Born This Way (16 page)

My obsession with He-Man and the Masters of the Universe began at age four. My mother introduced me to She-Ra and then bought me this Crystal Castle play set for my fifth birthday—even though those toys were marketed for girls. Years later, she explained that
she knew I was gay
at an early age when I quoted the appropriately titled Masters of the Universe episode “The Rainbow Warrior”:
“A mother always knows her own son. And I've always been very proud of you.”

At age five, I crept out to my front yard in just my Scooby Doo Underoos and did a dance for our insanely good-looking garbage man.
When I came back inside I proudly announced to my dad that the garbage man called me a “queer.” My father immediately jumped up, ready to confront the man who had spit such an offensive word at his little boy. Before my dad could turn the doorknob, I stopped him and explained that I didn't mind being a queer. Of course, I had no idea what
queer
meant in that context.
I thought it merely meant I was strange and unusual, something I thought I wanted to be back then.
I soon learned that being a queer wasn't something you should wish for, after the taunting and tormenting I suffered at the hands of my classmates. I was pushed down a flight of stairs as a freshman in high school. Luckily,
I had an amazing family to escape to
after a day of terror in school. But I realize that not everyone is as fortunate. Today, when I hear about kids coming out at the ages of fourteen or twelve or nine, I'm shocked and amazed. I salute those kids, marvel at their bravery, wish them only good things, and hope that the trend continues until it's no longer a trend and we finally realize that queer kids really are just born this way.

As a tomboy, I spent much of my childhood with my cousin Russ, who's the same age as me. Russ's older brother taught us new words like
fag
and
queerbait
, and I have a vivid memory of Russ actually calling me gay at age six. I asked him what it meant, and he said, “It means you're a girl that likes girls.”
I took a moment to process that in my little brain and I concluded, “Yeah, you're right.”

This was a weekend game night at my mom's house. I was always trying to entertain my family with my best supermodel pose, way before the age of supermodels. The terry-cloth hot pants still kill me! They were my everyday shorts; all the other clothing was my mom's. I also remember that this was the first time my older brother—whom I idolized—called me a fag.
The hardest part of being called names like that was knowing they were right.
I couldn't prove them wrong. And it really created a sense of doom inside me. That feeling lasted until I finally got out of Virginia at age eighteen and began to live my life.

Coming out as a lesbian was as difficult for me as it is for any gay kid. But the fact that
I am physically disabled and nonverbal
made it a bit harder, and I have to use a letter board to spell out my thoughts. Imagine the stress of slowly coming out, letter by letter. On top of that,
I didn't have any gay disabled role models
to look up to, and I felt very alone. Fortunately, when I did come out, my family and friends were totally cool. I'm pretty sure they'd all figured it out by then anyway.
Now, as an adult, I embrace my queerness and consider it just one more aspect that makes me unique.