My Sweet Home Alabama

To look at me, you wouldn't think it took me two tries to make it out of the closet. I first came out in the early eighties; and stepped into the midst of a homosexual holocaust. I watched an entire generation of gay men sicken and die in a small span of years. When I was gay bashed in a gay neighborhood of Seattle, I went back into the closet. The fear never left me, and I became an angry, volatile, trapped little person. I hated myself, and I wasn't very likeable either.

Later, in college, I confronted both my sexuality and plague fears. I came out and grew angry. But I made a mediocre activist, I was angrier with myself for years of repression, than society. Not that society doesn't have to answer for ignoring AIDS, especially Ronald Reagan and George Bush. I will never forgive them for ignoring our plight until we literally took to the streets. Living in Seattle, I felt trapped by ghosts from my youth, so I buried my plague-fallen first lover and moved here for graduate school. For a time I was the only homosexual I knew. When I finally met one or two other gay people, it seemed that suddenly everyone I knew was gay. It was like joining the Super Secret Queer Club, only to find that the guy at the record store, the man at work down the hall, and half your neighbors were members.

But the club seemed hollow. It was all about money, sex, and alcohol. Normally, not enough of the first two, and too much of the third. I had come out, only to find myself in a larger closet; an empty and embittering life of bars, casual sex and little personal contact.

Being the geek that I am, I went back to school. Only this time I wanted to learn about my 'family.' I found a history, literature and musical lexicon all our own. For a while I was totally "gay," everything in my life seemed to revolve around my sexuality. In retrospect, it seems silly how determined I was to be queer.

Although I love show tunes and opera, books and theater, I feared becoming the stereotypical fop. Stereotypes are useful, because they give you someplace to start, but they are scary because they quickly become limiting. With a little balance, my sexuality became just another feature of me. In the end no stereotype really fits me, and I no longer fear enjoying things that are "gay."

My emergence parallels, in a way, the acceptance of gays in society as a whole. First, we were hated and feared (afraid and in the closet), then objectified (trying to live stereotypes.) Through familiarity, we've gained some acceptance. Now, more and more young people are coming out earlier in life. They seem free of much of the shame and confusion that imprisoned me. I marvel at their comfort with themselves. But there's a nihilistic and defeatist air about some young gay men. Most young gay men only know of AIDS as a tragedy of the past. Some think the disease is cured. Others believe they can simply take medication if they become positive. Still others don't see the point in living past thirty anyway, so they take risks. I still can't believe they think this way. They didn't lose half their friends. Theirs isn't a world punctuated by hospital visits, funerals and quilt panels. We need to keep our own house in order, keep the sex safe and the discussions of risk open. It will be difficult, but we must pass on the hard lessons the plague taught us.

I've come a long way towards acceptance, and so has society. I find it thrilling how open you can be in Birmingham. When most people find out I'm gay, the response is usually "And?" This is a hard won victory, one we must earn. I do that by being a good person, and a good member of my community, gay or straight.

That community is a wonderful blend of gay and straight. I have a partner I treasure, and feel that I have "gotten" a life. I've found a broad, diverse culture of gay men, indistinguishable from the middle class straights we live next to. Despite fear, AIDS, hatred and narrow stereotypes, I've finally made it to where I always wanted to be, Home.