Originally, this page probably served my own need to express the story of my
coming out rather than any higher purpose. To some degree, that's still true. Having said
that however, it's clear from the number of middle-aged men I hear
from - men who are in the process of coming out or who are contemplating coming
out - that the absence of attention to this subject leaves many men feeling alone and isolated. The act of coming out is harrowing at any age; for a person in mid-life, it can be even more distressing.
This is nothing more than an effort on my part to tell one man's story. To those of you who are younger, it may be of little
interest... from your point of view it may well appear to be only an historical
curiosity. If you're a little older, it may well have a familiar ring to it.
I was born in 1940 (that's right, I'm 61) at the end of the Great Depression and
during World War II. Both were powerful influences which shaped the world in which I grew up. The depression had left a deep and abiding sense of insecurity and the war brought another sort of fear, but also a new energy. My earliest memory of the war as a child was experiencing a
'blackout' while driving home with my father. I clearly recall the ominous quiet as we pulled over to the side of the street as everything that had been lighted turned dark. We lived in Chicago at the time and I grew up loving the city and my
neighbourhood around Clark and Peterson. Chicago at that time was, and to an extent still is, very much a city of
neighbourhoods... communities which had their own newspapers,
churches and schools and often their own languages.
When it came time for high school, we moved a few miles north to the Northshore suburb of Evanston. Although I wasn't crazy about the idea, it did mean a house instead of an apartment and a better high school academically. The change created more than a few social problems, however. That age-point around thirteen is pretty crazy under the best of circumstances, but I was experiencing what most boys do around that
time... the development of my sexuality. The difference was, I was afraid I was attracted more to other boys than to girls.
In 1953, that just wouldn't do. The word 'gay' hadn't been invented
yet.... at least not in the Midwest... and the concept of homosexuality simply wasn't a matter to be talked about by anyone. The idea that I might be
'one of them' was frightening; it couldn't be.There was obviously something wrong with me and it was important that it
wasn't noticed by anyone else. Moreover, if I tried hard enough, prayed hard enough, and lived so as to appear to be straight then maybe I would
become straight.
It didn't work. I had a couple girlfriends, though I never really enjoyed dating. Dating was, like gym class, simply another one of those painful things you had to endure in order to fit in. I guess I fit in alright, but my four years at Evanston contain some of the most painful periods of my life. Gym teachers ring any bells?
Four more years at Southern Illinois University were quite different. I had learned well how to sublimate my sexuality so that only one or two people ever knew. During these years I was busy majoring in student government, the debate
team and anything else I could find to spend my time on. Studies were usually a last minute kind of concern. I held on just enough to be able to stay involved even during the year I was president of a national
organisation of college student governments.
The following years predictably found me remaining on college campuses in a variety of staff positions. I enjoyed the collegiate environment and seemed to be effective as far as students were concerned. The little box into which I had put my sexuality (and, as it turned out, a whole lot more) remained closed although keeping the lid on it became increasingly difficult as time went on. Even though we were in the spirited 60s, being gay was, for me, not even a consideration. Models of what I came to know as gay life during this time were Baldwin and Ginsberg and I was satisfied I didn't fit in either
mould.
In 1969, I met and later married a woman for whom I cared deeply. Over the next twenty-two years we would adopt three wonderful children and share a life together that was, at times, more than any man could hope for and, at times, more painful and frightening than I thought I could bear. I still kept the lid on the box, but I failed to
realise the box contained much of what was me! In a sense, my sense of who I was was also in the box and I found myself becoming very different from the person I wanted to be as the years passed.
After twenty-two years, our children were grown and our marriage was over. I was on my own to start a new life. For a while, the box remained closed and I even entertained the notion of dating
again... until I recalled the experience of adolescence. Finally, like the clichéd
'out of the blue,' I acknowledged to myself that I really was gay and that it was time for me to do something about it. Although I had prayed with all my heart for many years to be relieved of this burden, there was a distinct irony in the fact that the relief came from accepting it and committing to moving on with my life.
Time passed very quickly after 1992. I talked with my family and we began a lengthy period of good times and some not very good times. For a while, I wanted everyone to know I was gay. There was a sense approaching euphoria in my new-found freedom which I wanted to share with everyone. Soon, though, I found that there were some who were less than enthusiastic about my revealed self-understanding. Some simply crossed my name from their address books while others tried desperately to understand without a notion of what to do.
As I became more accustomed to my situation, I realised how serious my decision had been and that it bore consequences that would become all too clear as time went on. It began to occur to me that it was one thing to say
'I'm gay' but quite another to 'be gay' and I didn't have any idea what being gay meant (beyond the obvious). I was aware that there was a gay culture, but what was its nature? To be gay, did one have to be able to coordinate
colours? Was leather really the test of how gay a man was? Could one be gay and older than twenty-five? All my stereotypes were
negative - the only ones I had been taught - and now I had to find my essence and relate it to being gay.
To start, I travelled from Dubuque, IA to Madison, WI to take part in what was billed as a
'coming out' group. The sponsor's offices were right across the street from the state capitol and I was certain that every eye in the state of Wisconsin was on me as I walked back and forth past the office door trying to muster the courage to walk in. When I finally did, I found a group of men of varying ages and backgrounds; some of whom had an obvious eye for fashion, others, like me, didn't have a clue. But after six weeks of Gay 101, I began to feel at home with my gay brothers and to have a sense of the diversity and beauty of gay culture. Still lots of questions and more than a little anger at having lost an adolescence that should have contributed so much to my becoming an adult, but a beginning nonetheless.
In 1995, I happened to be visiting Minneapolis when I encountered the fabled
'man across a crowded room' in the piano bar of the Gay 90s. We chatted that evening and then the next and it became apparent that there was some chemistry between us that was unlike anything I had experienced before. A few months later, Karl moved to Dubuque and we began a life together. As we approach our third anniversary together, we have experienced some difficult times, but never a time when we didn't value the tie that brought us together enough to work through the difficulties and move on.
Finally, I had to face the fact that it would be impossible for me to continue serving a Catholic college as a senior administrator and live my life as I wanted to with Karl. The decision, while extremely painful (I had been with this college for twelve years), was really not difficult. At the end of the academic year, we packed our belongings into a UHaul truck and began anew in Atlanta. Here we continue to face difficult issues (not the least of which is my need to get back into the
workforce - a concerned friend in Dubuque commented as I was leaving 'who's going to want a middle-aged, gay dean?' and I'm finding some truth in that), but we do so in a community which values us for who we are and includes us as a couple with all the regard due any two human beings. It's a very different experience for us, but one which we value highly.
Obviously, there have been many serious issues to wrestle with along this path and I must admit that I still have more questions about the implications of my being gay and other facets of my life than I do answers. I continue to explore what, for me, is a major question of gay-spirituality. By that I don't necessarily refer to religious practices, but rather to the nature of a gay man's soul and the differences in perception of the meaning of life between gay and non-gay men. (It isn't that I have no interest in these same questions as they pertain to
lesbians as well, but I am limited by my experience to what I know.)
I am also a Catholic. I have given a great amount of thought to whether I can remain part of a church which in its official posture disapproves of much of what I am about. And homosexuality certainly isn't the only issue on which I differ with Rome's teaching. The Church also teaches, however, that the people are the body of the Church and I am convinced that my life in the Catholic Church as an openly gay man willing to challenge anti-gay or homophobic teaching can make a difference. No, I'm not out to change
a bishop or even the Pope, but just as it took the Church a while to acknowledge that the world was round, I am convinced that, in time, its view of homosexuality will change as well and I believe that change will come in small increments as a result of the work of the people.
Obviously, I have many other concerns not only as a gay man, but as a person who is concerned with the quality of all our lives. There's not space
enough here to explore them fully, but I remain angry and disappointed at the slow progress of the fight against HIV/AIDS, recent developments notwithstanding. I am concerned about the incredible
ageism among gay men which seems out of place among a people who themselves suffer from discrimination. Moreover, it precludes the dialogue that should be taking place between generations of gay men. And, finally, if I had a really big soapbox, I'd have to spend some time talking about the loss of civility in American discourse. Whether it be in religion,
politics or community life, reasoned dialogue has been replaced by personal attacks and vindictiveness employing incredibly hateful language and action. Well, those issues will have to wait for another day and
place, I suppose.
I have taken the opportunity to write this, not so much for its therapeutic value (although I must admit it just may have some), but for whatever help it may mean to those men who are experiencing what I have experienced. When I was in the early stages of this journey, I know I found it valuable to learn that I was not the first nor the only man to pass this way. If what I have written can be of help to someone else, then the use of all this space was worthwhile.
PS: I wrote these words about a year ago and, since that time, I've gained some insight and experience which continues to be valuable. I know now that there is no Camelot. There is no
place that's 'gay-friendly' either, where a gay man merely walking down the street is not vulnerable to being called a
'faggot' or worse. I've been there. I have also been confronted with the terrible reality of
HIV and AIDS. It's no longer an abstraction about which I occasionally read in the newspapers or experience indirectly through the NAMES Project Quilt. It is very real here in the volunteer work I do and as I come to include among my friends an increasingly large group of men who are positive. Like many gay men, I must now work through the emotional side of these issues and the gut-wrenching pain of knowing friends who will die before they have filled their time. I suppose, being an educator who has invested his life into helping people reach for everything they have the capacity to be, it is not surprising that the impact of this disease is
particularly great.
On a more positive note, there is a good feeling that is hard to describe that comes from being part of a community of gay men and lesbians. It is the feeling one has when he places a glove on his hand and it fits; the feeling other groups of people who have known discrimination must feel when they are secure and together with their own. In no way would I want to live in a
'gay ghetto,' but to be among 250 000 people in Piedmont Park to celebrate the gay experience is truly thrilling. And to see the flashing
marquée on the
elegant Fox Theatre read 'Tonight: The Atlanta Gay Men's Chorus presents 'Are We In Kansas
Yet?'' is an experience difficult, if not impossible to describe to someone who is not gay or who does not remember how different times were only a short while ago. There is
still hope.
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GayCruz
- Coming Out
