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.