Out and Proud, But Not Loud

In my high school yearbook, my English teacher described having me in her class for the first time. I sat in the back and read a book while she taught. She’d call on me, trying to catch me out, but I would answer the question correctly and go back to my book.

What could she do about that? What teacher disciplines you for reading a book in class? Plus, I was that annoying kid who would be reading classics like Animal Farm or Pride and Prejudice—books no other kid in my class would even consider reading. (I mean, except for that one over-achiever who ended up going to Harvard.)

Though he always paid attention.

But that’s just me, quietly doing what I want to do. I don’t want to offend anyone or lose any friends over it. And since I don’t mind you doing what you want to do, I’m always surprised by you caring what I want to do.

This tendency meant that, when I came out, I was pretty quiet about it. Sure, telling my parents led to a small familial uproar, but overall, the news was met with a general, “Oh. Yeah. I’m glad you finally figured that out. Did you call about anything, else or … ”

And overall, whose business was it who I was sleeping with? The whole idea that people snoop around in bedrooms always seems weird to me. Why would anyone police this? The whole thing seems pervy on the side of the policing force (whoever THAT would be), and I want nothing to do with it.

This quiet attitude led to multiple times when I found myself in an accidental friendship with someone in a business setting who wanted to know about my personal life. Not that I wasn’t proud to be gay, but part of me rebelled. Had I asked about her husband? Her boyfriend? No! She’d offered that information up to me, and now I was expected to share in return.

Well, of course, I did. I’m a people-pleaser.

But I must go on record that NOTHING is worse to a people-pleaser than sharing information that may not please the asker! NOTHING!

Plus, would it open up a door for them to start preaching at me? That they would start telling me about the Gay Agenda?

How embarrassing for them!

I mean, I remember very early in our marriage getting a weird newspaper thing on our doorstep that warned us about the “Gay Agenda” and also how Richard Gere used “grebils” in a sexual way.

We kept that newspaper way too long because we kept pulling it out to make fun of “grebils” and speculate with friends about what this strange object or animal might be. Though we did eventually burn it because no one wants to have swastikas in their recycling bin.

While I do have an agenda, very little of it revolves around my “gayness.” And the same can be said of the agendas of most of the queer people I meet. Any mention of the “Gay Agenda” in my social circle usually ends in a joke about brunch.

I’m more of a second breakfast kind of lady!

Now, my favorite of these “Whoops! How did we become friends?” coming out encounters happened when my wife and I were starting an ISP in a small town in northwest Colorado. It was the late 90s, just barely post-Ellen. Because the educational arm of our company was me, I tutored a lovely older woman on how to use the internet. We’d bonded somehow, and now she wanted to know everything about my life, how I’d come to open this business with Stephanie, did I ever think about getting married?

Sitting in our small office, her hounding finally wore me down, and I told her I was married. To Stephanie.

She stopped, looked across the room at Stephanie, and back at me. She clapped her hands together and a broad smile illuminated her face. “Oh, how wonderful!”

Coming out to the Bible-infused southern side of my family all came down to a moment when my parents were visiting Colorado, and my aunt and uncle who lived in Arizona decided to join us.

This meant that we had to tell my mother’s oldest brother, the patriarch of the family, a proud member of the Gideons (you know, the dudes who put Bibles in hotel rooms).

Mom insisted on outing me herself. Uncle L.V. and Aunt Bernice got on the phone together. After the news that Stephanie and I were, well, TOGETHER, silence extended across the phoneline.

Then, Uncle L.V. said, “Well, we love LA.”

And that was that. Suddenly, Stephanie transformed from “That gal who keeps LA company on that long trip from Colorado” to being included on the giant family tree my cousin constructed.

With that barrier overcome, I decided that I was done hanging back. I share before people ask. At the natural point in the conversation, I drop a word that tells them I’m married to a woman. Something like “Can’t go out for beer tonight. Gotta get home to the little woman!”

You know, something casual.

Of course, that means I’m coming out all the time. Once, going to a craft fair, I pulled into the parking area and asked an older gentleman volunteer the location of the handicapped parking. “My wife is disabled, and we need somewhere close to the entrance.”

As we left, this same kind gentleman stopped us and thanked me for calling Stephanie my wife. He said that having me refer to her that way made him feel proud and hopeful, and that he wanted a husband himself someday.

He was a bit of a silver fox, so I was surprised he was single.

That’s why I try to just live my life. Do what I want to do, with my quiet determination. Some might say I’m stubborn but I just have my own agenda.

And second breakfast is definitely on the calendar!