What I Didn’t Tell Them

Is it impressive or is it sad that I recently summed up the past 25 years of my life in two paragraphs?

It was one of those wonderful Facebook moments where you suddenly find people with whom you long ago lost contact.

Though "virtual," the reunions were wonderful. I really enjoyed reading what my friends had been up to since 1986.

Of course I was expected to provide the same information. What aspects of a person’s life do others want to hear about? Personal? Professional? Marriage and children (or lack thereof)? Mutual friends and acquaintances? Perhaps I was over thinking it, but I decided to challenge myself as a writer and convey the most important things that have happened to me in as succinct a way as possible. With a sense of satisfaction, I summed up my career, family, and health in two medium sized paragraphs.

Then I got discouraged. You mean I can say everything important about my career, family, and health in just two medium sized paragraphs? I must be the most boring person in the world.

I’m sure my friends realized that what I told them was merely an outline. Many more interesting things have happened to me than that.

So I’d like to share with you a sampling of what I did NOT include in the two paragraph nutshell about my past quarter century. Since 1986, I:

• Replaced all of my LPs with CDs
• Cohabitated briefly with an artist
• Wrecked two cars (neither was my fault)
• Lived in four different regions of the country
• Wrote for a couple of local weeklies (all defunct now, of course)
• Sold my car and did public transit for a few years
• Remodeled my kitchen
• Lived with a total of four cats
• Pledged to my local public radio station, boycotted said station, then pledged again
• Complained about the new airport
• Developed an allergy to bananas
• Remodeled my bathroom
• Got laid off from three jobs
• Joined and dropped out of a queer square dancing club
• Replaced the VCR with a DVR
• Put all of my CDs on an iPod
• Remodeled everything but the kitchen and bathroom
• Bought a hybrid car
• Visited Wyoming several times
• Said every summer, without fail, "I really should spend more time in the mountains"
• Got irritated when the local public radio announcers mispronounced "Chez Artiste," one of the local movie theatres
• Thought seriously about moving to California
• Joined a gym
• Got on Facebook 
• Made this list

Well. Hmm. Maybe I’ll just stick to those two paragraphs. They were more interesting.

Disgusting Byproduct Helpful Supplement

I hate cottage cheese. It’s made of curds.

One friend insists that he loves it on a bed of lettuce with some pepper. I question his ability to enjoy food. The only thing more tasteless than cottage cheese is lettuce.

Basically a waste byproduct of milk, cottage cheese has lately become a prominent feature in my meals.

When I complain, something I rarely do, I am bombarded with suggestions from more experienced culinary savants. I've tried combining it with pineapple, mandarin oranges, strawberries, blueberries, and spices (such as pepper or basil). I’ve had it for breakfast and lunch, as a dip and a dressing. But it's still this lumpy curdy stuff.

Those little curds rub against your teeth, fill your mouth with the taste of disgusting milk-byproduct, and slide grudgingly down your throat.

But if you can choke it down, this milk byproduct has its advantages. It's filling, provides protein, and contains little in the way of fat or carbs.

If only it provided gastronomic pleasure.

Cheese is usually such a good thing. I like to go to Whole Foods and grab little scraps of exotic chesses for a dollar or two, take them home, and sample them on crackers. I love nothing more than a grilled cheese sandwich or a cheese burger. Extra cheese on pizza is a good thing. But I can't imagine putting cottage cheese on any of that.

You may be wondering why this is an issue for me.

For the past few weeks, I've been making different choices about how I eat in order to lose some excess poundage. Since joining the health club last fall, I have only gained weight, to the point at which my shirts are getting tight.

To give my new choices structure, I have enrolled in Weight Watchers (trademark R). I am not doing the "D" word. The "D" word is too extreme for me. People often end up gaining their weight back when the "D" is over. “D”ers often seem to hate their bodies and are frequently of the opinion that if they just lose a little more, they'll look perfect and their lives will suddenly turn awesome. I am not doing that. I am simply changing elements of my lifestyle to accommodate more healthy eating habits.

Tomato, tomahto - also frequently eaten with cottage cheese.

Unfortunately, I hate to be hungry, and I've learned that a good way to eat and be full without adding to the poundage seems to involve cottage cheese. It’s also convenient: I can easily take it to the office. And I'm allergic to so many other things that alternatives are somewhat limited.

Fries for lunch are no longer an option, at least on a daily basis. And chips are out completely until I learn to eat just a few instead of devouring the whole bag in one sitting. I'm not talking about one of those little lunch sacks either - I'm talking about the big, family sized bag.

Yogurt is good but not as filling. Raw vegetables only go so far with me. Too much fruit, well, trust me, I have to limit my intake.

Wow. I'm so grouchy, you'd think I was "D"ing. Truly, I'm usually not hungry as long as I supplement my eating with (ugh) cottage cheese.

I wonder if you can deep-fry it.

Coming Out of the Closet in a Most Surprising Place

Notable events in Indiana history:

• In 8000 BCE humans first came to Indiana.
• The first European, Rene-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle arrived in 1679.
• Indiana became state in 1816.
• In 1909 the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was founded.
• In July 1954, a record temperature of 116 degrees (F) was recorded.
• In July 1980, 30 years ago this month, I told someone, for the very first time, that I was gay.

I was 17 years old. There was no discernable gay community in Scottsbluff, Nebraska at the time and there was certainly no internet to help me connect to the rest of the world. What I did have were my dad’s psychology books and an ability to find every word written about homosexuality in the public library – not all of it, of course, encouraging, or for that matter, accurate.

Most gay people come out of the closet when they move to the big city or go to college. I traveled a thousand miles to come out in the rather conservative state of Indiana.

It was not my intention to come out that week. Between my junior and senior years in high school, I boarded a bus with bunches of kids from western Nebraska for the first ever Presbyterian Church Youth Triennium, a huge convention of young people from all over the world. Bible study, youth ministry, the cold war, evangelism, and social issues were among the topics addressed. New music was presented, concerts were performed, and friendships made. For many, it was an eye-opening time of discovery and a turning point in our lives.

My primary memory of the week, however, was sneaking into the workshop on the church and homosexuality. The card in my hand said I was supposed to go to something else. I didn’t know if I’d get away with it. But the room was packed full of people who didn’t have the right card, and the workshop leaders weren’t turning people away.

The presentation was rather radical. In 1980, LGBT issues weren’t as thoroughly discussed in churches as they are now. The workshop leaders talked about scripture, community, and the fact that gay and lesbian Christians did exist. Above all, we were assured that no LGBT person was alone. There were lots of us out there.

At the end of the workshop, I hung around until everyone else had gone. I approached one of the facilitators and said, very maturely, that I thought the workshop was excellent and thanked him very much.

He smiled and waited.

“That’s all,” I thought, backing away.

He smiled more and said very gently that if I wanted to talk, he was available the rest of the week.

The next day, I met him in a quiet area on the University of Indiana campus and poured my heart out. I guess I was pretty typical. Every session at that workshop had a boy or girl like me hanging behind, dying to talk. But what may have been typical for that wonderful man was a lifetime opportunity for me.

It was in that loving, accepting, Christian context that I first declared my sexual orientation. There was no judgment or condemnation. The Bible wasn’t used as a weapon to shame me into conformity. No one told me I was going to hell. In fact, I was told repeatedly that, paraphrasing scripture, love passes all understanding and casts out all fear.

Love was – is – what it’s all about. I’ve never doubted for a minute that God loves me. Angry as I’d always be with fundamentalist Christians who forget that love is the primary commandment of Christ, I never stopped believing that God’s love overcomes every kind of hate and fear. I’ve always believed, preached, and taught that if we love each other with integrity and justice, we are doing God’s will.

Coming out at the church convention in 1980 was such a good experience, that when I got home, I came out to everyone. While it took my parents a few years to come to terms with it, most everyone else I cared about, including my brother and sisters, accepted it and accepted me in the wholeness of the person I was.

In 1989, at the Presbyterian Youth Triennium, this time at Purdue University in Indiana, the workshop on homosexuality and the church was held again. As the workshop leader, I patiently waited for those kids who were hanging back to come and talk to me if they wished.

Secret Life 30 Years Ago Comes Back to Haunt Me

An unfortunate scandal was uncovered during my otherwise successful venture into the Midwest last month. A nostalgic picture of my old college dorm in Lincoln, Nebraska, innocently posted on Facebook, sparked conversations online and off between people who "knew me when" and those who only know me now. A secret from my past was uncovered which I would have preferred stay hidden forever.

I think I should be excused for some youthful indiscretions. After all, everyone experiments in college, don't they?

There I was, my first week on campus, free of the constraints of home and parents for the first time, eager to fit in, hormones running wild, and all these attractive young men trying to recruit me. Though it was basically against my values; though members of my family would ridicule me; though I knew it would only lead to trouble, I couldn't help myself.

I joined a fraternity.

In my defense, I didn't last long. The guys who worked so hard to recruit me lost interest after I joined, and I just couldn't believe the ridiculous ceremonial tradition and other B.S. I had to put up with. So I quit.

The second frat was a little better.

I know what you're thinking - didn't I learn my lesson the first time?

Let's face it, I knew I didn't belong in the Greek system; I just wanted to be around the guys.

The second frat was nicer - that is, the guys were nicer. The atmosphere was more easy going and there was a high level of acceptance of the considerable number of us who were gay. I made some good friends there, some of whom I even see on Facebook now.

But it was still a frat. The silly ceremonies and overly close living conditions were just too much for me.

Six of us shared a filthy bathroom. We had rice for dinner every night (I didn’t start eating rice again for 10 years). Dozens of us shared a phone and had to pick out our own calls home from the long-distance bill. This was in the days before everyone had their own cell phone.

I will say the parties were fun. It was during one of these when I first made out with a girl – pretty much the only time, actually. We didn’t get very far because my gay roommate walked in on us. Like I say, everyone experiments in college.

Most objectionable to me, however, the solemn pledging and the ceremonies and the robes and the candles struck me as, well, idolatrous. If I was going to put all that effort into sanctified chanting and solemn tradition, I'd rather do it in church where it might mean something. See, in addition to being a lustful, out-of-the-closet gay college student, I was, like now, a rather committed Christian. The progressiveness of my views and my liberal theology didn’t stop me from feeling guilty about participating in the veneration of a godless fraternal society. The secrecy was cult-like. I didn’t care if the others found friendship and brotherhood this way, but it really wasn’t for me. I was much more interested in the gay bars on “O” Street Saturday night, and First Plymouth Congregational United Church of Christ on Sunday morning.

As soon as I could, I went back to the dorm with my own room and variety of bad food which included chilli frito, chicken a la king, and hardly any rice.

My frat brothers were very understanding when I moved out. I actually appreciated them more for that.

So, my secret is out. I feel kind of relieved. No more lies. No more deception. And no more housing-neutral language when I describe my college experience.

I wonder if that girl I made out with is on Facebook. I should look her up.