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.

Queer Activism Evolving – National Coming Out Day

A toddler shaking hands with a drag queen changed my whole perspective on activism, though it barely merited any attention except my own.

By contrast, President Obama’s speech last night to the Human Rights Campaign, the nation’s largest gay rights lobbying organization, received lots of attention. CNN, NPR, and others are joining some gay activists in asking, what happened to those campaign promises?

Today a massive National Equality March for LGBTQI rights will take place in Washington. Openly gay Congressman Barney Frank is critical of the march, saying it’s a waste of energy.

I disagree with Frank about the value of these marches which not only garner needed media attention and public awareness; but spur networking opportunities and generate energy which fuels lobbying and other involvement.

I attended the marches on Washington in 1987 and 1993. Times change. In 1987 it was all about AIDS. So many of us were dying and the federal government, led by the oblivious Ronald Reagan, was doing nothing. At that point, I don’t believe the president had ever acknowledged that HIV existed. I’ll never forget venting my anger as I marched by the White House shouting, “Hey Hey! Ho Ho! Ronald Reagan has got to go …”

The march in 1993 was different. Colorado had just passed the hateful Amendment 2, denying rights to gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. The fear that it could happen everywhere was palpable. When I visited the Holocaust museum later that year, I saw how easily a law here, a law there, with a little indifference, could lead to freight trains carrying whole communities to death camps. One notable proponent of Amendment 2 had been heard to say, off the record, that gays should be shipped off to concentration camps. Amendment 2 was eventually overturned by the Supreme Court.

We seem to have shifted from fighting for primary rights to insisting on things that in 1987 I never dreamed of, such as the right to get married. Obama is pressured now to lift the federal ban on same sex marriage as well as the ban on gays and lesbians in the military. The shift in times is notable in local Pride marches as well.

A couple summers ago, I stood along East Colfax in the heat, watching thousands of Gay Men, Lesbians, Bisexuals, Transgendered people, and their friends and families march, dance, ride (on cars, floats, motorcycles, horseback), waving and smiling their way down to Civic Center for the annual Pride celebration.

Next to me under the blinding sun, was a family of four: young father and mother, preschool-age son, and a toddler daughter who jumped in and out of her stroller depending on her interest in the passing action. In years past, no one watched the parade. The only people interested in the parade were in it. That is no longer true. Now it’s an event to bring the children to watch.

The youngsters next to me giggled as waving drag queens stopped to say hello or shake their hands. I worried that anyone six feet tall with giant hair, dressed in heels and sequins might frighten the little ones, but I supposed they looked something like clowns or cartoons - not quite real. Some of the more playful marchers squirted water guns as they passed. The kids ran into the street and begged to be drenched. The parents seemed to enjoy it as well.

In my own prejudice, I wondered what that "traditional" heterosexual family was doing watching "our" parade. Did they understand what they were seeing? Did they really want the kids exposed to all those queers? My logical self knew these must not be the stereotypical suburbanites who fear everything that they might see on East Colfax.

Many parade participants stepped out of line to say hello and hand out candy or stickers. It dawned on me that many GLBTQI folk, denied ordinary proximity by biology, prejudice, or circumstance, crave the opportunity to be near young people, even if for just a moment like this. I thought of how often I have avoided friendliness to a child for fear of being accused of something improper just because I'm gay. How unfair this is to us, and to the children who could benefit from our positive, loving attention. And here I was, vicariously enjoying the parade through these children I did not know.

Gay and lesbian parents marched in the parade as well: those who have made the decision and taken steps to rear their own children - dads holding hands with dads as they pushed a stroller, moms arm in arm with moms while supervising a tricycle. Little ones marched and waved and held balloons, excited to be the center of attention and walking in the middle of a big street.

Suddenly the two children I'd been watching leapt from the curb and ran shouting into the middle of Colfax. I glanced at their mom and dad to see if they realized what was happening. They were all smiles as their offspring greeted and hugged some marching children, jumping up and down, bringing that whole group of families temporarily to a stop. The youngsters obviously knew each other, perhaps as neighbors or from a play group. I understood why that family of four was at this parade. They were there to see their friends, who just happened to live in households headed by same-sex parents.

It was one of the most touching things I've ever seen. It reminded me that changing hearts and minds isn't done on television. It doesn't depend only on what the president says or what laws are passed. It isn't done just by the ranting of pundits like Dan Savage or the endorsement of religious leaders. It's done through children becoming friends and bringing their parents along. It's done one person, one family, one coworker, and one interaction at a time.

National Coming Out Day is October 11. It’s a day to remember that change happens between individuals. When our lives are real and visible to those we live and work with, including our joys and sorrows, the love we have for our children, and our day to day struggles of working and living, we are seen as fellow human beings, not just some group of strangers marching in far away Washington.