When I first sent out a call for submissions to our "My Story" series, I asked that people "share with us [their] most heartbreaking and heartwarming stories." In our latest submission, the writer has done just that, and more; the story you are about to read is simultaneously one of the most heartbreaking and heartwarming accounts that I have ever read.
I am proud to say that I know the author of this post - I had the honor of attending the same high school as him. As such, it is my honor to introduce you to Samuel Thompson.
This is a story of fear, pain, bravery, hope and so much more. This is Sam's story.
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Hometown: Brownfield, Texas
The Look of a Gay
When I wa
s 6, my mother went to the grocery store with my sister and I. A very kind old man standing in front of us in the checkout line commented about how lovely her daughters were. I do not remember her exact response, but I am fairly certain she made no attempt to correct him, and accepted the unwelcome compliment. I could go into in detail with terms and labels, but shall we just say that the American, and I stress American, conception of a masculine/feminine binary just does not fit for me.
Some say that my body is extremely slender. For me, I wear my skin as anyone does, but for some, that is proof that I am gay.
Some say that my voice is pitched very high. For me, I open my mouth and produce speech like anyone else does, but for some, that is proof I am gay.
Some say that my hips swing while I walk. For me. I put one foot in front of the other like anyone else, but for some, that is proof that I am gay.
Of course, there is more. Choices in mannerism supposedly wave rainbow flags at passers-by. I sit with my legs crossed. Even singing in the school choir was seen as a points of gender non-conformity and perceived an indicator of non-heteronomative sexual preference, but what needs to be understood is that stereotypes have a misguided basis in reality. There is a reason why the same traits that garnered me the insult of “fag” also incited others to call me a “girl.”
As soon I joined public school in 4th grade, two descriptors joined me 1) smart, and 2) queer. Likewise, I soon had a shadow who followed me on my walk home from school everyday, shouting insults and names in my ear. I ignored this while it was happening, but I remember it.
In middle school, I was given the nickname “gender-bender,” and I accepted it because I did not understand it. Every time we had to line up for P.E. class, whichever boy was standing behind me would spit on me each time the coach turned his back. That I understood. I ignored this while it was happening, but I remember it.
In high school, the boys with lockers next to mine made bets on how soon they could make me, “the fag” commit suicide, and this all happened 10 feet away from the classroom where my mother was teaching. I ignored this while it was happening, but I remember it.
At the end of my sophomore year of college, my mother greeted me in the airport with“Samuel, I have this image of you as the all-American boy, but when I see you, it is like you are taking everything and throwing it out the window,” and one of my sister's close friends told me that “[I] need to move back home so that I could be normal again.” I ignored those as well, but I regret not having spoken up.
Yet speaking-up was never an option when I was growing up, because determining who is gay in more conservative rural communities is a modern witch-hunt. I was more afraid of the adults in my life, both at home and at school. How could I expect my them to defend me in such circumstances when I knew I could not defend my identity to them. To be honest with them about the bullying would require me to be honest about myself, and that would have lead down a long path that ended with me being miserably forced to attend an ex-gay program. When I did finally come out to my parents at age13, they tried to persuade me to attend an ex-gay camp. I balked and protested, citing the charges of child molestation made against ex-gay therapists. The mother who was so protective as to not let me watch Disney's Hercules because of its pagan connection, stood in our kitchen stammering to convince me why that was not an issue. All I was convinced of was the depth of the hatred for gays and how utterly alone and vulnerable I was. So I was silent, because I had no one to turn to, and to speak up is to be criticized as being overly-sensitive.
Those of us who are tagged by society as being lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender, and who actually identify as such, we do not have a choice. We do not have the option of hiding or denying our sexuality because society determines it before we are even certain ourselves. Never having that option made adolescence rough. It practically destroyed my relationship with my family. It sent a teenage me into sleepless, frustrated tears every night for years when I would often stand in our dark kitchen and stare at the cupboard that I knew contained sleeping pills. At the same time, there is a certain amount of self-confidence in surviving that kind of psychological torment.
That is courage that not everyone is lucky enough to grow into. If you only look at me, the obvious one, the LGBT community can seem very different from you. For anyone you have thought is obvious, I can promise you that there are more who are not obvious. They just do not look like the people that you have seen on TV. They look just like you, but their true identity is a secret that they cannot bear to tell you because of the too real fear that you will treat them as they have seen others treating me. For them, hiding in self-denial and self-hatred is an all too easy, all too painful option. Looking back on the time when I suffered, not knowing a single other gay person, I am now aware that I was somehow the distraction shielding others from that same kind of abuse.
I am proud of who I am, but I am saddened that it is easier for me, as a reject, to come to a place of self-acceptance. I love the friends that have always supported me and loved me for exactly who I am, but I am saddened by the fact that one must lose friends first to find the accepting ones. And even though it has not been an easy experience, having lived it, I would not change my life for anything. What I would change is the misconception that I too once held: the lie that you do not already know and love a member of the LGBT community.
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Thank you, Sam, for sharing your story. For our readers, I hope that you have benefited, in one way or another, from reading this story. I also hope that you'll share your story, too - everyone has something to say, and I'd love to share your story with people across the state.
For submissions, questions, or to get in touch with Samuel, contact mason@equalitytexas.org.
Posted by Mason Fitch
