Born This Way (17 page)

The baby in this photo is now a successful, high-heel-wearing, twenty-five-year-old lipstick lesbian.
My parents, who disowned me when I came out three years ago, have missed out on a lot of my life. But I wouldn't go back into the closet for
anything
. After all, how would all my shoes and purses fit in there with me?

I was always some version of different as a child: different as in smart, different as in social, different as in gay.
I rehearsed Michael Jackson dance routines at age four and memorized a graduate microbiology textbook at age five. I knew I was gay at age twelve, though my peers had been letting me know long before that. My dad understood how hard things were in high school, and he added thirty minutes to his commute each morning to take me to school, so I wouldn't have to ride the bus. To avoid the bullies, I walked from class to class outside and picked seats near the exits.

You must be your own advocate.
Whatever pain or disillusionment you experience must be redirected, or it will weigh you down. Be fiercely loyal to your friends, and never let someone project their inadequacies onto you.
Love unconditionally and try to be kind.

This is way back in my childhood in Ohio. Rural Ohio.
Very
rural Ohio. A neighborhood girl pressured me into a marriage of convenience with the words, “Hey, let's play getting married!”
My mom baked a Duncan Hines cake, and her older brother played preacher.
We said our wedding vows, had an awkward kiss, stuffed our faces with cake, and then danced on the porch. Seeing this photograph again makes me realize how effeminate I've always been.
It makes me wonder why anyone would ever want to make me feel bad about being
fabulous
!

Always an overachiever, I can be seen here (at
right
) demonstrating not one but two limp wrists. This level of fabulous has clearly blinded my brother.
Even at seven years old, I was already telling other kids that I was gay.
I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was bad and won me lots of attention. The fact that it got me negative attention didn't matter. Around age fifteen, I realized, “Oh, wait—I really am gay.” For a while,
I just wanted to hide from it.
But that seven-year-old pride parade in
my heart couldn't be stifled.
By eleventh grade, I'd made a promise to myself that if anyone asked, I'd be honest. Unfortunately, my schoolmates decided that the ideal time to ask me was in the locker room during gym class. “Why do you wear nail polish?” someone demanded. “Ummmmm …” I said. “Are you gay?” they continued. “Uh … yes, but that's not why I wear polish,” I replied. I think this particular nuance was lost in the ensuing bedlam. These days I work as a journalist in San Francisco, writing for one of the country's oldest LGBTQ newspapers, and I document the fight for marriage equality online. My husband and I have been together for ten years, and my parents, my brother, his wife, and the entire clan all welcome and love him.
That little seven-year-old inside me is still running around telling everyone that I'm gay with absolutely no reservations.

After I told my closest friends,
I sat my entire extended family down at Thanksgiving and simply said, “I am gay.”
The reply from the crowd was, “So? We love you for
you
.”

I remember thinking I was a boy, seeing no difference between me and other boys. It wasn't until puberty that I realized I was indeed a girl, and that sent my world into upheaval. But once I met other gay people in high school,
I finally understood that I wasn't different or weird. I was just queer.
And that was awesome!