I know I can't tell you what it's like to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not. It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity.— Armistead Maupin
I had been taught that homosexuality is a sin. A sinful lifestyle embraced by sinners. It was evil and corrupted the natural order of things. Woman was made for man and man was not to lie with other men. I was a strong believer in this and repeated these points when the issue came up in discussions. Homosexuality disgusted me. In my church's youth group I was very vocal about the disgusting evil that it represented. When around other Christians I made certain that my view was clear. As a young teen I had a very firm view fueled by the church around me.
I was also heavily involved in the BBS[1] scene. In addition to visiting many BBSes I operated one with my brother. In the BBS scene there was s separate scene devoted to creating ANSI artwork, both as advertisements for BBSes and as a form of art itself. I helped to run a small ANSI art group that also included poetry, short fiction, electronic music, and other forms of art. We had members from throughout Colorado as well as a few from out of state. We had a distribution network for our art packs that was international, though we were a small group and not at the top of the scene. Our group's purpose was to highlight up and coming artists still learning the craft. It was intended that our members would 'graduate' to one of the larger and more renowned groups as their skill increased. A sort of stepping off point for the ANSI art scene.
These two aspects of my life crashed together one day. Visiting a fellow artist and someone I considered a friend, me and several others were chatting about ANSI artwork, computer programming, and other geeky minutiae. Suddenly the host asked us to all be serious for a moment. He told us we were his closest friends and the only people he felt he could trust. He came out to us as gay. Through tears and wracked with fear he explained that we were all so accepting of him that he hoped we'd stay his friends and keep his sexuality a secret, especially from his parents.
I was dumbstruck. I liked the kid, he was a talented artist and programmer, an adept at chess, someone I respected for his skills and talents. I realized I had kept my biases to myself around this group of friends as they were not all Christian. I had not made my biases known to all of them over time. One of the other teens with us spoke up and told the young gay teen that of course he'd stay his friend, and touched his shoulder. Another spoke up, "Just don't hit on me, man, I don't swing that way" to some nervous laughter. A little more nods and encouragement from the group and the boy who had come out thanked us all for being his friends. The conversation then timidly shifted back to art and programming talk.
Later as I left the young gay teen stopped me and thanked me. For being his friend, someone he could trust. I nodded noncommittal and made my exit.
This was the early 1990s. It was still a dangerous time for gay youth, more so than now although the danger has never really left. Support groups that grew up around the tragedy of the killing of Matthew Shepard had yet to blossom. The nation had yet to start shifting toward more broader acceptance. I kept asking myself, why would this boy choose to be gay?
His family was statistically likely to cast him out or turn against him. Outside of the circle of friends he had gathered he was unlikely to find much support or acceptance. I knew his family was Christian, they were never going to accept him. Not if they were Christian like my church was. Like I was. I couldn't stay his friend, could I?
I really liked this kid. He'd taught me about the finer points in chess. He was a strong mentor to the artists in our ANSI art group. In fact, he was skilled enough himself that he could have easily left us to join one of the larger more renowned and respected ANSI groups. He had helped me and my brother countless times when we'd run into technical issues in running a BBS. He'd always been there for me, for his friends. Why would he choose to be gay?
Didn't he understand how difficult his life would be, the challenges he'd face? Didn't he understand he was risking his soul in pursuing that lifestyle? How could he even contemplate wanting to be with other males? Couldn't he see how beautiful the girls around us were becoming? Our peers hitting puberty and taking on the forms of women were so appealing why would he shun them to want after males? Why would he tell me? Didn't he know what a good Christian I was? That I would have to cleave myself from him and his sin. I would have to shun him and hate his sin. Couldn't he understand the position he'd put me in? How could I stay his friend? Why would he tell me?
These thoughts gnawed at me. Disgust warred with a desperate hope that he would be OK. That he'd change his mind. That he'd be safe. I was filled with confusion and anger. Confused and angry at my friend. Confused and angry at the world that would corrupt him. Confused and angry that it seemed to fit. He seemed so relieved. The next time I saw him with some of that knowing circle he seemed so light-hearted, as if a weight had been lifted from him. As if he were safe to be himself, finally. To be known.
I wasn't a good friend. I stopped hanging out with him. I drifted away. The question kept returning, however. Why would someone choose to be gay?
Slowly, with time, the tone of the question changed, however. As I saw the comfortable venom and bigotry I'd sided with all around me I asked it in a different way. With so much hate and danger, with families ready to discard you, with friends ready to abandon you - why would you choose to be gay?
And so a seed had been planted. A seed of acceptance. It found itself in bitter soil. But it grew and grew. With it came a gradual realization that I came to too late to be a good friend to that young man. A realization that no one would. No one would choose to be gay. It wasn't a choice.
Now, I had different questions and they were for God. Why would he make someone gay? Why would he give them that burden, that weight?
Another cut to faith that was facing more and more challenges as I grew older. As I encountered more of the world. Another nick that bled and festered. Yet another mote of doubt about God, religion, reality. There was another realization I came to as I moved through my social circles, in church, in school, in life. I was a bigot. The question I had now, would I choose to continue to be one?