My orientation was never a mystery
Growing up gay has its challenges.
For one, shopping for clothes takes much longer – typically involving a pack mule and plenty of energy-boosting granola bars – especially on Black Friday. And two, I always blow my budget, tenfold.
Trivial retail matters aside, though, I’ve encountered other less-than-comfortable situations. Being out of the closet involves many questions. And when my mother has had a glass of wine too many, those questions involve awkward answers. Since coming out, I’ve fielded numerous personal questions from family, friends and strangers. The most common one, however, remains this: When did you first know you were gay?
Quite simply, I’ve always known I was different.As far back as my memory can reach, I’ve always been attracted to boys. The attraction was no different than what a five-year-old boy might feel for a five-year-old girl. I had innocent schoolyard crushes, but I crushed on boys more than girls.
To be clear, I am attracted to both genders, but I identify as gay because I prefer males. Other gay men have a slightly different definition of what it means to be gay. My best friend says men are only gay if they strictly like men. Frankly, whatever term one chooses to identify with ultimately means nothing in the large scheme of things.
But I digress.
Growing up feeling the way I did was confusing, to say the least. My parents were Mexican Roman Catholics who raised me under heterosexual norms, meaning they expected me to have girlfriends (which I did), encouraged me to play team sports (I instead ran cross country and track) and explained dating and marriage as ideas involving males and females. So when I had a crush on a boy named Phillip, whom I played with at McDonald’s, I never told my parents. Perhaps I had discerned the difference between telling them about girls in my class and telling them that I’d like a boyfriend. Something innate told me they’d react unfavorably.
Still, it wasn’t until middle school that I finally learned the meaning of the word “gay.” But by that time the word had earned a negative connotation. To be gay was bad. To be gay warranted endless teasing and humiliation at the hands of bigger, meaner boys who often had an audience of giggling classmates.
I regret to say I was part of that pack who teased other suspected gay boys. How else was I supposed to hide my identity? I was too afraid to be socially chastised at my school and subsequently forced to have little or no friends. At 12 years old, the thought of losing my friends seemed an unbearable consequence for telling others about my secret.
Coming out was a slow process that started when I was 13 and ended at age 16 when I told my father I am gay. That process, however, never ends so long as I continue to meet new people. The difference between now and then is that I overcame the fear of losing friends because of who I am.
Sometimes being gay helps me bond with people because it becomes a conversational topic in the process of getting to know new friends. Middle school and high school may have been dubious times, but I’ve learned that people tend to respect others when they are honest about who they are. The challenge now is to always remember that.
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November 27th, 2007 at 6:05 pm
I remember when you came out to me; I was glad to be one of the first. Loved you then, love you now, love you always Kiki. I love the column.
November 28th, 2007 at 2:00 am
Very nice . . you already know how i feel. Keep up the good work.
December 16th, 2008 at 2:53 pm
Very usefull post, i think i will use it.
Thanks.