One night recently I went to dinner with friends of various nationalities. Early in the meal one of the scientists started to make fun of Byron’s new suit. Turning to me he asked Don’t you think it looks gay?
I blinked and asked Why is that your chosen insult? I would consider the observation a compliment!
Baffled, he replied But Byron isn’t gay!
Looking him straight in the eye, I said Prove it.
The woman next to me gasped and started to laugh.
My friend looked baffled. What did you say?
Someone whispered a translation but it was hardly necessary – he heard me, he just didn’t want to believe the implications of the statement. Enunciating each word emphatically I replied I said prove it. You have no direct evidence of his sexual orientation.
My friend said He has never hit on me!
Byron joined the discussion at this point with a cheery Perhaps I don’t find you attractive!
Several heads were swiveling back and forth; the person who started the whole thing rejoined All gay men hit on me!
I rolled my eyes.
He tried again The waiter is gay, and he hit on me!
Now this was an encounter I had actually witnessed, and I laughed. He wasn’t hitting on you. He is just friendly and queer! I’m sure he will be my new best friend by the end of the meal! [An assertion that proved true – the waiter was even referring to me as such within thirty minutes, without overhearing any of this exchange.]
Various other hoary stereotypes were trotted out and Byron and I verbally assassinated each one, until the friend weakly accused me of being PC. Hmm.
If those initials stand for Polite and Considerate, maybe so – on occasion. Persistent and Cruel is more accurate. Politically Correct? Hardly.
On other occasions I might have put a stop to the debate with that old bystander, the wrist-flicking jerk-off sign that indicates dismissive disdain so eloquently.
Why did I continue to argue? Because my eleven year old kid was sitting next to me. I have no idea if my children are gay, and it doesn’t matter – they will have peers who are. It is critically important that they grow up knowing that all varieties of sexual orientation are not just tolerable but normal and healthy.
My offspring spent their formative childhood years clasped to the unwashed bosom of the queer punk underground, but that isn’t enough – it is easy to find a comfortable ghetto to hide in. I want more, for myself and on behalf of all the kids I know. I want to change not just my small corner of the world but also the public dialogue.
Children need examples from life but also the intellectual framework to deconstruct whatever messages come from the larger society. What is the alternative? How many of my friends have been humiliated, vilified, injured? Lost their homes, families?
How many people, regardless of later emancipation, carry around needless shame? How many choose not to survive at all?
This week, in separate incidents on opposite sides of the world, two seventeen year old boys in my circle of acquaintance were attacked. Both times the word faggot was invoked as the reason for the violence.
One of the boys ended up in the emergency room with a broken nose. The other was cut – his face slashed temple to chin. He might lose one of his eyes.
Why? Because someone though they were gay.
