Thursday night, some beers, some pizza and some Glee

I always wished that I had one of those TV-moment-coming-out experiences. You know, the one where the gay boy or girl in question has been scared shitless the whole season at the thought of their parents knowing that he or she is gay and the moment the boy or girl finally musters the courage to let their parents know they are, in fact, gay, and the seemingly conservative parent ends up simply saying “I know.” And I erupt in tears and the parent and child embrace. There is always some kind of “I’m not in love with the idea but there’s nothing I can do about it and I love you the same” line from the parent and everything’s alright.

That is what happened on last night’s episode of Glee. There is an amazingly flamboyant character named Kurt who mustered the courage to finally come out to his single father. And it was fucking beautiful.

And that, my friends, is the way things should be.

My coming out experience wasnt so much like that at all. I dont think most of ours were or will be for a while. Well, I’m sure some of ours were. Mine was a big four year mess, one that tore my heart out along with my parent’s hearts. My mother was terrified and thus led to her acting out against me, doing anything in her power that would, in her eyes, show me the fault in my “decision” for years afterward. My father was in shock, didnt know what to do or say other than to pretend it didnt happen. I didnt even get to tell them myself. Instead, my mother logged into my AOL account to find all of the gay websites and chattrooms I had been frequenting. I had even been planning to meet a man 15 years my senior at a Borders a few blocks from my school. I was 14. You can only imagine the terror and maternal instinct that led to my mother’s actions.

I look forward to a day when a boy or girl comes out of the closet, as gay or lesbian or actually the opposite sex than they were born with (transgendered) and it isnt this uphill battle against societal expectations. I look forward to a day when there is a ceremony celebrating this realization, a day when there are countless programs and clubs and activities in place to ensure that this process is identity affirming and magical. I look forward to a day when children arent raised under any preconcieved notion of what “normal” love looks like. I understand that we are in the minority but… we need to be aware of all possibilities at all times.

I was very lucky to grow up in Los Angeles, a city big enough that you cant really exist for very long without meeting plenty of gays. But I just think of all the gays, sorry, most of the gays, growing up in places that arent so colorful, like, for example, middle America. Or any small village or town in Western or Eastern Europe. Or, fuck, Iran or any of the Middle East or India, where homosexuality is still mostly criminalized. Transgendered people dont even fucking rate on that scale. Those people cant even make themselves known with out the gays as social padding through which they can emerge.

Shamefully, I dont consider myself an activist. Sure, I keep up on the continuous struggle for equal rights across the globe but Im not pushing myself out there, fighting for all of the afformentioned populations. But when I think of how many people in this world hate themselves, hate they way they walk, the way they talk, the music they love, the close they burn to wear, the men and women they arent “supposed” to yearn for; I crumble, dear readers. Only a closeted gay can know the searing pain that permeates every moment of every day fighting your true nature. And too many liberated gays forget the plight of the closet. I will never forget that debilitating fear that controlled my entire existence before and after my parents learned I was gay, or the battles that ensued when word spread through out my high school.

I am supposed to be heading out now, so I have to wrap this up. Like I said, when I see this kind of thing on TV or hear the horror stories of gay bashing in the news, I erupt with emotion. Nothing seems more terribly wrong, so unevolved, so senseless.

That TV-coming-out-experience that I mentioned earlier is a very first babystep toward a better world. I know we have many more problems than some bleeding heart homos.

All I ask is this: When you find your male toddler trying on your high-heels, how about recommending another color, or even adding a boa?