Born This Way (9 page)

Here I am, just out of first grade, on a family trip out West. We lived in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, and spent almost three weeks on the road. I remember how exciting it was to get this cowboy hat and run around playing cowboys and Indians (no, we weren't very politically correct back then). Boys did not interest me in the least;
I had my first serious crush on a girl in second grade, and I never looked back.
When I was that young, I never would have imagined that I could be married to a woman, but I now live in New Hampshire and I am.

I didn't quit trying to be straight until age forty-five.
I met a woman during a visit to a mutual friend in the United States, and we fell in love almost instantly. We continued our long-distance relationship (and seventeen-hour flights) for almost a year, seeing each other only every few months. I split up with my then boyfriend, and I came out in a long e-mail to about seventy people, including my boss. The response was overwhelmingly positive. I married my love in April 2010, and we now live in the Netherlands, where gay people have the same rights that straight people do.

I'm Henry on the right, with my brother Rocky on the left. Our household told us that being gay was a sickness and that gays were defective. I suffered at the hands of shrinks, priests, and my mother trying to change me.
The one person who made all that truly bearable was my little brother, Rocky.
Growing up, I knew he was gay before I knew I was. And he always supported me with no judgments. He once cheered me up by performing “I'm Every Woman” by Chaka Khan in my mother's platform shoes. We were very different as boys. Rocky liked perfume, makeup, and glamour, whereas
I liked sweaty men, rock music, and leather. We still like the same things now.

I always wanted to be tough and dirty,
and I would go to work with my dad the mechanic. My mom found a way to get me to wear dresses by making them herself, patterning them after Lucy Van Pelt of the Peanuts cartoon: I acknowledged Lucy's toughness, and
I felt tough in those dresses, too.

I hated Little League.
While this baseball pic was being taken, I was being bullied by an older teammate for being a sissy and a fag. In hindsight, I wonder if he had a crush on me.

For years, my cheeks would burn with embarrassment when I looked back on my journal pages.
I hated this gay boy: his girly script, his passion for Judy Garland, and his unabashed enthusiasm,
which I came to see as effeminate. But now I love this boy so, so much. If I had a time machine, I'd go back and hold him tight and tell him he was
wonderful and good and brave
—and not to listen to anyone telling him otherwise.

Seeing this picture of myself decked out in a dress makes me realize just how uncomfortable I was in girls' clothing.
It was a nice feeling to be dressed up, but I would have been happier in a little suit and tie.

When I came out in 2009, the majority of my family's response was, “We have known forever; we just wanted you to be comfortable enough to tell us.” None of them—including my own children—have bad feelings about me being a lesbian.