Beating the Bulge

Snarling at God

by Michael on 24/06/09 at 2:37 pm

I had a lovely surprised on Monday: a visit from my friend Carol, who I wasn’t expecting to see in this part of the world. Carol teaches school in Russia, so I only get to see her a couple of times a year, and we had a good visit over lunch at my place. Carol was my grade-nine, art teacher. I liked her from the first day I sat in her class; little did I know that we were beginning a lifelong friendship. At the time, I just wanted to be around her. She was wonderfully supportive and caring. She really took an interest in the kids and was interested in more than just conventional teaching. If you made the effort to reach out, she returned with genuine interest. If you had Carol as a teacher, she’d touch you in a big way – if you let her.  I planned my high-school course calendar around the subjects Carol was teaching, and throughout my high-school years Carol and I became good friends. By the time I finished high school Carol lived in Toronto, so when I went to university in the city our friendship continued. Carol and I have seen one another go through a lot of stuff: divorce, death, fire, AIDS, losing jobs,  you name it. But no matter what, when Carol comes home to Toronto a couple of times a year, I clear some space for us.

Carol and I talked about my quest to get to know that 17-year-old boy. She’s known me the longest, so I was interested to hear if her perception of me was the same as my own. She said that I was responsible, sensitive, caring, eager to help others, and a bunch of other qualities that I forget now (maybe she’ll e-mail them so I can add them here), but I remember thinking, “Gee, those are nice qualities. I guess I was a nice kid.” I just saw all the negative stuff: the red hair, freckles, uncertainty, shyness – faggot! Yeah, there was that, too. That monkey rode my back all through high school and I couldn’t shake it. And back then, it was a big negative for me. I don’t think I wanted to like girls – I was okay liking boys – I just didn’t want to be different. So it was one of the things on the list of things I didn’t like about myself.

Carol’s gaydar was in pristine working order back then. I remember the very first time I went to her house for an overnight stay, we were in the kitchen getting dinner ready and talking, and she said, “Do you think you might be a latent homosexual?” I yelped back, “No!” And then, “What’s that?” She explained how it meant someone who was gay but didn’t really know they were in the moment, except I don’t think we had the word “gay” yet, or maybe only around New York City’s Stonewall Inn or in San Francisco, but certainly not in sleepy Newcastle, Ontario. I don’t remember anything else about the conversation except that Carol told me it was okay if I was a homosexual, and latent too.

Carol was not the first person to whom I came out. That distinction goes to a mother, daughter, and aunt trio who heard my confession as a plea for help. On three separate occasions, in three very different ways, I came out to these three women who all helped me pray for deliverance. The fact that my homosexual healing didn’t happen the first or second time should have been a clue, but I soldiered on. Eventually I figured out that Jesus wasn’t going to away this sin away, and then, in a courageous teenage moment I decided that it wasn’t a sin anyway: “If you don’t like who I am then I don’t want anything to do with you,” I snarled at God. And I remember the exact place where this happened. Before the creek at the bottom of Sunset Blvd there’s a bend in the road, and many a car took the bend too quickly and ended up on Brawley’s front lawn: That’s where I told God off.  I don’t remember how much time lapsed between that outburst and my coming out, but Carol was the next person I told. So officially speaking, when I decided I was gay, Carol was my first “out.”

I have no idea why I went here today, I hadn’t planned on telling this story. I guess with it being Pride week, seeing Carol, rediscovering my 17-year-old boy … yeah, it’s making sense. And I did say that I wanted to find a couple of ways to celebrate how far I have come. It’s funny, I’m trying to think about making a connection between then and now. I can’t really. The only thing that I feel – deep inside – is that it all doesn’t matter. Everything that happened between then and now is gone, it’s done, it’s over, it’s finished. But the man who sits here typing this blog and that 17-year-old boy, who had the courage to chastise God, are the same.

Whew! That touched my soul. I felt myself welling up there, but Holy! I just had a full-on, ugly cry. You know, the kind that has even the cat running into the room to see what’s going on. Wow! This is awesome. I can’t believe I just sat here at my desk and balled my fucking eyes out. Praise the Lord! I think I’m on the right track here. I want to stay connected with that audacity. Can you imagine a 17-year-old boy standing up to God? Where does a kid find that kind of courage? I like that kid … I love him! And that’s why I just balled my eyes out. He’s back. And man, did I miss him!

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