Twitter or a search engine into which I could search for "gay". Not even a way to find other gay teens in the state or country was available to me.

Even if electronic communication was possible back then, I still could not identify myself as gay because:

1. My high school years were spent living in a very conservative part of the country.
2. I tried dressing in women's clothes one time to see if I felt more comfortable. I only wound up feeling more confused and swearing to myself I would never do any such thing again. The clothing never permitted me to express a different side of myself because that side never existed.
3. While I was never a big sports fan, I never enjoyed the typical girl games/activities.
4. While I could appreciate and sometimes enjoy groups like Duran Duran, Culture Club and the Pet Shop Boys, I was (and always shall be) a devoted metalhead. On my very first radio played The Who, Aerosmith, Steve Miller and Led Zeppelin. My uncle got me into Rush and I formed a special connection with all things heavy metal/hard rock.
5. I was very comfortable (and still am somewhat) referring to people as "dude"
6. For the most part, my speaking voice was mid-range for a guy. No lisp and/or high-pitched, fast-talking feminine-like patter came out of my mouth. Once I came out, I began exploring that part of the culture and, now and then, let the "grrrrl" tone of voice come out.

A few months after I came out, I started going to Sunday evening youth group meetings at the county's Gay & Lesbian center. While there were plenty of effeminate men sashaying about, I also met men who were more masculine than many of the straight men I knew as well as those who "picked and chose" their likes and dislikes without regard to the stereotypical gender roles.

I had thought plenty of times as a teenager of killing myself. Blessedly, I never formed a plan to do this. I could not imagine any method of suicide that did not involve pain, stealing something illicit to complete the act or some way of doing the deed and not having my mother be racked with pain for the years to follow. At times, it was a minute-by-minute decision to not kill myself fueled only by my greater fear of causing my mother psychological harm from which she might never have recovered.

I never spoke with a therapist/psychologist and/or psychiatrist as a child. I knew of no "peer" of mine nor a teacher or other trusted adult to whom I could visit and figure out someway of reconciling my burgeoning sexuality with my personality. The only person I knew who would have accepted me even as a mess of confusion lived clear across the country.

I even have a Bible, given to me as a child, in which I underlined and highlighted passages which purport to talk about homosexuality as a sin. It was not until my early twenties that I learned many of those passages were translated only after choosing one interpretation of the original text as it best fit the popular culture (and, in some cases, the reigning King) of the times. Before then, however, I had resigned myself to the same mantra many LGBTQ people did regarding their own religion: if I am destined to be damned to Hell upon my death, I will make my life on this earth as best as possible until my final breath.

To any gay, lesbian, bi-, trans or queer/questioning youth reading this post, my message is that I, like your gay brothers, lesbian sisters, fellow bi-'s and the trans community, know deep in my heart that your emotional battles are waged day to day, hour to hour and even minute to minute while you are convinced you are the only combatant in a war where everyone else has declared themselves your enemy.

When those feelings surface -- write them down, post them on your blog (anonymous, if you like), find any adult whom you trust will listen and speak to them, paint a picture, write a song, take a walk, eat an apple, send a postcard to PostSecret or even play with the family pet. Dogs, cats, hamsters, snakes, frogs and birds are never judgmental and only offer unconditional love, even if it's just in the form of curling themselves around you.

You are even welcome to reply to this post. I always have a link to The Trevor Project, which runs a 24 hour, 7 day a week help line with a toll-free number so that phone number won't appear on your parents' phone bill.

I don't want to lose one more child/young adult to a bully, even if you have become your own worst bully.

2009 World AIDS Day 2009 in Whittier California

My apologies for the long break in between postings. With the ebbing and flowing of politics in Washington D.C over health insurance reform and everyone with an educated opinion (and some without) guessing how the Bill will look and whether or not it will pass through Congress, it's a bit easier to just find a nice large piece of driftwood and watch the show.

It's virtually impossible to let a day go by without health on anyone's mind. I am certainly no exception.

One of my employers was kind enough to extend to me an immunization shot for Influenza A & B early last month. Even with this precaution, I managed to still pick up an intestinal virus this past weekend that had me .. uh .. occupied .. for much of this past week. Even as I type this, some of the muscles in my legs were weakened enough that I've had to walk with a cane for the first time in my life. Blessedly, as each day passes, my strength returns.

My employer gave me the paid time off so that I could rest. I have health insurance so I could see the doctor who could figure out what was wrong with me and give me the go-ahead to indulge in a sugary sports drink to rehydrate. Then, with the prescription benefit I have with my employer, I was able to get some anti-nausea medication and recuperate my waning appetite.

Too many of us in this country are not as fortunate as I am. Whether the legislation in the works will give more of us access to the kind of coverage I have is out of my hands.

Here is what I can do:

A week from Tuesday is World AIDS Day. Remembrances, red ribbons and other events are planned for that day and an event near you may be listed by clicking here. (dates are listed European style, meaning day/month/year). I will be at this memorial service:

Good Samaritan Metropolitan Community Church (click for address & directions)

Tuesday December 1, 2009

Service starts at 7 pm. Please bring a photo of someone who has died from AIDS and/or who is battling with this disease and has inspired you.

No matter whether people gather at a place of worship, a community center and/or process through their town holding lit candles, there is no observance too small to make a difference to someone. With few exceptions, I am at a World AIDS Day services/marches/observance each year. Unlike most my age, I have only lost person I loved to AIDS. Like most who are younger than me, I know so many more friends who live with the virus every day and stories of survival with HIV of 10, 15 or even more than 20 years are becoming the norm.

Though my loss came at a time when AIDS was a "death sentence", December 1st brings the feelings up as if it just happened. It helps me to be with others who know how this feels and maybe provides some comfort to someone else there.

If I am fortunate to live long enough and we are smart and hard working enough, I look forward to the day when World AIDS days are mentioned in history books.

Until then, I hope to see you on Tuesday, December 1.

It took this to get me to write again

I was checking out the top of Malloy's program earlier tonight and he was talking about the opinion piece (well sourced, btw) from truthout.org regarding how children of military families these days are handling one of their parents being deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan. I won't rehash Ms. Bannerman's article as it's already easy to understand and the questions asked should be obvious to anyone.

Maybe because my father was in the military while I was growing up, I'm presuming that everyone should feel the same as I do. My father did go to war; however, I was a little infant at the time, so the trauma wasn't so profoundly felt -- unless you count hearing stories about how adorable I was walking around in the dry heat of the desert southwest in only a diaper as my mother took care of the laundry at the local laundromat.

Silly aside, I could not imagine how a child must feel knowing mom or dad is halfway around the world for the next 12 months or longer with no guarantee of quick visits around the holidays. And, with my father having to take frequent, sometimes weeks at a stretch, temporary duty assignments, at Uncle Sam's behest, phone calls and postcards (this was the 70's and early 80's, mind you) just don't fill the gap completely. Nor, I'm sure, would a video or audio call or any frequency of e-mails from the front.

But even the opinion piece would not have fired me hot enough to write. Not until the start of the last leg of my commute home tonight. My apologies again for the poor photography:

For the first time since I began riding the Metro light rails earlier this year, there was a table set up at the bottom right of the stairs which connect one rail line with the other. While I carry a satchel containing sunglasses, the iPhone . . oh, to hell with it -- it's a small purse, I narrowly escaped the random bag searches being conducted this evening. I was not aware of any specific threat toward public transportation, unless you consider how many folks are using public transportation while being sick with something (yes, hand sanitizer is in my purse, but it only works when it's used and too much use just looks pretentious. Besides, I got my flu shots on Friday, so I can look reasonably cool on the train and use the sanitizer sparingly.

Keeping in mind that my (ugh) purse would have been tossed about at any major airport should I have chosen to fly to work today, I suppose I should not have been so jarred by the mere presence of the Sheriff's department's presence tonight.

Perhaps I should save my indignant attitude for another night where the Deputies bring in the dogs to sniff around? Or maybe practice a little deep breathing and relax until they start patting random passengers down?

The only question to ask is: did I feel safer tonight because of the random bag search? If the random pieces of contraband (I haven't a clue for what exactly the Deputies were searching) taken and the odd passenger was whisked away in cuffs this evening because of this, I'd say this was a colossal waste of time. If, however, there was another motive to the random searches . . .

Nah, still a waste of time. And, the deep breathing ain't working.

Sunday mornings at church

Like millions of others in the U.S.,  I spent a few hours today in church.  We had our annual Pancake Breakfast fundraiser -- it's a small church, so no fundraising idea is too normal or too "out there" -- before service.

There were people catching up with each other outside the sanctuary while inside, I was quickly running over the songs in today's service and confirming that I was to help with serving Communion.

In attendance today, like most weeks, were the ever-faithful (week in-week out always there), the once-a-month attendees and those whose absence until today was sorely missed.  We had a teenager in the congregation whose mother was attending a friend's funeral out of state and we had a pair of preschool aged twins fidgeting in the back of the Sanctuary with their parents.

Couples were celebrating their unions, people offered up their prayers for themselves and their loved ones and the sermon, though a little long winded, was pitch-perfect for Pentecost Sunday. We celebrated with a church family member over his introduction today of a new love and, hopefully, helped to lighten the load of another church family member who was laid off two days ago.  He, like what happened with me when I lost my job just before Halloween last year, was inundated after the service with wishes for peace and offers of support.  Ever the honest person (sometimes to a fault), I told him that perhaps I wasn't the best resource to finding a new job quickly; however, I would happily help him out if he needed it.

So, what makes my church so unique?

Nearly everyone who attends is gay or lesbian.  Their sons, daughters, nieces and nephews and wards are everyone's children. Some of the couples were married in the small window offered last year before the passing of Proposition 8, and my heart danced today when a man offered up prayers for his husband's health.

I've witnessed many a child having been raised at my church -- I've been a member over 15 years now.  Every child I've known from the church has grown up perfectly normal. I've celebrated with many a pregnant woman in the church and I'm stunned to see these children now that I once knew before they were born.

Maybe it is just me, but usually my weekly visit to church is hardly worth writing about.  And, maybe that's the point -- a casual visitor wouldn't guess they were at an MCC.

Metalhead's big day at Long Beach Pride

Every year, save one or two when I just was not feeling well enough, I have gone to the Pride Festival in Long Beach, CA. 

 The first few years I just went to wander around, check out the booths selling everything from belt buckles to gyros.  Music from rock to gospel, salsa to techno and always a country music line dancing tent are spread around the edges of the festival like the edges of a pizza crust.

In the last 10 years or so, I have gone to the festival on Saturdays (occasionally Sundays) and volunteered to work at one of the Pride sponsored areas.  Most years I sell tickets at $1 a pop for festival goers to take to Pride sponsored soft drink/water stands and/or beer stands.  Sometimes the ticket selling feels like wading into the midst of a slow running stream to fly fish and, on other years, the four-hour minimum block of time one can volunteer soars by with chatty, sometimes pickled patrons and easy-going fellow volunteers.

Every now and then, I've worked Security for one of the stages (either I'm too old or the music is too loud or the work too dull, but I'm not cut out for Security) or given soft drinks/water in exchange for tickets (I almost got a friend of mine connected with a dude at which he could not stop staring and drooling.  My friend begged and begged me not to do it and, at the last minute, I acquiesced).

This year, I volunteered for something new.  To say what it was would wash away any anonymity.  Suffice to say it was the least amount of fun I have had at any one of these events.  I'm thinking next year (and for years to come) I'll stick with beverage ticket sales.

I usually volunteer in the afternoons.  The festival has a fair number of attendees in the afternoons and, by the time my shift is over, the grounds begin to swell with partygoers and the whole atmosphere begins to change.  Sadly, by the time my shift ended, I had missed watching that same friend of mine from years ago at the soda/water booth singing on one of the stages for his first time.  I did get an photo of an interesting paring of booths.  One of the best things about the Festival is that commerce, social awareness and politics all exist side by side here.  

The effect as one walks past these booths with a funnel cake in one hand and a souvenir plastic mug of diet lemonade in the other can be a bit jarring; however, it's as an eclectic a mix as the festival goers themselves.

Just a few handouts passed to me this year. The gay bars/clubs, as usual, were in full force.  One of the most clever was a tiny baggie for a spa chain (the home page is tame, but I'd imagine going much further into the site would be "adults only") There is another word which I could use to describe this chain; however, I cannot bring myself to do it.  The baggie contained, of course, a business card sized advertisement for the spa that doubled as a coupon, a link to another side for "hookups", a single use fast-food style packet of personal lubricant and a condom (which, as the advertisement says in slightly smaller font than the rest of the ad, encourages use of by saying "Play Safe / Condoms are always FREE").

If you must frequent a place like that for activity it can suggest but not outright say, you might as well be properly equipped and fully educated.  And, if they hold true to their house rules, better still.

Cutest flyer goes to the South Coast Chorale.  I even took the time to enter into their drawing for two tickets to their next performance.  I have a little over a month into talking my better half into going - I'm a sucker for choral performance.

Best moment of my day in Long Beach?  I'd have to pick two though neither occurred on the festival grounds!  Thanks to my employer's metro pass, I had a free ride to and from Long Beach.  On the ride there, I was so amused first watching a infant boy, couldn't have been more than a year old, staring at me intently like I was the oddest thing he'd ever seen.  Later in the ride, I could not get over a couple my age with nine children, early teen to toddler, in tow. How they managed to keep all nine of them in line, especially with kids so often left to meander by their parents while out in public, was especially impressive.

Then, on the ride home, I could not resist playing (as did most of the riders in the vicinity) with a little girl who couldn't have been any older than three.  Her parents both looked exhausted yet the girl was ready, able and willing to carry on through the night.  Another man's sleight of hand and my silly version of "peek-a-boo" were all she needed to stay amused and she played right along with all of us.

I look forward to next year's Festival and hope that I may experience it then as those little ones on the metro yesterday saw their world - wide eyed, energized and anxious to see what's around the corner.

Family

I had one of my rare few busy days today.   Actually, Christmas Day was busy, but I spent more time away from home today.  I was, like many other Americans this time of the year, at a family gathering.  My partner was at home recuperating from oral surgery, so I made the 90 minute drive to my father's house.  Altogether, there were eight of us there for an early dinner -- not a large gathering by most people's standards, but for our family, this was one of the largest since my brother's wedding this past April.

As these sorts of events go, I suspect it was no more or less interesting or eventful than any other family gathering.  There was a major announcement (my Dad is getting married), plenty of liquor consumed, lots of story telling and laughing and, of course, things said when others were not in the room to defend themselves (I will assume I made it into that category as I was the first to leave Dad's home tonight).

Our family, very wisely, steered away from polite conversation "no-no"'s: politics and religion.  I was fairly close today to starting one of those "no-no" conversations when the topic turned to unemployment (including me, 3 of the 8 of us are unwillingly or have been unwillingly unemployed at some time this year).

Kind of made me wonder what the topics of conversation may have been at Pastor Rick Warren's house gatherings this week.  On the one hand, he was honored with being asked to give the Invocation at next month's Inauguration.  On the other, he felt compelled at his church's website to post an over 20 minute monologue on the backlash he received from the LGBT community over his opinions on LGBT people and our assertion of the right to marry, one which was quashed last month when Proposition 8 was passed.

Rather than be the ump-teenth blogger to register an opinion about all of this, I will let columnist Frank Rich of the New York Times have the final say.  My hope is this the final say about this until Inauguration Day, where my hope is the Invocation will be befitting of this historic event yet as memorable as previous Invocations made by the Grahams.