bethofalltrades (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bethofalltrades) wrote2008-11-10 08:34 pm
bethofalltrades) wrote2008-11-10 08:34 pm
Entry tags:
An Open Letter to An Anonymous Gay Teenager Across the Pond...
Dear Anon.-
A friend of yours anonymously commented on my blog with a link to your anonymous blog. I read the letter you wrote me about how I've helped you with your struggle with coming out.
You say thank you but I should be the one expressing my gratitude. I worked for years at non-profits hoping to Make A Difference. It felt futile after a while. I take photos and I write and I try to fold as many people as I can into my life. Sometimes that feels like Making A Difference.
Reading your letter today reminded me that I am not shouting into the abyss. It matters to you. That connection--- even if I don't know who you are-- is invaluable to me.
Can I veer off topic for a moment to talk about being gay?
Being gay is kind of hard.
It is less hard for me because I inhabit a community of people who don't care who I fall in love with. But Prop 8 in California hurts. Teenage boys calling me a dyke hurts, because it's not that they KNOW I like girls; they're using that slur because it's the worst one they can come up with.
But more than the reality of prejudice, there's something more nebulous. Being gay automatically makes you Different, and it's not always fun or comfortable to be different. Especially when you're a teenager and conforming is the way, the truth and the light.
I came out at fifteen.
There is a wonderful woman who lives in Montreal who helped me realize I was gay. We met through a mailing list. I have never seen her face or hugged her, but she is one of my closest friends.
She was a little older than me (I think all of NINETEEN when we met, which seemed ancient) and gay. I was fascinated by her. I talked to her every day. Then one day, I was describing a female friend to her, and telling her how I thought this girl was AMAZING and sweet and funny and all good things.
"Dude," she said. "Do you think you might be gay?"
"No," I said. Everyone feels like that about their friends. But the seed was planted and I started to look around and I realized that NOT EVERYONE has crushes on their female friends.
I came out to myself that December. It was March before I was able to come out to my mother, whose reaction was, "Yes, dear. Do you want to stop at Taco Bell for lunch?"
That was eleven years ago, but it's only in the past year or two that sexuality has stopped being a struggle for me. It is, thank god, now just something that IS.
In the dressing room at the Vermillion Lies show, there was a pause in my conversation with one just in time for me to hear the other one telling their tour manager, "Beth's gay too!" She apologized for outing me, but I found it... delightful. That this is something that a girl I don't know much at all knows (speaking of... how DID she know? Did Amanda say something? Was it excellent gaydar? Was I wearing my "Yes, I am" t-shirt?) is actually very comforting to me. If everybody KNOWS then I can stop SAYING.
SAYING is hard because people assume the opposite. I'm constantly told that I don't LOOK gay. Because we're all supposed to have crew cuts and wear non-ironic flannel?
This is what a lesbian looks like:
No shaved head, no dreadlocks, no crew cut, no flat top, no mullet, no flannel, no wife beaters, no cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of my white t-shirt all James Dean, no tie dye, no men's ties, no menswear, no combat boots, no rainbows, no getting called "sir." I don't work construction, I don't drive a truck, I don't play field hockey. I don't spell women with a "y," I don't rail against the patriarchy, I don't work vaginal motifs into my art (at least not consciously). I don't reserve a U-haul every time I have a blind date.
I do, however, eat tofu, have tattoos, do yoga and have a cat.
Oh, and I LOVE AND HAVE RELATIONSHIPS WITH WOMEN, which is really the only criteria for lesbianism that's even the least bit valid.
Stereotypes exist for a reason, but the vast majority of lesbians aren't truck-driving, mulletted, vegan, field-hockey-playing womyn.
Some of my best friends are lesbians and I bet if you put them in a room with an equal number of straight people, the majority of y'all--- straight, gay, bi, however you identify--- would fail to 100% spot the homo.
This has evolved into a tangent.
Blame Anonymous Gay Teenager.
Speaking of... I hope that, with time, you can be un-anonymous and we can spend an evening talking about Being Gay (one of my favorite topics of discussion, actually) and checking out chicks.
Until then, thank you for the letter. It all gets easier. I promise.
Love,
Beth
ps - Queer readers... send me a photo of yourself with a "this is what a ___________" caption and I will post it to my blog. Or post it to your own blog. Or leave it in the comments. Be proud, my peeps.
A friend of yours anonymously commented on my blog with a link to your anonymous blog. I read the letter you wrote me about how I've helped you with your struggle with coming out.
You say thank you but I should be the one expressing my gratitude. I worked for years at non-profits hoping to Make A Difference. It felt futile after a while. I take photos and I write and I try to fold as many people as I can into my life. Sometimes that feels like Making A Difference.
Reading your letter today reminded me that I am not shouting into the abyss. It matters to you. That connection--- even if I don't know who you are-- is invaluable to me.
Can I veer off topic for a moment to talk about being gay?
Being gay is kind of hard.
It is less hard for me because I inhabit a community of people who don't care who I fall in love with. But Prop 8 in California hurts. Teenage boys calling me a dyke hurts, because it's not that they KNOW I like girls; they're using that slur because it's the worst one they can come up with.
But more than the reality of prejudice, there's something more nebulous. Being gay automatically makes you Different, and it's not always fun or comfortable to be different. Especially when you're a teenager and conforming is the way, the truth and the light.
I came out at fifteen.
There is a wonderful woman who lives in Montreal who helped me realize I was gay. We met through a mailing list. I have never seen her face or hugged her, but she is one of my closest friends.
She was a little older than me (I think all of NINETEEN when we met, which seemed ancient) and gay. I was fascinated by her. I talked to her every day. Then one day, I was describing a female friend to her, and telling her how I thought this girl was AMAZING and sweet and funny and all good things.
"Dude," she said. "Do you think you might be gay?"
"No," I said. Everyone feels like that about their friends. But the seed was planted and I started to look around and I realized that NOT EVERYONE has crushes on their female friends.
I came out to myself that December. It was March before I was able to come out to my mother, whose reaction was, "Yes, dear. Do you want to stop at Taco Bell for lunch?"
That was eleven years ago, but it's only in the past year or two that sexuality has stopped being a struggle for me. It is, thank god, now just something that IS.
In the dressing room at the Vermillion Lies show, there was a pause in my conversation with one just in time for me to hear the other one telling their tour manager, "Beth's gay too!" She apologized for outing me, but I found it... delightful. That this is something that a girl I don't know much at all knows (speaking of... how DID she know? Did Amanda say something? Was it excellent gaydar? Was I wearing my "Yes, I am" t-shirt?) is actually very comforting to me. If everybody KNOWS then I can stop SAYING.
SAYING is hard because people assume the opposite. I'm constantly told that I don't LOOK gay. Because we're all supposed to have crew cuts and wear non-ironic flannel?
This is what a lesbian looks like:
No shaved head, no dreadlocks, no crew cut, no flat top, no mullet, no flannel, no wife beaters, no cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of my white t-shirt all James Dean, no tie dye, no men's ties, no menswear, no combat boots, no rainbows, no getting called "sir." I don't work construction, I don't drive a truck, I don't play field hockey. I don't spell women with a "y," I don't rail against the patriarchy, I don't work vaginal motifs into my art (at least not consciously). I don't reserve a U-haul every time I have a blind date.
I do, however, eat tofu, have tattoos, do yoga and have a cat.
Oh, and I LOVE AND HAVE RELATIONSHIPS WITH WOMEN, which is really the only criteria for lesbianism that's even the least bit valid.
Stereotypes exist for a reason, but the vast majority of lesbians aren't truck-driving, mulletted, vegan, field-hockey-playing womyn.
Some of my best friends are lesbians and I bet if you put them in a room with an equal number of straight people, the majority of y'all--- straight, gay, bi, however you identify--- would fail to 100% spot the homo.
This has evolved into a tangent.
Blame Anonymous Gay Teenager.
Speaking of... I hope that, with time, you can be un-anonymous and we can spend an evening talking about Being Gay (one of my favorite topics of discussion, actually) and checking out chicks.
Until then, thank you for the letter. It all gets easier. I promise.
Love,
Beth
ps - Queer readers... send me a photo of yourself with a "this is what a ___________" caption and I will post it to my blog. Or post it to your own blog. Or leave it in the comments. Be proud, my peeps.
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