The Big Gay Blog

In case you live under a rock (which sometimes doesn't seem such a bad place to call home), you have probably by now heard the news. President Obama came out in support of same-sex marriage, no pun intended of course. But rather than debate the timing, motives, or legitimacy of such an endorsement, I found myself recalling days of yore.

More specifically, I thought about what it felt like growing up in the closet.

I have often wanted to write about this subject. To be sure, I have alot to say, and will likely have more to say than whatever comes out in this blog post. So be it.  Tonight, I am remembering myself at 12 years old, praying to God every night that I would be more interested in the opposite sex. Trying to pray the gay away I suppose. Hoping to be normal, to be accepted, to not go to "hell". This is not an exaggeration. It was lodged into my nightly prayers, right there between praying for straight A's on my report card and praying for a new face, one that included a smaller nose that the other school kids wouldn't make so much fun of. Now, grades and looks were pretty weighty issues for such a young kid, but nothing came close to the oh-so-heavy load of being attracted to the same sex. It was the grandaddy of all burdens. But there I lay each night, desperately asking the powers-that-be to lift it away for me. Did it ever happen? Er, sort of.

You see, eventually I stopped praying for such things as my own missing-in-action heterosexuality. I don't know why I stopped, I just did. I guess maybe I started to hear the desperation in my own voice when I made such a request.  Eventually I knew I had to stop begging. Nothing was changing. The more I understood about God, and the more I understood about myself, the less of an urge I felt to beg anyone or anything to change me. I evolved.  It was, however, a slow evolution. I dated women. I had sex with them. I would even say I enjoyed it on whatever level a 21-year old with a truckload of pent-up sexual energies could enjoy such liaisons.  Still, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that this was right for me, there was always something amiss.   

I even thought that one day I would marry a woman and possibly have kids with her, though on the inside I felt that would make me the most duplicitous person on the planet. Something always felt wrong about it to me. I didn't know what exactly, and would not know until my first encounter with a man at the age of 25. But I trudged along on that straight and narrow path for what seemed like forever. It was a lonely path.  Lord, was it ever.

Then, on my 25th birthday, I came to terms with the very words that had plagued me since I was a young boy. Somehow, saying them out loud made all the difference, even though nobody was around to hear them but me as I drove down an appropriately deserted Georgia highway. The verbal expression of these words was like a release from prison, as if I found the key to my own tiny cell after a long, miserable incarceration. I was gay. There was no going back. The very next day, I made a connection with a man. At long last, I knew what it was that felt wrong about being with a woman: I didn't want to be with them sexually. It just didn't make sense. It never did.  Sure, I loved being around them and had tons of female friends, but it didn't feel right to partner up with one. Of course it didn't. I was gay. Being with a man just felt normal to me in every way, as much as being with a woman feels right and normal to any heterosexual male. 

The simplicity in this revelation always makes me chuckle a little, even now.

I had made it so complicated for so long. In truth, none of it was ever really that convoluted. I just needed to accept this one small part of myself, the part that I had blown up using my massive societal magnifying glass through the years.  So accept it I did. Next, I started coming out to anyone and everyone who would listen, all in rapid fire succession. Along the way I found myself to be my own harshest critic. In spite of my fears, nobody shunned me. I was ready for it, but it never happened. Maybe it was the strength of my own conviction, or maybe I was just so in-your-face honest about it all, that most people had little choice but to deliver the same speech to me: You are still Paul. I want you to be happy. I love you. No matter who said these words--and whether they meant them fully or not--they always meant so much to me. To anyone who may be reading this, if this describes you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You know who you are.  I want you to be happy, too. And I love you.

This is not to say that a pot of gold was always found at the end of my big gay rainbow. I have heard some pretty interesting things throughout the years. I have heard people tell me that they love me but do not accept my lifestyle, even though I never asked for such input or invited such a decree. I have heard people tell me that they love and accept me, but don't want to know anything about the whole gay thing, up to and including any potential partners I may have, while surely never considering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a thoughtless and uncaring statement. I have heard people tell me about heaven and hell, and which place I am doomed to. I have seen the judgement and hatred in their eyes while delivering such a sermon, and wondered to myself where they think they are going, and even more importantly, where spewing such venomous predictions makes them feel like they are right now.  Such harshness must feel like hell for them, or maybe it just looks and feels that way to the rest of the free world.  Real love is incapable of making such dark, gloomy proclamations.  I have yet to read or hear about any heaven devoid of love, or at least something that sounds close to what love purports to be.  To my own understanding, heaven or hell is absolutely, unequivocally happening now.  Why wait for death when you can experience something heavenly simply by learning how to love others more, open your heart more, and be more compassionate while you are here and can make a difference?

Today, President Obama decided to support same-sex marriage. Big deal. He is only one person, albeit the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world. I just can't help but think that this must be personal to each and every one of us.  That is what affects real change. Taking it personally is the only way to get to the truth of our own judgements.  Every one of us knows a gay person.  There is probably a good chance that we know more of them than we think.  Think about those you know.  Those you love.  Look into their eyes.  Use your heart.  Forget everything else.  In this light, to think that any person should not have the right to legally share their lives with a partner of their choosing is silly.  Whether anyone understands another's relationship or even agrees with it is not only unnecessary, it is laced with self-righteous judgement.  Two human beings.  One relationship.  A commitment.  A family.  What else is there to say? 

Look, gay or straight, I think we all pretty much want the same things here.  We all want to love.  We want to be loved.  We want to share.  We are human beings.  This is what we do.  We express these needs and desires differently. So be it.  Some of us like men.  Some like women.  Some like both. So what.  Some of us like vanilla.  Some like chocolate.  Some like both.  It matters about as much. 

Judgement hurts.  Love doesn't.  We are all responsible for what we say and do.  Nobody and nothing outside of us wants us to be separate from one another.  Only we want such divisiveness--nobody else.  Feel like judging anyone for anything?  Point the finger at yourself.  Find some compassion there.  Find some love.  See it there first.  Feel its power, revel in its glory.  See those same traits in everyone else.  Find the connections.  Strengthen the ties that bind us together.  That is where we find heaven on Earth.  That is when real change can happen.  At least that is how I see it. 

I'm not 12 anymore.  My prayers these days are different.  If nothing else, perhaps Mr. Obama's announcement will be an answer to someone else's prayers, someone who feels as alone and desperate as I did all those years ago.  Hopefully this brings him or her some comfort. Inclusion sure feels good.  Thank God for that.