Last Thursday, one my favorite bloggers in the 'sphere, The Cunning Runt, posted this brief message to homophobes, aiming his invective at The Tonight Show host, Jay Leno.
Well, as good posts do, it got me thinking about a "homophobic" experience I had way back in the Fall of 1981. I was at a party that my brother and his roommate were throwing at their place on 12th Street and Avenue A in New York City. I was out of my depth at this shindig because I was probably the only 18-year old in the room. These were mostly my brother Joe's friends, which means they were all 5 to 7 years older than me.
So there I was having the time of my life with all these "grown up" folks. I floated around in a bunch of different conversations on my way to and from the beer cooler and hors d'oeuvre table. Eventually, I ended up talking to this one guy who seemed pretty cool. As I recall, we talked about alot of things of interest to us, including music. I was really into The Beatles at the time. I became a huge fan and took up the guitar largely because of the murder of John Lennon.
Ask Señoracosa about this. I was awful. Not that I'm any good now, but back then, it took a great degree of patience and a great tolerance for pain to listen to me butcher John Lennon's "Imagine". I think it sounded something like this --
La Señora sat through more of my performances than she cared to remember. It was her encouragement that gave me the courage to play a song for the guy I was talking to.
But as I put the guitar down and looked at my friend for a reaction to the song I played, he grabbed me by the face and kissed me.
My reaction to the kiss was as immediate as it was tense. I remember thinking that I wanted to kill that motherfucker and it took my brother and a few of his friends to restrain me from getting at him. I was born in Manhattan, but was very much the homophobic Queens boy (save the snark for later). Guys just didn't do that kind of shit to each other where I came from. No fucking way.
Eventually, I ended up out on the street. Joe had walked out with me along with my brother George. Did I mention that my brother George was at the party, too? He was. But he was no where near me when the kiss went down. He was having way too much fun to care about what was going on. But as Joe bodily pinned me against a parked car, to keep me from running back inside to kick the kisser's ass, it was George who set me straight.
Yes, that George; the one I describe in the Fairy Princess. For the record, he was very out about his homosexuality, which many people found intimidating and scary. As a little kid, I didn't know any better and enjoyed his antics in a linen sheet. As a teenager, not so much. In fact, while I never disavowed that George was my brother, I tried really hard to keep separate his world from mine back then.
But on that one Autumn night in 1981, our worlds collided and mine was forever changed. The first thing George said to me was to cut out the macho, Queens bullshit. It's an act that doesn't play well in Manhattan and if I persisted in my behavior, he would have personally escorted me to the "A" train back to Lefferts Boulevard.
I protested because I felt that I was the aggrieved. After all, I was just hanging out, trying to have a good time, and some guy I was talking to kisses me.
That's when George clued me in on a very "adult" understanding of homosexuality. He let me know regardless of whether one is gay or straight, if you pay enough attention that person at a party, that person will find you attractive.
This was all news to me. And as George rattled on about what an ass I'd been at the party, I realized I had no idea how naive I'd been about people in general let alone the gay community.
Gay men have feelings? Who knew? Gay men like to get laid? What? Gay men make inadvertent assumptions about sexual orientation? Whoa.
I can help but think back at how fortunate I was to have experienced the whole event. Yes, it was very 'icky" moment for me to have been kissed by another man, and I imagine that it would still be now...
unless, of course, it was this man doing the kissing.
But still I am not a gay man, and man-crushes notwithstanding, I never will be a gay man.
What's more is that I have no issue with or resentment for anyone's sexual orientation because I am comfortable living in this skin as a heterosexual.
In a world where there is so much more to fear, like war, disease, and climate change, the least of my worries is a gay man who inadvertently makes a pass at me. Sadly, there are too many people -- particularly people in positions of power -- who seem to think that homosexuality is something to be cured or eradicated. Sadly, there are people like Jay Leno who use poor humor as a weapon to demonize and demoralize the gay community.
Sadly, there are way too many people like me whose misunderstanding and lack of compassion pushes them to abject violence against gay men and women. Again, I consider myself fortunate because someone stepped in and prevented me from hitting the kisser, pointing me instead to better way of dealing with this type of situation.
So, thanks Cunning Runt for reminding me of this moment in my personal history, and for reinforcing the lesson that the measure of a person is not only defined by his or her accomplishments, but also by how well or poorly that person engages the wider world around. Let's face it. Anyone can be a dick regardless of their sexual orientation. On that fateful night in the Fall of 1981, that dick was me.
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