Jaunty-Rabbit

I am gay. I am an American. I contributed to President Obama’s campaign, I get emails from him everyday, telling me what he is doing, how he is changing the world. How much better things are going to be for us all. But he never mentions me, or the millions like me.

I read in the morning paper that a man’s property taxes went up from $1700 per year to over $10,000 a year. Just because his partner of 37 years passed away. Because they did not share the same rights that straight people enjoy. He is something less than an American. He is a gay American. Not even capitalized. Something to be loathed, laughed at, put down, beat up, picked on, killed. Something to be ignored. I read where a young boy committed suicide because his faith told him he was wicked. I read how another young man was beaten to death because he was different.

I have news for you, I send your kids to school, I pay for the roadways you drive on, the bus you sit in, the welfare you collect, the salary you get, the fire and police protection you deserve. I write your story, I act it out, I create the clothes you wear, I teach your kids, I take care of you when you get sick. I drive you to the store, I operate the crane that builds your towns, the highways you drive. I feed you when you are hungry, let you rest when you are weary, caress you when you are lonely, support you when you can’t make it alone. I am your friend, your neighbor, your son, your daughter, mother and father. I am you. But I am less because you don’t acknowledge me. I am more than you think, more than you want, more than you know. I am you. Acknowledge me. I do exist. I am.

I feel pain, I bleed, I get envious, jealous, mad and happy. I am confident, secure, pensive, weak, strong and sweet. I am blonde, brunette, red haired, blue eyed, green eyed and sometimes red eyed. I have dogs, cats, fish, snakes, spider and no pets. I drive a Honda, Chevy, Toyota, Jeep, Mercedes, Rolls. I live in Malibu, Watts, Topeka, St. Louis, Louisville, Grand Rapids and everywhere in between, above, below and next to. I am successful, down and out, average, middle class and broke. I am army, navy, air force and marines, and I am civilian. I am a scientist, a doctor, a file clerk, a musician, and actor. I am a car salesman, and an IRS agent. I can work for you, take care of you, feed you, be your boss, be your congressman, judge, jury and executioner. I am in every corner of your life, every nook and cranny, every day in day out connection. I walk with you, talk with you, consul you, advise you, laugh with you, cry with you, die with you. I am Catholic, Mormon, Jewish, Muslim, Agnostic, and Buddhist. I am you. Acknowledge me. I do exist. I am.

I don’t want more, I don’t want less. I don’t want special treatment. I don’t want to be revered or feared. I don’t want you to exalt me or to shame me. I don’t want you beat me or kill me. I don’t want to rape you or molest you. I don’t want to be afraid to walk down a street or to be called names. I don’t want to make you gay or straight, or to turn your kids gay. I don’t want you to hate me because I am gay, I don’t want you to love me because I am gay. I don’t want you to fear me because I am gay. I want you to acknowledge me. I do exist. I am.

Holidays seem to always make one reflect on things. What was, what is and what will be. I spent Christmas with my family, it was nice. My mom and I talked for several hours about everything and anything. It was the first time we have had an in-depth discussion in a long time. Maybe too long of a time. It felt good to talk like we used to. Without inhibition or pause. I often used to say that my mom was one of my best friends. Over the years I have grown to know her not only as my mom, the fixer of all things, the warm embrace when I am hurt, the stern hand when I screw up. But I have also gotten to know her as an independent women. A person of substantial character, morals and intelligence.

As we get older, I think we get the opportunity to see our parents in a different light than when we are young. We come to the realization that they are people. Sometimes people we might not like or have anything in common with, or in my case, someone I really like. Someone I can talk to without inhibition or fear of reprisal. And someone who knows me and knows when I am bullshitting. That in of itself is a quality not often shared by other friends.

So we talked for several hours, about past loves, past tribulations, current events, future worries and wonders. I don’t think we solved the worlds problems or even our own, but we shared a time. My mom is nearly eighty and in the past few years I have grown to understand that these times will be fewer and fewer and that there will be a time when when I won’t have her to have these conversations.

One of the things we talked about is the change of perception as one gets older. When I was young, I would always look to the future, anticipating what was next. What would life bring to me, what would I find? Where would I go? What would I accomplish. As I get older, I find more of my time spent reflecting on what was. Remember old friends, old times, childhood memories. My first car. My first love. These thoughts in themselves are not bad. As someone once said, never forget your past, for it is what defines who you are. But I think it is really easy to get lost in it and forget to drive forward. My boss always tells me “keep moving”. I have come to adopt this philosophy over the years, doesn’t matter if you are moving forward or backward (well it does, but follow me on this) as long as you are moving. In the movement you will find growth, discovery. So even if you are moving backward, you still have the opportunity to learn and grow – which ultimately means you are moving forward.

I thought about past loves today, well one in particular, as I was working around the house. I began to feel a little sad at the lost time. The “should’ve, could’ve, would’ves”, what I thought my future was, back then. And how different it really is from what I imagined it to be. But I also realized that that’s ok. I am not always happy about the decisions I make, sometimes, a lot of times, I screw up. and sometimes I really screw up. I guess I could be defined by my screw ups. I think about how I should be somewhere else, further along, better off, happier. Where are these places? Where are these things? Why am I not where I thought I would be?

Reflecting: you know what? It doesn’t matter what I thought then. I told a friend that life is a journey, and that you presented with intersections on the road of life, right or left. You make a choice with the information you have when you come to those intersections. That is what I have done. I made the choices I made. Sure I can sit here and criticize every decision I have ever made. Getting lost in reflection, in the past. Being sad that I don’t have this, or didn’t do that. The last intersection I turned at took me in a direction I never expected, and that’s ok. I have something I didn’t have before. And I realize that I need to practice what I preach. I need to get out of the past and keep moving. Hopefully forward, but it’s ok if I go backwards too, as long as I keep learning. Life is a journey, not a destination.

I need to restart my journey. That’s my reflection for the holidays, not my resolution.

Care to join me?