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.

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!

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?

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!!

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.

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.....