As I made my way through the rest of that year, I realized I was different, I would never be accepted for who I was, my father would make off color comments about gay people (his nephew included), I was a fat kid, and all I could do was think it was time to get away from it all-however I could. I just wanted to be "the same".
It occured to me one day when I was sitting in my car on the top of a parking structure in downtown Frankfort, that there was a life beyond the bounds of what I knew. It had to be different somehow-life was not going to turn out to be as bad as it seemed. I lingered there for a second-peering down the long expanse of the Kentucky river. A brisk wind was blowing that evening, and the sky was clear. I sat on the edge of the structure with nothing but tree tops and pavement below. I begged myself to be still. My mind was racing. Why couldn't I be who I was? Was I such a bad person? I sat there and wondered for what seemed like a day. I turned around to face the river-at that moment a car pulled up. Whomever was in that car was playing a song called "Place In This World" by Michael W. Smith. That song was very important to me during those days. They had their windows rolled down while that sat at the other end of the structure. I could tell who it was because it was dark. The song ended, I stepped back down on the floor of the structure and got in my truck.
As I sat there listening to that song, I remembered something. I was "fearfully and wonderfully made".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyPPBWeSRYs
Friday, December 17, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
I hoped for...and found
High school was a blur. It was never easy to understand why my father had left my mom high and dry financially and provided nothing in the way of means for us to live. In high school that can really separate you from your peers. My mom, did all she could to make sure my brother and I never went without. At times, I never understood how she could do all that she did on the penance she made in state government. Yet, we didn't really know we were lacking anything. (now it wasn't quite Loretta Lynn and Coal Miner's Daughter) :-)
This made things a lot more difficult in high school though. It seemed that for a moment the bullying stopped, and being gay was not so much in the forefront of the minds of my classmates. Yet, there were the occasional jeers. It seemed though that no one wanted to be my friend during my Sophomore year. The "churchies" as I called them, pulled even farther away during the school day. I found my solace in the hour of music class, the hour of art class, the hour of Spanish, and the hour of study hall when Ms. Judge would allow me to "rule the roost" over those in-school suspension kids. Yes, that was a treat! I was the teacher's aid for the in-school suspension teacher Ms. Judge. She was so incredibly awesome. She and I would dish about the latest celebrity gossip, what was going on in school and I would give her fashion tips (imagine that). Now that I look back on my time working for her, I realize she knew I was a loaner and wanted to cheer me up. Why can't more teachers do that sort of thing for kids? It's a shame that they are spread so thin in their jobs.
Well-I thought the bullying had stopped. During the end of the fall semester of my Sophomore year, I had to run to the bathroom during class. I was in the restroom when the door opened. It was this kid named Nathan. He and his cronies were always up to no good, and at times when the search light fell on me-it was really no good. I was washing my hands about to return to class when Nathan walked up behind me and kicked me from behind. I immediately fell to the floor. He walked away from the sink to one of the stalls and said, "that's what you get stupid queer". It was all I could do to stand back up. The pain was running through my legs and back. I got out of the bathroom as fast as I could and walked down the hall with a grimace on my face. When I got back to my desk I could barely sit down. I sat through the rest of class in shock, in pain and in fear. I knew what would happen if I told anyone what had happened. This kid was just mean.
This made things a lot more difficult in high school though. It seemed that for a moment the bullying stopped, and being gay was not so much in the forefront of the minds of my classmates. Yet, there were the occasional jeers. It seemed though that no one wanted to be my friend during my Sophomore year. The "churchies" as I called them, pulled even farther away during the school day. I found my solace in the hour of music class, the hour of art class, the hour of Spanish, and the hour of study hall when Ms. Judge would allow me to "rule the roost" over those in-school suspension kids. Yes, that was a treat! I was the teacher's aid for the in-school suspension teacher Ms. Judge. She was so incredibly awesome. She and I would dish about the latest celebrity gossip, what was going on in school and I would give her fashion tips (imagine that). Now that I look back on my time working for her, I realize she knew I was a loaner and wanted to cheer me up. Why can't more teachers do that sort of thing for kids? It's a shame that they are spread so thin in their jobs.
Well-I thought the bullying had stopped. During the end of the fall semester of my Sophomore year, I had to run to the bathroom during class. I was in the restroom when the door opened. It was this kid named Nathan. He and his cronies were always up to no good, and at times when the search light fell on me-it was really no good. I was washing my hands about to return to class when Nathan walked up behind me and kicked me from behind. I immediately fell to the floor. He walked away from the sink to one of the stalls and said, "that's what you get stupid queer". It was all I could do to stand back up. The pain was running through my legs and back. I got out of the bathroom as fast as I could and walked down the hall with a grimace on my face. When I got back to my desk I could barely sit down. I sat through the rest of class in shock, in pain and in fear. I knew what would happen if I told anyone what had happened. This kid was just mean.
Monday, November 29, 2010
I sat...in silence
Michelle was gone the next year, and I had arrived in high school. Unaware of the moment-un assured of any relief from the prodding-unnoticed so it seemed. My freshman year in high school seemed to be different indeed. In high school, there was more of an opportunity to be with people not unlike yourself. You were able to go to choir, art class, gym and do things that suited your interests. Maybe, that summer between eighth grade and ninth brought with it a change in minds and a pursuit of being more mature. Or did it?
I was what one might term "allergic to sports". They simply didn't fit my desires, nor was I ever interested. I really enjoyed theatre, choir, art and the more creative modes of expression. I did serve as a manager for the high school football team, and so as it was-I had been in this position for a number of years before my peers arrived in high school-so needless to say, in the football field house I wasn't bullied-I knew the lay of that land. Funny how that worked out!! Nevertheless, these same peers would find their time to shove me into lockers, dump things on me in the cafeteria and scream taunts in my direction while walking down the hall.
I began the process of becoming a chameleon of sorts my ninth grade year. I would find as I was sitting in therapy a number of years later, that this was the sort of thing that would cause me to always adapt in relationships and not "stand up" for my wants and desires always. (That has changed for the better).
I decided during my ninth grade year that I was going to focus on my music and let that be my coup d'état so to speak. In the sanctuary of the choir room I felt safe. I knew there were other kids "like me" there although all of us were too afraid to speak up or stand up.
It was also during that year, that I decided to take more of an interest in my spiritual journey. Growing up in a Southern Baptist church, I was there whenever the doors were opened. I sang in the choir, was the president of my youth group, held fund raisers galore to attend church camp, worked in vacation bible school and attended Sunday school. In some strange way-this too was a refuge. Yet-at the same time, it was in its own right a torment. The church can be a beautiful place-yet at the same turn a place of cruelty and hate.
I was what one might term "allergic to sports". They simply didn't fit my desires, nor was I ever interested. I really enjoyed theatre, choir, art and the more creative modes of expression. I did serve as a manager for the high school football team, and so as it was-I had been in this position for a number of years before my peers arrived in high school-so needless to say, in the football field house I wasn't bullied-I knew the lay of that land. Funny how that worked out!! Nevertheless, these same peers would find their time to shove me into lockers, dump things on me in the cafeteria and scream taunts in my direction while walking down the hall.
I began the process of becoming a chameleon of sorts my ninth grade year. I would find as I was sitting in therapy a number of years later, that this was the sort of thing that would cause me to always adapt in relationships and not "stand up" for my wants and desires always. (That has changed for the better).
I decided during my ninth grade year that I was going to focus on my music and let that be my coup d'état so to speak. In the sanctuary of the choir room I felt safe. I knew there were other kids "like me" there although all of us were too afraid to speak up or stand up.
It was also during that year, that I decided to take more of an interest in my spiritual journey. Growing up in a Southern Baptist church, I was there whenever the doors were opened. I sang in the choir, was the president of my youth group, held fund raisers galore to attend church camp, worked in vacation bible school and attended Sunday school. In some strange way-this too was a refuge. Yet-at the same time, it was in its own right a torment. The church can be a beautiful place-yet at the same turn a place of cruelty and hate.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Just Now
I was reminded over dinner last night how bullying takes on so many forms and can happen in so many ways. Through conversation I learned of a bullying scenario involving a middle school student who was being bullied not because of being gay-but because the student is a bit socially awkward at times. The kid that was bullying this student was slamming them into the lockers at school and physically attacking the student.
Sure-my platform on this blog has been to bring awareness to kids being bullied because of sexual orientation-however, it happens to even those kids who are not a part of the GLBT community (although I like to think we all are by virtue of simply knowing a GLBT individual). IN effect no matter how you self identify-BULLYING HAS TO STOP in the schools of our children. No child should have to go to school afraid for his or her safety. No child should have to switch classes looking over his or her shoulder in fear that they are going to be hurt. I realize that some see this as wishful thinking, and perhaps in some ways it is-but if parents would simply be parents and stop being so self absorbed children just might be kinder to one another.
There are times I wonder, instead of society being so wrapped up in the equality of marriage and just let people love one another and be more concerned with allowing people to have children if we wouldn't have fewer problems. I think there should be a test for people who want to have kids. There are no bad kids-there are only bad parents!
Thankfully, my dinner conversation was a happy one in that the parent of this child was stepping up to the plate and doing something to protect their child. It was a very inspirational story!
Sure-my platform on this blog has been to bring awareness to kids being bullied because of sexual orientation-however, it happens to even those kids who are not a part of the GLBT community (although I like to think we all are by virtue of simply knowing a GLBT individual). IN effect no matter how you self identify-BULLYING HAS TO STOP in the schools of our children. No child should have to go to school afraid for his or her safety. No child should have to switch classes looking over his or her shoulder in fear that they are going to be hurt. I realize that some see this as wishful thinking, and perhaps in some ways it is-but if parents would simply be parents and stop being so self absorbed children just might be kinder to one another.
There are times I wonder, instead of society being so wrapped up in the equality of marriage and just let people love one another and be more concerned with allowing people to have children if we wouldn't have fewer problems. I think there should be a test for people who want to have kids. There are no bad kids-there are only bad parents!
Thankfully, my dinner conversation was a happy one in that the parent of this child was stepping up to the plate and doing something to protect their child. It was a very inspirational story!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I kept...running
When they turned and saw that I had seen them, I started running as fast as I could. I can remember in that moment feeling a lot of emotions, but in particular I felt very scattered. How could it be that Neil and Jason (yes, my mom swears there were no other kids named Jason when she named me...at least one other in every class in school) were "sneaking" around and also bullying me along with a host of others? Later in my life I found out that in a lot of cases, the ones who are the most vocal (in a negative way) and violent toward gay people are the ones who are usually "messing around in secret". I like to call it fear of being true to oneself. Nonetheless, Neil and Jason caught up with me and Neil threw his backpack at me to knock me down. Once I was on the ground Jason started kicking me on the side, and said "if you tell anyone what you just saw we will beat you up worse". Neil had his hand on my throat and kept saying if you tell anyone we are going to hurt you. They meant it too-and I knew that there was no way any of their comrades would believe a word I said, I was after all the "gay kid".
The following weeks would be some of the worst weeks of my eighth grade year. After discovering these two guys and their "secret" I felt, somewhat relieved that I wasn't the only one who had these feelings. Yet, at the same time-I wanted to run screaming through the halls telling everyone I saw-that Neil and Jason were the same as me. I didn't do that. Instead I endured several more weeks worth of being thrown into lockers, kicked from behind, laughed at, threatened with my life and being "told on" for things I never did.
There was one friend who I made in the eighth grade who would stick by me until our Freshman year in high school, when she moved away. Michelle, was a lovely black girl-who had the voice of an angel. She could sing anything she wanted, and make the most beautiful music. She would meet me every morning in the hallway before school started and we would laugh, share stories, and sometimes bust out singing. Michelle "got me" and understood that I was a lovable person even though I was gay. She would always encourage me when she could tell I was down, and would always tell me "believe that you can be who you are always". Michelle was different, she came from a family deeply rooted in their faith-but a family who believed in the value of people. It was evident. I told Michelle one morning that it was so hard to endure this torment everyday and that it would be "alot easier if I just didn't have to be here". I remember, from that point, she used to call me every day to make sure I was okay-and if I didn't show up to school because I was sick, she would call me and make sure I hadn't done "something". Maybe-just maybe we are entertaining angels unaware?
The following weeks would be some of the worst weeks of my eighth grade year. After discovering these two guys and their "secret" I felt, somewhat relieved that I wasn't the only one who had these feelings. Yet, at the same time-I wanted to run screaming through the halls telling everyone I saw-that Neil and Jason were the same as me. I didn't do that. Instead I endured several more weeks worth of being thrown into lockers, kicked from behind, laughed at, threatened with my life and being "told on" for things I never did.
There was one friend who I made in the eighth grade who would stick by me until our Freshman year in high school, when she moved away. Michelle, was a lovely black girl-who had the voice of an angel. She could sing anything she wanted, and make the most beautiful music. She would meet me every morning in the hallway before school started and we would laugh, share stories, and sometimes bust out singing. Michelle "got me" and understood that I was a lovable person even though I was gay. She would always encourage me when she could tell I was down, and would always tell me "believe that you can be who you are always". Michelle was different, she came from a family deeply rooted in their faith-but a family who believed in the value of people. It was evident. I told Michelle one morning that it was so hard to endure this torment everyday and that it would be "alot easier if I just didn't have to be here". I remember, from that point, she used to call me every day to make sure I was okay-and if I didn't show up to school because I was sick, she would call me and make sure I hadn't done "something". Maybe-just maybe we are entertaining angels unaware?
Friday, November 12, 2010
An Anti-Bullying Message From the NOH8 Campaign
I was so glad to see Cindy McCain appearing in this ad. Listen to Cindy's comments specifically! This has to end!!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Please...let me
I remember waking up most mornings in 8th grade just wishing that I could find a way out of going to school. There are fond memories of faking sick and begging my mom to let me go somewhere else-to attend another school. I remember once visiting this school for trouble teens here in Kentucky-I begged my mom to let me go there-it seemed like heaven on earth at the time. It wasn't Frankfort, and it wasn't the school I was in at the time.
The locker room during my 8th grade year was a place of pure torment. I wasn't the most athletically inclined kid growing up. My dad used to want me to play football and even took me to tryouts one time-I backed out of trying it, and he was disappointed. I opted instead for the limelight of the stage and music. Funny how someone who was so involved in country music (my dad) would be so disappointed that I chose that route instead of football.
One particular day in gym class we were supposed to run laps. I was a fat kid. Running was never easy for me. (I'm proud to say now-I regularly run races, and minis around the region). I always got passed by the other kids who would say things like hurry up fatty, or there's the fag. On this particular day-we were supposed to run laps at the end of class-it took me a little bit longer than some, and so-when I got back to the locker room to change my clothes had been thrown in the garbage can and all kinds of garbage put on top of them. The other guys in the locker room just stood there and laughed as I dug my stuff out of the can. I would always go change in one of the restroom stalls in the locker room, so I would at least be safe from people trying to do stuff to me.
It seemed as though it would never end. The guys in gym class used to taunt me all the time about trying to look at them and those sorts of things-hell, at that point I didn't even know what I was feeling on the inside-let alone trying to stare at them.
The 8th grade year would find that I made great strides academically (except in math :-). I was in honors classes and was being well positioned for a successful go at high school. All the while, enduring some of the worst name calling I can remember. There were constant threats made to me, that I was going to be beat up or something of the sort. I became very good at dodging those sorts of things, and making my way home after school so as not to get caught alone. I lived the entirety of my 8th grade year in fear of being hurt.
One day as I walked home from school through the wooded path that led to my grandparents house, I saw somebody back in the bushes off the trail. I immediately started to panic for fear of the what I knew was coming. I walked faster and faster so I could get to my grandparents place unharmed. WHAT?!!!
I remember trying not to look over in that direction-but when I did, I was shocked, and blown away by what I saw. Two guys, two of my classmates, two of the biggest bullies of the entire 8th grade year, locked in an embrace and kissing! Surely, I had seen things. I wanted to do a double take, but they realized as soon as I was upon them what had happened. They'd been "found out". To this day I think that was a worse mistake than if I'd been "jumped" by someone.
The locker room during my 8th grade year was a place of pure torment. I wasn't the most athletically inclined kid growing up. My dad used to want me to play football and even took me to tryouts one time-I backed out of trying it, and he was disappointed. I opted instead for the limelight of the stage and music. Funny how someone who was so involved in country music (my dad) would be so disappointed that I chose that route instead of football.
One particular day in gym class we were supposed to run laps. I was a fat kid. Running was never easy for me. (I'm proud to say now-I regularly run races, and minis around the region). I always got passed by the other kids who would say things like hurry up fatty, or there's the fag. On this particular day-we were supposed to run laps at the end of class-it took me a little bit longer than some, and so-when I got back to the locker room to change my clothes had been thrown in the garbage can and all kinds of garbage put on top of them. The other guys in the locker room just stood there and laughed as I dug my stuff out of the can. I would always go change in one of the restroom stalls in the locker room, so I would at least be safe from people trying to do stuff to me.
It seemed as though it would never end. The guys in gym class used to taunt me all the time about trying to look at them and those sorts of things-hell, at that point I didn't even know what I was feeling on the inside-let alone trying to stare at them.
The 8th grade year would find that I made great strides academically (except in math :-). I was in honors classes and was being well positioned for a successful go at high school. All the while, enduring some of the worst name calling I can remember. There were constant threats made to me, that I was going to be beat up or something of the sort. I became very good at dodging those sorts of things, and making my way home after school so as not to get caught alone. I lived the entirety of my 8th grade year in fear of being hurt.
One day as I walked home from school through the wooded path that led to my grandparents house, I saw somebody back in the bushes off the trail. I immediately started to panic for fear of the what I knew was coming. I walked faster and faster so I could get to my grandparents place unharmed. WHAT?!!!
I remember trying not to look over in that direction-but when I did, I was shocked, and blown away by what I saw. Two guys, two of my classmates, two of the biggest bullies of the entire 8th grade year, locked in an embrace and kissing! Surely, I had seen things. I wanted to do a double take, but they realized as soon as I was upon them what had happened. They'd been "found out". To this day I think that was a worse mistake than if I'd been "jumped" by someone.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Going away...not an option
During my seventh grade year I endured some of the worst physical attacks I'd ever endured as a result of my being gay. Strangely enough, there were other kids in school who were obviously gay and weren't picked on as bad. During that year my weight continued to climb, my face broke out in acne and the awkwardness of being a "kid in change" was apparent.
I became very creative in my ways to avoid people. In most of my classes there was at least one student from the mounting horde of students who were picking on me. I was quietly able to shield myself from their taunts by trying to "blend in". There was one kid who became my friend, Allen. Allen wasn't gay, he was just compassionate. He came from a very wealthy family and was always there to at least talk to me.
One day, while we were sitting in history class, this kid Nathan, decide he would take a pencil and jab it in my hand, while calling me a faggot. (I've still got a piece of the lead there). I recall, Allen saw this happen and immediately walked over to him and jabbed him right back only in his arm. Nathan was so shocked he didn't know what to do. Allen came back over sat down and said to me-"just stick up for yourself man". I would try, but it was always met with me facing a group. I sort of felt like David facing Goliath.
As our seventh grade year came to a close and the summer drew closer-I knew that I would once again, be able to "breath". Allen and I lost touch over that summer and when I returned to eighth grade, I would discover that he had moved away.
My eighth grade year was a certain time for transition and change. I had become virtually invisible to people at school and was concerned with survival. Except this year, I would be in gym class and we would be required to change in the locker room.....
I became very creative in my ways to avoid people. In most of my classes there was at least one student from the mounting horde of students who were picking on me. I was quietly able to shield myself from their taunts by trying to "blend in". There was one kid who became my friend, Allen. Allen wasn't gay, he was just compassionate. He came from a very wealthy family and was always there to at least talk to me.
One day, while we were sitting in history class, this kid Nathan, decide he would take a pencil and jab it in my hand, while calling me a faggot. (I've still got a piece of the lead there). I recall, Allen saw this happen and immediately walked over to him and jabbed him right back only in his arm. Nathan was so shocked he didn't know what to do. Allen came back over sat down and said to me-"just stick up for yourself man". I would try, but it was always met with me facing a group. I sort of felt like David facing Goliath.
As our seventh grade year came to a close and the summer drew closer-I knew that I would once again, be able to "breath". Allen and I lost touch over that summer and when I returned to eighth grade, I would discover that he had moved away.
My eighth grade year was a certain time for transition and change. I had become virtually invisible to people at school and was concerned with survival. Except this year, I would be in gym class and we would be required to change in the locker room.....
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Mister McCance MUST Go!
Mister McCance-It goes far beyond whether or not you think being gay is right or wrong. It goes far beyond your inhumane remarks. It goes way beyond your hypocritical rants as a so called Christian. It goes beyond your inability to see past a person's exterior and into the heart of their being-who they really are. And, if you sir believe it is necessary to "kill fags" because of your inability to see that people are living, breathing, and trying in earnest to contribute to the human good-than you sir are the "sick one". You are the one who has been beaten down, and kicked by the so called Christians you say support your ignorance. God bless you as you struggle to become accepted among the human race-you will have a long and hard fight ahead of you.
http://https://secure3.convio.net/hrc/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=959
http://https://secure3.convio.net/hrc/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=959
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
And....again
Once my seventh grade year arrived, the taunting only intensified. It seemed as though the circle of bullies had grown over the summer, and the church friends continued their retreat. Prior to coming back to school that year-I along with my church youth group had attended a summer camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains outside of Asheville, North Carolina. During that trip we bonded and became stronger-or so I thought. However, once school reconvened-those bonds were gone and so were the people.
I was sitting in my seventh grade math class one morning when Jon Patton, the "newest bully" began saying things to me like "you faggot" and "sissy boy". Unfortunately, this kid would be scheduled in every one of my classes that year and for whatever reason, our seats in class were always in taunting proximity.
On this day in math class-Jon decided he would take his taunting one step further. Right at the end of class when the teacher had her back turned Jon picked up his math textbook (a rather large hard bound book) and slammed it into the back of my head. At first I didn't know what had hit me. I blacked out for a second and then realized he had hit me with his book. Then, the bell rang and everyone left the room laughing. I walked to the front of the class to tell my teacher. She was stunned and upset-the blow to my head had left a huge knot. She immediately took me to the office-there I had to give an account of what happened.
The principal still indifferent to the situation called Jon to the office and had a chat with him. Huge mistake on my part. Jon was given a reprimand and allowed to stay in detention after school. The next day he was back in class. From there you can only imagine.
The rest of my seventh grade year, saw my clothes getting stolen and thrown in the trash can during gym class, my school supplied being taken and place in the toilet in the boy's bathroom, and my weight increasing a hundred fold because I was so stressed.
At this point-I honestly wanted to "go away".
I was sitting in my seventh grade math class one morning when Jon Patton, the "newest bully" began saying things to me like "you faggot" and "sissy boy". Unfortunately, this kid would be scheduled in every one of my classes that year and for whatever reason, our seats in class were always in taunting proximity.
On this day in math class-Jon decided he would take his taunting one step further. Right at the end of class when the teacher had her back turned Jon picked up his math textbook (a rather large hard bound book) and slammed it into the back of my head. At first I didn't know what had hit me. I blacked out for a second and then realized he had hit me with his book. Then, the bell rang and everyone left the room laughing. I walked to the front of the class to tell my teacher. She was stunned and upset-the blow to my head had left a huge knot. She immediately took me to the office-there I had to give an account of what happened.
The principal still indifferent to the situation called Jon to the office and had a chat with him. Huge mistake on my part. Jon was given a reprimand and allowed to stay in detention after school. The next day he was back in class. From there you can only imagine.
The rest of my seventh grade year, saw my clothes getting stolen and thrown in the trash can during gym class, my school supplied being taken and place in the toilet in the boy's bathroom, and my weight increasing a hundred fold because I was so stressed.
At this point-I honestly wanted to "go away".
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
But then...again
As the sixth grade year began to take its leave, I was never so happy that the summer was within reach. At least for a few short weeks, I would be free of the stress of these kids who found it increasingly fun to taunt me and shout things in my direction everyday. After seeking help from school counselors, administrators and teachers-I soon realized that none of them were in any way prepared to help the situation. I cried most nights about what was happening to me at school, and would often pretend to be "sick" so that I wouldn't have to go the next day. Most of my friends who I had had in elementary school had fled, a few stayed by my side-but only for a brief while. When it wasn't cool to be seen with the "queer kid" they fled too.
Perhaps the hardest of friends to whom this hide and seek "game" was part of their day, were my "church friends". I grew up in a Southern Baptist church, and was there every time the doors were opened. I was very involved in the youth group and singing in the choir. Church, was sort of a haven for me-a place where I could be in secret who I was-and outwardly who everyone wanted me to be. These so called "church friends" from the youth group would be my best buddies at church, but come Monday-they barely looked at me much less spoke to me.
The last day of my sixth grade year, one of my "best friends" from church-Scott, came up to me during field day and along with some other kids, started laughing at me and one kid, Bob-shouted out "Jason's gay". They all laughed. I walked away and sat on the hill beside the field, and just watched the events of the day. When it was my turn to participate in a relay, I made my way to the line. When it was my turn to run-I fell. No-I didn't fall because of that sixth grade awkwardness-I fell because Scott had tripped me. I ruined the entire relay.
Scott would go on later in our adult lives to out me to an entire congregation of Southern Baptists in Frankfort, KY the town where we grew up. From that "outing" the pastor of the congregation called me at my office one day-and literally told me I was going to hell and that I was no longer a member of that congregation. This would be an impetus to a huge divide in a congregation that was moving forward. Now, the congregation has dwindled-the church is stagnant and the church where Scott now attends-well that's where my father goes, and they "pray for me" all the time-that I won't be gay anymore. Now-that's love (don't you think)?
As for me-we'll chat later about my involvement in a wonderful congregation.
Perhaps the hardest of friends to whom this hide and seek "game" was part of their day, were my "church friends". I grew up in a Southern Baptist church, and was there every time the doors were opened. I was very involved in the youth group and singing in the choir. Church, was sort of a haven for me-a place where I could be in secret who I was-and outwardly who everyone wanted me to be. These so called "church friends" from the youth group would be my best buddies at church, but come Monday-they barely looked at me much less spoke to me.
The last day of my sixth grade year, one of my "best friends" from church-Scott, came up to me during field day and along with some other kids, started laughing at me and one kid, Bob-shouted out "Jason's gay". They all laughed. I walked away and sat on the hill beside the field, and just watched the events of the day. When it was my turn to participate in a relay, I made my way to the line. When it was my turn to run-I fell. No-I didn't fall because of that sixth grade awkwardness-I fell because Scott had tripped me. I ruined the entire relay.
Scott would go on later in our adult lives to out me to an entire congregation of Southern Baptists in Frankfort, KY the town where we grew up. From that "outing" the pastor of the congregation called me at my office one day-and literally told me I was going to hell and that I was no longer a member of that congregation. This would be an impetus to a huge divide in a congregation that was moving forward. Now, the congregation has dwindled-the church is stagnant and the church where Scott now attends-well that's where my father goes, and they "pray for me" all the time-that I won't be gay anymore. Now-that's love (don't you think)?
As for me-we'll chat later about my involvement in a wonderful congregation.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Bullies-they're everywhere!
I won't soon forget my time in middle school and high school. Some twenty years later the memories of what I endured during those years are forever etched in my mind. I grew up in a time when "gay" was just beginning to pick up momentum and "turn heads". Yet, I was still too young to realize what I was feeling.
When I started middle school, the very first day-Scott Woodward began to call me "faggot". That would be the beginning of what would cause me to become a chameleon of sorts and begin the process of trying in earnest to blend in and adapt so as not to be noticed. It was a fretful way of living. In the years leading up to middle school, I was a popular kid. Even through the divorce of my parents, and my father's poor handling of our family business and his desire to be involved with the "ladies" (yes in quotes-because they weren't really ladies in my mind rather-they were those -ummm what'dya call 'em begins with a w---and ends with an e) which torn our family to shreds-I maintained a bright exciting childhood.
On the first day of sixth grade, I hadn't been in the school and in my home room more than an hour until Scott started his name calling. I didn't really know what to make of what he was saying nor was I even sure of what it meant. At lunch that day-he took ketchup and squirted it all over my brand new shirt and shorts (my mom had worked hard to provide) and all the kids laughed. I didn't cry although I wanted too-rather I sat there and ate my lunch.
When I got to school the next day-Scott and one of his friends, Stanley met me in the front hallway. Once the bell had rung and we were walking down the hall to our first class-Stanley came behind and picked me up and carried me down the hall and threw me in the ladies restroom and stood in the doorway so I couldn't get out. Once I finally was able to get past the crowd of kids laughing at me-Mr. Simpson, the school principal walked past me. I got in trouble and was told to go to the Principal's office. After sitting there for what seemed like forever, Mr. Simpson asked why I was in the restroom-I tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen. I got in trouble and was required to go to in school suspension that day. This was only the beginning.
When I started middle school, the very first day-Scott Woodward began to call me "faggot". That would be the beginning of what would cause me to become a chameleon of sorts and begin the process of trying in earnest to blend in and adapt so as not to be noticed. It was a fretful way of living. In the years leading up to middle school, I was a popular kid. Even through the divorce of my parents, and my father's poor handling of our family business and his desire to be involved with the "ladies" (yes in quotes-because they weren't really ladies in my mind rather-they were those -ummm what'dya call 'em begins with a w---and ends with an e) which torn our family to shreds-I maintained a bright exciting childhood.
On the first day of sixth grade, I hadn't been in the school and in my home room more than an hour until Scott started his name calling. I didn't really know what to make of what he was saying nor was I even sure of what it meant. At lunch that day-he took ketchup and squirted it all over my brand new shirt and shorts (my mom had worked hard to provide) and all the kids laughed. I didn't cry although I wanted too-rather I sat there and ate my lunch.
When I got to school the next day-Scott and one of his friends, Stanley met me in the front hallway. Once the bell had rung and we were walking down the hall to our first class-Stanley came behind and picked me up and carried me down the hall and threw me in the ladies restroom and stood in the doorway so I couldn't get out. Once I finally was able to get past the crowd of kids laughing at me-Mr. Simpson, the school principal walked past me. I got in trouble and was told to go to the Principal's office. After sitting there for what seemed like forever, Mr. Simpson asked why I was in the restroom-I tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen. I got in trouble and was required to go to in school suspension that day. This was only the beginning.
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