That's So Gay

I want to point out that I have not received official or professional advice. There has never been a representative who has suggested I should work from the closet. The advice has come from peers who have been left with the impression from others that being "out" can delay career aspirations. The reasons are irrational, but logical. The suggestions make sense, in a completely irrational and irresponsible way, but it makes me feel marginalized. And it makes me wonder, what are we teaching youth by being closeted?


I was reminded this evening about the internal struggles of teens and their sexual orientations. Both men and women, during adolescence, spend a great deal of time and energy trying to figure out where they lay on Kinsey's scale.

Am I heterosexual? bisexual? homosexual? omnisexual?

The reminder came in the form of an intelligent, mature, young man working his way through about a half-dozen permutations of that very struggle before my eyes. He asked questions. I offered insights. He made statements, all of which were painstakingly phrased to ensure nothing was revealed and very little commitment was made. He wanted answers that I could not - or, rather, would not - give.

Now, I could offer some grandiose rationale for not giving him the answers he was crying out for - in his own silent way. I could suggest that we must all live through our own trials. That we cannot become fully actualized adults without enduring the challenges inherent to high school or, more broadly, adolescence. I could say that by giving him my answers, I might change his own natural reactions to any number of stimuli. I might unintentionally alter the choices he would make without my interference. I might have a hand in changing the very direction of his life by making him reconsider his own inclinations in favour of the voice of experience. Unfortunately, that wasn't what happened. It isn't what seems to keep happening...

You see, it has been suggested that I should keep my mouth shut where my sexual orientation is concerned. I should pass because I can. But, the way it effects me is something I am willing to endure. It is the way it effects those who are looking for a role model - the kind of thing their peers take for granted - that I find most troubling.

Adolescents who are struggling with their sexual identities need to know that there are adults who have shared their strife and have excelled. It isn't enough to read success stories or to see media representations of the ideal outcomes. People need to see real life examples - people they meet and know - in their real lives. Of course, I know that it is not my place to lead someone to a conclusion or decision, implying one way is the way things are or should be (that's the job of organized religion). And I am at a loss. I don't know what I am supposed to be feeling.

It is laughable that people think homophobia is on the way out when their peers are openly encouraged to suppress their sensibilities. My comrades live their lives without regret or concern over the potential discomfort of others. They do not have to internalize the possibility of misunderstanding or try to pass off homophobic remarks as "a different generation" or "not knowing any better" all for the good of the hypothetical overreaction to openness and honesty.

So I am still at a loss. And I could use some advice. Any takers?

Where do we go from here?

   Every now and then I’m reminded why I still need to be a little angry, why I still need to be outspoken. Today, even in a nation where gay marriage is recognized and perfectly legal, children are still struggling to find that sameness that everyone else takes for granted. Children are still struggling to find hope. And we need to give them that hope. Without it, many will not survive the struggle to persist through their tumultuous teenage years into adulthood.

   In 1981, Harvey Milk was murdered for being openly gay and for fighting for gay rights in the city of San Francisco, California. There have been times in my life when I have found myself speaking out against my peers who wear their sexual orientations on their sleeves. Personally, I think my sexual orientation is just about the least interesting thing about me. And yet, I still find myself worried about the reactions of others when I walk into a public environment – a bar, at the beach, and the workplace. So while I am not externally identifiable as gay to most, I have found myself wondering when and where it is appropriate to self-disclose my sexuality. As an educator, is it not my responsibility to offer my students the benefit of my experience? But what about principals who won't hire an openly gay teacher for fear of a public backlash from homophobic, uneducated parents? It's a pretty big question mark...

   So I find myself wondering what the right move is for me and for my peers, students, friends, and family. How can I best represent the interests of all of the people around me, while representing the very truths that underlie my own needs and wants? Usually I'll write a blog with many of my own conclusions. In this instance, I am really hoping for some input. I don't have all of the answers, and the ones I do have lack the same level of certainty that I typically possess for my conclusions. Man, I hate uncertainty.

Lessons Learned

   I am a teacher. I have always been a teacher. From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to bed at night, I am a teacher. Teaching is a calling. Many people think you decide to become a teacher. You want holidays and summers off. You want a pension. You want a certain level of job security. You go to school and get an undergraduate degree. You either have a double major or a major/minor (you need two teachable subjects). Then you go on to a professional degree (the Bachelor of Education), and perhaps some graduate level work if you are looking to specialize. But I digress.

   When I graduated high school I was expected to move on to university right away. After five years of hard work, and two undergraduate degrees later, I was a journalist. I had a yearning for knowledge and to share that knowledge. Journalism seemed to fill that desire…for a time. There is something inherently corruptible in a field that depends on “keeping the sponsors happy” or requires an editor to determine the validity of your articles, rather than limiting themselves to ensuring grammatical precision. Over the past ten years I have worked in retail, in a call center, and as a payroll practitioner. In retail I quickly moved into a leadership role and became responsible for training new hires. When I moved on to working in a managerial role for a call center, I took on mentorship roles on over a three-month period developed a training curriculum which included written documentation, scheduled dates and times for mentorship between senior and junior associates, and evaluative scales. I was a mentor at the payroll company too. No matter where I was, or what position I held, I was a teacher. At every step in my career, I have taken on the role of teacher.

   I have been accused of many things in my life. Most recently, I was accused of being heartless. A teacher. Someone who wants nothing more than to contribute to the world. To instill a thirst for knowledge and to inspire ambition and wonder in the minds and hearts of those he encounters. This is the majority of teachers. There are always exceptions to reinforce the standard.

   I am heartless because I am pragmatic? Admittedly, this does get me into trouble more often than I like. Let me give you a scenario (Please note – this scenario is entirely fictional. Any similarities to actual persons or situations is entirely unintentional.):

You’re dating someone for a little less than a month. You know that at the end of that month, this person will be moving away. You choose to enjoy the time you spend together, remaining entirely realistic that any relationship that develops will be primitive, at best, and do not want to allow yourself to get so invested that the ultimate end – however long that end may or may not last – will be all the more painful. On the second date, you clarify that when you part ways you will “do your own thing.” This appears clear. When the time comes, this fact is reiterated. Nothing is said to discount the statement. What follows is initially amicable text messages and emails that soon degenerate into restating what you thought had already been stated, only somewhat more final. Following that you are insulted, your intelligence is questioned, your consideration is discounted and your every attempt to remain practical and mature is twisted. And then you are called heartless.

   Now…I am many things. I am logical. I am well-read. I am passionate. I am self-conscious. I can be arrogant, at times. I am a perfectionist. I find it difficult (though FAR from impossible) to accept that I am wrong unless it is proven with factual arguments. But I am by no means heartless. In fact, I tend to lead with my heart. I do not hide my feelings well. If I am feeling happy, I am visibly elated. If I am feeling sad, I emanate doom and gloom. If I am angry, by God you’ll see it in my expression. So what am I saying?

   Is it possible for a teacher to be heartless? Well, few things in this world are impossible. Let’s just say it is highly unlikely. Do I need to learn to get over a hurt from a year ago that has left me jaded and overly guarded in emotional considerations? Absolutely. Is this a conscious act? Of course not. If we could consciously control our emotions every moment of every day there would be no crime. There would be no greed. There would be no violence. Mind you, there might be no art, or theatre, or any real passion at all.

   To make a long story short (too late, I know), life is a journey. We are never done learning or maturing or changing. We are different from one moment to the next. So while I hated to be called heartless, I have learned something from the experience: Don’t rush to the destination. Enjoy the journey.

Maybe I missed one?

     I had intended to make this blog a chronological record of the events of my life that contributed to where I am today, but it seems my memory has chosen not to cooperate. When I was four-years old, my friend Shana and I went to the grocery store with our mothers. They were best friends. So were we. 

     Trips to the grocery store almost felt like little adventures. There are so many aisles of different foods. Some aisles even have toys! And with all of the people and carts, it is like being on safari - at least when you are four-years old. Shana and I liked to pretend that our Moms were chasing us. We would stay with them for a few moments and then when they started chatting over some food selection, we would round the corner of the aisle, hiding just within to "surprise" them with our presence. They always pretended to be surprised. I don't know how they managed. There were about two dozen aisles (it was a small Co-Op...no Superstore or Sobey's - my Mom tends to be anti-establishment and a big supporter of small and local businesses...a trait I have always admired and aspired to).

     We were rounding aisle five, the baking goods aisle, when I saw it - the Jell-O wall. It was a four-feet wide by two-feet tall shelving unit. And it was loaded with every flavour of Jell-O and Jell-O Pudding that you could ever want. And I had found my most favoritest flavour of all" Orange Jell-O. I skipped the scaring part at the opening to the aisle to run around to the other side and ask, nay beg, Mom to buy - and subsequently prepare - some Orange Jell-O. Sadly, Mom's reply was: "We already have Jell-O at home." We had strawnerry and lime Jell-O at home, but no orange. She would make some for tomorrow's dessert (Jell-O apparently took overnight preparation when I was a child - I'm not sure if it is the case today) if I was good. The three please's I offered helped me little. When Mom is determined, that's it. Accept it, and move on. I think I inherited that trait. I try to temper it since, in the last couple of years, I seem to believe that once I am convinced I am right about something...then I must be. Even though I know that is unlikely, there is something inside me that drives me to dismiss the possibility of being wrong...but now I am rambling...as I was saying, the orange Jell-O had been turned down.

***It should be said that, once the groceries were put away Mom made the lime Jell-O without any further prodding. Today, lime Jell-O is actually my flavor of choice.***

     So we continued through the aisle and moved forward to the next. Shana was, by now, prodding me to continue our game of running ahead of our Moms and exploring each aisle first to see if we could find "anything good" to ask for. Sadly, I was too disappointed to continue playing as I was bound and determined to sulk my way into an orange Jell-O night. As they rounded the next corner, I stayed behind and made my way back to the Jell-O. I grabbed the first box and opened it. I decided, since my seconds of sulking had not yet worked, that I would dip my finger into the Jell-O powder and enjoy it right then and there. Mom would be forced to pay for the empty container and I will have gotten my way. Something you may not know if that Jell-O powder lacks the sugary goodness of Kool-Aid powder. Not only did I not have my Jell-O, but I was dissatisfied with my seemingly wonderful alternative. And then it happened...

     I looked up from my dissatisfying Jell-O powder to see that my Mom was nowhere to be seen. So I dropped the box instantly and ran to the next aisle. Nothing. The next. Nothing. Maybe she was looking for me. So I returned to the scene of the crime. Mom wasn't there. She was gone. As far as my four-year old brain could figure, she forgot me at the grocery store. So I did what any sensible child would do in the midst of a panic attack. I wailed like you wouldn't believe.

     Within seconds a nice staffer came and comforted me to calm me down and then asked where my mother was. When I began to tell the guy that I was lost I began to blubber again. Without hesitation he offered to take me to the office so we could page my Mom. It was only about five minutes after that when Mom came to the office. By that point I had scored a can of grape pop and a bag of salt and vinegar chips. But seeing Mom brought all the panic back. I began to sob once I saw her. It was more a sense of relief than anything, as I recall. Mom sat in the first chair she saw and scooped me up to give me the biggest hug of my life. She had been worried and had been searching for me with Shana and her mom. So Mom hugged me for what seemed like a warm, wonderful eternity and thanked the staff before taking me by the hand and leading me back to the produce section to finish grocery shopping. And while I shared my chips with Shana, the grape pop was all mine. 

     What a day it was...