Number 62

My Homophobia

(Adult content and possible language triggers ahead. Proceed with necessary caution)

When I was growing up in the 1970's and 80's there was one ubiquitous insult that seemed to flow from every boy's mouth - "fag." Looking back on my youth, I wish I could say that I hadn't used the word, but that would be an exceptionally egregious lie. My brother and I used to say it to each other on the daily. Did I say, "On the daily"? What I meant to say, was that my brother and I used to drop it  hourly. Hourly?  Once a minute? Ummmm...

As I recall, a typical conversation between us might go something like this:
"You're a fag."
"No, you're a fag."
"No, you're a fag."
ad infinitum. (Please don't ask about our version of the Brady Bunch theme song).

If we were actually angry with each other, we might use "fucking faggot!" Or for a change of pace we might throw in a "cocksucker." You know, real intellectual stuff. And it wasn't just us. The word was everywhere. To be thought by others that you might actually be homosexual was the ABSOLUTE worst thing that could happen to any red blooded American boy (even if you actually were gay). Instant ostracism awaited.

Now the thing of it is, I kind of understood that it was all bullshit. When I was in middle school, we rented a house from a gay couple that spent most of their time in New York City. They hired me to do some yard work, and I got to know them a little bit. With only my rudimentary adolescent understanding of sexual attraction to rely on, where the concept of homosexuality seemed extraordinarily abnormal, they didn't seem all that odd to me. I was also a 'band geek' all through high school, and everybody knew that most of the boys in the band were 'that way.' Finally, I was raised by parents who did not practice overt expressions of prejudice or hatred of 'others.' In other words, I grew up in an environment of, more or less, inclusion.

(BTW: Our mother absolutely hated the way my brother and I would insult each other. It used to make her crazy. Using the 'common' sense so prevalent among teenage boys, we would often fake arguments with each other just to get her to pitch a fit. Good times, I tell ya... It's probably too late, but, sorry, Ma.)

In any event, by the time I got to college, I was already kinda woke when it came to the burgeoning gay and lesbian rights movement. As Oberlin College proudly wore its liberalism on its sleeve, my awareness and acceptance only continued to grow. I don't believe the concept of "homophobia" existed yet, as such, but I had gay and lesbian friends by then, and didn't think about it as any big deal (as it pertained to me). I remember when one of my closest friends came out to me after college. He included words to the effect of "I hope we can still be friends" I remember replying, "You're gonna have to try a whole lot harder than this if you're trying to lose my friendship."

Two things started to happen symbiotically as I got older. My political views more and more hinged upon my notions of social justice and equality for all. I don't know if I could be described as a "bleeding heart liberal," as a strong sense of pragmatism always kind of got in the way. But injustices made me angry, and I did my (inadequate) best to pitch in and help out. I tried to be a good ally. The second thing that occurred was that I began to meet and become friendly with a variety of gay and lesbian couples. Marriage equality was still in the distance, but I certainly viewed those relationships as being as valid as those of my heterosexual friends. Or so I thought I thought.

Flash forward a bunch of years. A bunch of 'life' stuff happened. For our purposes the two relevant events are: (1) the death of my wife, Rebecca, in 2016; and (2) the realization of my identity as a trans woman during the Winter/Spring of 2018. When I began my transition, I started to realize that I was feeling 'uneasy' about something. The 'something' might be related to this entry's title, but my final awareness of it follows a rather convoluted path.

I became convinced that after I announced my transition to Rebecca's family, despite their lovely words of acceptance and support, they felt that my decision somehow devalued the relationship between Rebecca and me. I was convinced they were angry at me because my decision 'disrespected' her specifically, and our marriage in general. I held on to those thoughts far longer than I should have. It wasn't until a few months ago that I finally had the epiphany that left me both ashamed and at peace at the same time.

(it totally sucks when you have to face up to your own bad thoughts and deeds)

It's difficult for me to completely explain the exact train of thoughts that occurred, but a simplistic explanation goes kinda like this: I started by considering the notion that if I indeed had been a trans woman all my life, it implied that my relationship/marriage with Rebecca was one that occurred between two women. At the same time, I'm also considering the thought that my transition had somehow invalidated our marriage. From there, I began to think about the many gay and lesbian friends I mentioned above. Had I ever considered their relationships were less valid than ours just because Rebecca and I had been in a 'heterosexual' relationship and theirs had not been? "No!" I thought to myself. "In that case," I continued thinking, "It doesn't matter then, if your relationship with Rebecca was between a man and a woman, or two women, does it?"

In that moment, I realized all those hostile thoughts I had ascribed to Rebecca's siblings, were really my own feelings of unresolved homophobia that had probably been creeping around in my sub-conscious for decades. "Oh." I thought, "that's humbling." But then the most wonderous thing happened. Once I was able to name them, those thoughts seemed to disappear (cliche alert), like dust in the wind. The other thing that seemed to instantly disappear were my fears that I had alienated all my Ousley siblings.

Here is the truth. My relationship with Rebecca was good, and strong, and healthy. Sure it had a few dents and dings. What things that last that long don't? But it was based on mutual respect and love and affection. It was a blessed and holy thing. And that had nothing to do with the sexes and/or the genders of the participants.