The more comfortable I’ve become with my sexuality over the past two years has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because I don’t hate myself anymore for not understanding why I am the way I am, and a curse, because it’s become so normal to me that it’s difficult to pass as heterosexual when I come home from college for the holidays. This is what rose suspicion in my mom, when I casually mentioned that one of the celebrities I admire is a lesbian.
I realized at a young age that I was attracted to guys. I was 14 years old. Up until I graduated from high school and entered the Navy, my sexuality was private. I had planned on making the Navy my career, but I didn’t foresee the stumbling block ahead of me.
My grandfather loved watching Westerns. John Wayne films were his favorite. As a child, I would watch him transform his hands into guns and shoot out at the television. So it made perfect sense to me when a pair of cowboy boots helped me to come out at work.
I am sitting in my mother’s bedroom watching television – heart throbbing as I fix myself to break the news to her about my sexual orientation once she returns back from work. I had spent the entire day with my phone firmly in hand as I was googling ‘appropriate ways to come out’ while also awaiting responses from my eldest cousins on how to go about doing it.
I would like to comment on a controversial video made by the American Christian pastor whose name is Stephen Anderson.
He was calling homosexuals, perverts and paedophiles who should be put to death.
I’ve known I’m gay since I was 12 years old. I guess my first awareness was, watching of all things Jailhouse Rock With Elvis Presley. I felt dirty, wrong, and immoral. I was raised a man loves a woman, no if, ands, or buts. The area I grew up, was a rural small town, who’s awareness frankly ended at the discovery of electricity. If you weren’t a jock, rich kid, or easy, you were treated like dirt.