Notes from a long life

I’ve been watching a number of videos on YouTube from the “It gets better” program. It is pretty amazing the organizations and colleges and others that have videos, from the expected places, like Cal Berkeley and Pixar (and yes, there is at least one from the University of Oregon) to less expected places like Gustavus Adolphus and BYU.

I thought maybe it was time to talk about my experiences. Yes, I was bullied in junior high and high school. I was called “faggot” and other equally unpleasant things and push into lockers and treated like shit. It was a part of my growing up experience. Oddly enough, one of the worst bullies, no, the worst bully, asked to be my friend on Facebook. I declined.

Coming out for me was a blessing. My parents, while dealing with their own demons, expressed unconditional love. You have to remember that back in the ‘70s, homosexuality was a result of a domineering bitch of a mother and wishy-washy milquetoast of a father. In particular, Mom bought into that belief. But they both loved me, no matter what.

I’m pretty sure I told all of my sisters by letter. This was way before email and text. And without exception they all stood by my side.

I now know how lucky I was. So many of my friends were either ejected from their families or never told them, out of fear of rejection. Of my relationships, Doug’s parents were open and excepting, Wayn’s parents threw him out, and Richard never told his parents.

In Boise, there were harassing neighbors who made obscene phone calls and would come to our front door and scream less than nice things at us.

In Los Angeles it was co-workers who objected. One of my saddest memories of LA is a manager’s party where I was asked not to bring my partner, as co-workers would feel uncomfortable. Sadly to say, I went to the party without Doug: if I could take back time and do it over again.

And yes, even in Hood River there were issues with one neighbor. Screaming “faggots” at Wayn and I as we were in the yard, turning us in for trying to grow pot, and entering our house when we weren’t there, that kind of shit. But karma being what it is, they got their own. (Their daughter, the worst offender, got pregnant and tried to kill herself and the baby by shooting herself in the belly. Child died, she didn’t.)

And there was the honker-flipper-offer who used to harass us. Hood River wasn’t pretty in the ‘90s.

But yes, it gets better. Every day it gets better.

It has been 20 years since I have had any issues.  From my co-workers to the congregation at St. Mary’s to the community as a whole, there has been amazing support for me. I am in awe of the change since my youth.

It really, really, really does get better. And Reilly, I am so proud of you.