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.

A world away fairly close by

(h/t to Jesus' General for the link to the story below)

A controversial intersection of politics, religion and the 4th of July happened earlier this month in Hyrum, UT:

The Hyrum City Council is being criticized for allowing the closing prayer at the city's Fourth of July program to be given in Spanish.

[. . .]

Maria Montalvo, of Hyrum's Church of God Ebenezer, asked if the prayer could be offered in Spanish and translated into English.

"She does speak some English, but she was uncomfortable with standing in front of everyone and speaking English," Miller said. "She asked if we would mind if she did it in Spanish, and we didn't see that there was a problem with that as long as it was translated."

The decision has been criticized as unpatriotic and wrong in a flurry of recent letters to the Logan Herald Journal. One letter, from LaVon G. Hanson, a World War II veteran from Logan, called for the city council to be "impeached and sent to Mexico."

The article continues by saying that the prayer offered in next year's July 4th celebration won't be in Spanish.

I had all sorts of questions after reading this. First, where is Hyrum, Utah and who was likely in the crowd at that celebration that might have been unnerved by the bi-lingual pronouncement. A quick search finds Hyrum about 80 miles north of Salt Lake City surrounded by the mountains and trees of the Cache National Forest. Another quick search finds the Census Bureau figuring roughly 12% of the state's population is of Hispanic/Latino origin.

I'm still mystified as to what is to be feared by praying out loud in Spanish anywhere in Utah, let alone in Hyrum. Then again, I'm afraid of flying. I can trace my fear to a very turbulent commuter flight I took as a teenager. In spite of a lot of study into the physics of flying, the design of jet engines, the training and refreshers commercial jet pilots get all the time, etc., I still grab the arms of my coach seats in sheer terror whenever the "fasten safety belt" sign rings then turns on in the middle of the flight. The only time that cursed ring/light switched on calms me down is when I know the plane is headed toward the landing strip.

Then again, perhaps I do understand what all of the irrational fear is about. It doesn't mean I will stop flying nor does it cease my wonder at watching large commercial jets floating down to a landing whenever I'm near LAX. In spite of the controversy this past July 4 in Hyrum, perhaps that prayer touched someone in the crowd who needed to hear it and did not feel compelled to fire out a fear-filled screed to the local paper.

Waiting for a bus

I had an interesting start to an otherwise routine Monday.

Metro in Los Angeles had a portion of their light rail service closed all along Washington Blvd. for the weekend. The closure was due to end last evening. As what sometimes with any construction, it went a bit past schedule.

The light rail I ride stopped at the Washington Blvd. stop, everyone disembarked and slowly started to queue for Metro buses which arrived every few minutes to pick up commuters from across the street from the stop, then shuttled through four remaining stops in the route.

I could use this forum to grouse about the construction delays, the bumpy bus ride, the 30 minute wait on my still recuperating legs (never mind the rest of the walk and ride to work after the bus trip with stiff joints and sore thigh muscles).

or

I'll write about the mass of humanity shuffling along while others skipped ahead of the queue by skipping into the street only to be abruptly placed back into line by one of the many Sheriff's Deputies keeping the foot and motor traffic running.

I met two teachers while waiting for the bus: one an ESL teacher of adults and the other a literature teacher of high school juniors. We and others around us kept reminding each other that it could be colder outside, it could still be prior to sunrise, it could have been raining.

A large black bird on top of a telephone pole squawking, ruffling its back feathers was causing the crowd around the pole scattering in different directions and the bird was having its . . uh . . morning constitutional.

Each comment, each turn around to view the crowd in front of us and the never-ending mass of commuters from more arriving trains, every wisecrack and passing catering truck with cruel promises of hot coffee on a cold fall morning, elicited laughs, giggles, snorts (from me - freaking deviated septum!) and a far more relaxed atmosphere than it could have been.

So, I got to work 45 minutes late today. I took some comfort that a few thousand others were in the same figurative boat as I was and was grateful to God for all the ways a potential disaster was turned into a chance to interact with fellow commuters and find the basic goodness in most everyone.

My therapy

Some smoke up, some head to the local waterhole for libation and conversation. I write.

Whatever you to work out the tensions of the week, be sure to do some of that this weekend and make the most distressing thing you do is take in the lousy sci-fi/horror flick of the week. I checked out "This is It" and shamelessly sang along with Michael Jackson and it felt so good. Oh, and avoid the news for a bit.

That said, I'm tapping this one out while riding the rails. Sadly, inspiration to write after ten days has been wrung out of the horrific events yesterday in fort hood. I'm not a soldier, but I've been kept in a room for hours on end waiting for a nearby act of insanity to pass. I'm not a mental health professional, but I make my living listening to people's problems and finding quick solutions. I've spent of my adult life trying to find meaning to existence through God while excluding as little as possible as I wander.
My life experiences tell me that this U.S. Army Major, who is frighteningly close to my age, chose to do what he did based on a series of decisions made that, metaphorically, painted himself into a corner where he felt the only way to ease the ache was through creating a whorl of violent chaos. The right question to ask is this: What happened in his life that led him down his path where nearly everyone would have exited the same path a few off-ramps ago.

Since tapping out the text above on Friday 11/6, the Major is now conscious. However, no work as to whether or not he'll be interviewed and, even if he is interviewed, what sort of "truth" will we hear about the situation at Fort Hood.

If you believe the media, he's a hop, skip and a jump from the 9/11/01 terrorists and he has gone from a faithful Muslim to an extremist.

I still believe this was more of a case of a mental health professional who was not taking his medications as he should have and, because the meds were not doing what they should have, he felt free to do what he wanted.

We should, of course, hang on for a bit until all of the facts are in and are spoon-fed to us.

Meanwhile, I baked up a batch of macaroni & cheese from scratch and passed it out to my co-workers. Nothing like eggs, butter, pasta and lots of cheese to siphon out the tension and anger.

And the tension/migraine headache I'm nursing, I'm sure, is yet another way of keeping my anger in check. Hard to be mad when your head's in a vice.

At what is everyone staring?

Sounds awkward for a title?  Yes.  Is it grammatically correct?  Yes.

I'll let Cenk of The Young Turks tell today's sad yet hilarious tale of American Politician Sex Scandal gone horribly awry

This nearly 8 minute clip, I'm sure, beats trying to sort through Governor Sanford's rambling mess of a news conference.  I saw all I needed on Olbermann to get the idea.  I could not help but stare at the clips, especially the body language of the Governor.  As an aside, I could use a few good lessons on reading body language, but in my extraordinarily amateur opinion, there was a lot of looking downward as he apologized to his staff.  If I were one of that staff, I'd have to feel like that was not much of an apology at all.

I kept noticing throughout the day what sort of power is taken by and given to staring.  For instance, a 30 second stare by me and my boss at work at a particularly noisy bunch of coworkers silenced them and elicited an hasty and heartfelt apology.

No doubt my split between dry coughing and phlegm hacking during the day was stare-worthy.  But, knowing the power of the stare, I knew where to keep my gaze so as to avoid the effects.

As I walked past the Knitting Factory on my way home today, I couldn't help but stare at the queue of young people dressed in black (yeah, fellow metalheads!) wrapped around the building waiting to enter.  As I crossed the street, someone yelled out something about "thetruth.com" or "thetruth.org".  All of that yelling by this one idiot elicited, yes you guessed it, stares from all the folks in line.

A well timed stare at someone back home who said something they should not have said when they thought their manager was not listening was enough to send that someone very quickly back to their own apartment -- with repercussions being none of my business.

A series of particularly evil and quick stares leveled by a silver-haired woman on the train ride home toward a young woman seated on the other side of the aisle who had a toddler pressed against her tube-topped breast was more amusing to watch than anything.  The young woman either didn't notice the stare or didn't care.

Then, there is the on-going story of events in Iran.  It is still next to impossible not to stare at the video clips -- now mostly from state-run TV rather than amateur video -- when they air on the all-news cable channels.

Oh, if only the whole "staring as correction" vibe worked at that long of a distance.

What is really underneath it all ?

At the risk of sounding completely out of my mind, I'm developing an odd insight into how most everyone lives their lives every day.

There are the everyday choices each of us makes (blue socks or brown with this outfit?, sandwich or soup?  Letterman or Leno?) and there is the underlying set of emotions that cradles every decision we make (brown socks look better with this suit, soup as it is cold outside, Leno 'cause he's got that really cute actor on tonight).

I'm going to apply this over-simplified notion to all of the news about mass murder in the U.S.   I cannot begin to know what decisions each of the men (and it's overwhelmingly men who perpetrate this) made that led them to think that committing the acts of violence they did was the only way to fix whatever was going wrong in their lives, so my whole "everyday choices" thing only works subjectively.

So, it comes down to what these men were experiencing in their emotional lives that led them down the path toward this tragedies.

It was quite clear with the man responsible for the murder and mayhem at Virginia Tech years ago that he was losing the battle with mental illness.  As to what others in the past weeks were struggling with emotionally, it is anyone's guess.  Little is known about the most recent incident in Pennsylvania, but in time more will be revealed.  Whether what is reported sheds much insight into that man's psyche is anyone's guess.

Surfing the 'net, I stumbled onto an article which helps me understand the psychology behind these acts a little bit better. So, there may not be too much any one of us can do for some who find themselves in these situations.  The "sense of 'doom and gloom' that pervades the cultural atmosphere" cannot be all there is to understanding recent events.  The expert cited in the above article went on to say:

Usually there's a rigidity in that person (who kills) and an inability to really process stress.  They absorb it. They can't digest it.  They want structure, they want answers, and things are not that clear for them."

I have to admit, I'm at a loss for answers and there's a good deal of fuzziness about all the goings on in our country these days.

So, it's back to me to find the context in which to view these shootings and to ask myself why I haven't done what these men have done and why I cannot imagine me perpetrating this kind of violence while these men found themselves having arrived at the decision to do so.

Maybe the answer is really back at the start of this post.  Maybe admitting I'm a little out of my depth is exactly how I avoid all the sad decisions that lead to tragedies like we've seen on the news these past weeks.  I could site my faith as my strength; however, I find that same connected feeling when I go to the political grassroots meetings every month.  I get the same feeling of assuredness when I march amongst hundreds or tens of thousands in the past months and chant out my frustration, anger and sadness.

And, when I try to reach out and give permission to everyone I know to feel as they feel and let it out in health ways, maybe I'm becoming part of that same net I feel under my feet as I try to figure everything out.

Last week I reminded all who read this to laugh sometime during the week.  What I ask now  may be tougher to do: 

choose to admit you're out of your depth

OR 

be a part of the "net" in someone's life

(doing both is OK, too)

A new challenge

Starting tomorrow, I'm officially off the unemployment rolls as I begin a new second job!

I began this blog a few weeks after having been laid off.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if I would continue to post after I found a second job.  Almost five months later, I had to admit to a friend recently that I've felt compelled on a daily basis to write something, even if it is just a few sentences.  So, it looks like, for the moment, the postings will continue.

I also have to admit that I was told my new second job will begin tomorrow over a week ago.  However, a background check would first be conducted.  I heard from the agency earlier today letting me know when and where to show up tomorrow and assuring me the background check turned out just fine.

I'm all at once relieved (I had about 2 months of unemployment claim money left) and nervous (starting something new).

Wish me luck !

Alabama and Baden-Wuerttemberg

Other than both states being in southern part of their respective countries (the U.S and Germany), until a few days ago there was not too much that they had in common.

Sadly, this week, they both experienced brutal and shocking tragedies

For both, according to the articles, their last tragedy occurred in 2002.

When those in the blogosphere attempt to tie these two events together and, inevitably, ask something like "Is this a sign of worse things to come?"

I was compelled on Monday to write a bit about the growing population of unemployed and how, in between job searches and interviews, they are also a growing base of volunteers.  Germany, as well as other European countries, is also experiencing rising unemployment.

It seems to me that the message I wrote on Monday could be applied to those in Germany as well.

Though, unlike in Alabama, the troubled soul in Germany was a teenager, the issue of gun control could find its way back into the news.  As I usually see things from a liberal perspective, I could make a decent argument for further gun control.

However, any gun, entirely on its own, cannot fire itself.  

What could we all do to help those with anger, frustration, fear and a sense of helplessness become convinced that grabbing and using a weapon on family, friends and co-workers is not the way to recover from those negative emotions?

One of my biggest fears

I freak out at some point anytime I travel by plane at some point during the flight.  When I hear the"ding" of a "Fasten Seat Belt" sign and see that phrase light up in the plane due to turbulence, it triggers the panic.  Once the turbulence subsides, I return to normal.

I was reasonably calm, however, watching the news earlier today about an emergency landing on the Hudson River near NYC.  That pilot - what a mensch!  The combination of an experienced crew, the heroics and common decency from the passengers and the rush to rescue everyone by boats already in the water makes the adjective "miraculous" seem insufficient to describe what happened.

I do not know if watching all of this has stopped the in-flight feelings of fear I get.  If nothing else, I've got the website I referenced here for future review and will figure out someway, sometime to overcome the worst of my fears.