I tried to talk to her over the next couple of days but she didn't want anything to do with me. I gave her the space and time she needed to come to terms with it. I wished at the time I had waited and done it under different circumstances, but you can't change the past. Patrick and I talked about moving in together and found a nice one-bedroom apartment in Bradley. We moved to the new apartment in the middle of April and began what we both thought would be a lifetime together. My mom told the entire family about me coming out, and since they were devout Catholics, I was ridiculed each time I visited them about my ways and told that if I changed now, God could save my soul. My mom blamed John for turning me gay. She said it was his fault and if I stayed away from him I'd be normal. To this day my mom won't call me gay. She won't even watch Will and Grace because there are gay guys in it. She simply refers to me as being “funny.” She went to a family friend's wedding and afterward told me that while she was in the church she prayed to God that I would see the light and realize what I was doing was wrong, and that I should make her happy and marry a girl, just like our friend had done. I told her thanks and changed the subject. When she and other family members get going on this issue, it makes me feel worthless and a disappointment to my family. I let it eat me up on the inside and I try to just let it pass, but it's too hard.
They quote the Bible to me and remind me almost daily what the Good Book says. And for the longest time I thought I was going to hell and had a hard time dealing with what the Catholic Church teaches. It's hard for me to believe that a God who is allloving and forgiving would send me straight to hell. I've listened to opinions, read books, and come to my own conclusion, which is that God loves everyone, straight, gay, black, and white. We were made in His image. And since God made man, I don't think He would purposely create a certain group of people to send to hell. I find it hard to believe that He would do this to me. I even once sent my mom an e-mail about how the Bible is misinterpreted. She didn't care for that and said she didn't believe me and criticized me for not following my faith. Only time will tell who is right and who is wrong.
After Patrick and I moved in together, one of the girls whom I worked with at the police department finally asked about this guy I was always talking about. She asked if I was seeing him, to which I replied yes. She was shocked and didn't understand, as most people don't. She thought it was nasty and that if I just tried sleeping with a girl I'd see what I was missing and would be straight. She was the first co-worker I'd come out to, and really she was the only one I needed to tell, since the rumor about me being gay spread faster than a wildfire in California. Most of the guys at the police department are basically homophobes and I wasn't sure if I wanted to deal with telling them. I still wanted to remain in the closet, afraid of people not liking me or thinking of me differently. The rumor, which was now confirmed, also spread to the fire department where I'm currently working.
In a way it was a good thing—less people I would have to tell and confront. It was a hot topic, especially in the fire department. People just couldn't get over it and some of them still can't. One payday, Patrick and I stopped to pick up my check at work and I parked in the front lot. The Village of Bradley complex, as I call it, houses the main office, police department, and fire department. The dispatch center and fire department face the parking lot for the main office and police department. As I got out, you should have seen the faces of the fire guys in the window trying to catch a glimpse. As I looked their way, they all turned around and acted like they weren't watching. It was quite humorous and still to this day they all deny it.
I was soon working midnights at the police department and started working with Rennetta, who would become a great friend and someone I could fully trust. She allowed me to talk freely about what was going on, which would become a necessity later on. Working midnights began to take its toll on my relationship with Patrick. Things didn't feel right and I started to suspect that he was cheating. He was also becoming verbally abusive toward me and later would become physical and more violent. In June he confirmed my worst nightmare and admitted that he indeed had cheated on me twice within the span of one weekend. It was horrible and even more devastating to find out that one occasion occurred in my bed with two other guys while I was working. Patrick couldn't hold a job down and still can't to this day; I was the one making the money and paying all the bills. I felt so betrayed by him. I wanted him to stay because I was in love. He wanted to move out and live with the couple that he was messing around with. We fought nonstop about him leaving. Eventually I gave up and told him if he wanted to go he could, but that he could always come back. He moved out while I was at choir practice. I came home and his stuff was gone—I couldn't stand to be there. I felt so alone and empty without him. I decided I would use this as a new starting point for my life, a chance to rebuild myself.
I began to visit more with my mom and her family. I hadn't seen them much while I'd been with Patrick. I needed my family during this hurtful time but I couldn't talk to anyone. I had a very hard time dealing with all of us alone and became so overwhelmed. The only way out that I could see was suicide. To me it seemed like there was no other option and this was the only way I'd be happy. I tried suicide multiple times—everything from overdosing to hanging and cutting myself. I began to self-mutilate. And there were times that I was very close to doing it but I just couldn't. I know this sounds silly, but I thought of my cat, Lilly. I thought that if I killed myself, who would take care of her? I couldn't do that to her; I had to know she'd be safe and okay. She is like a lot of my friends who played a very important role in my life. I realized there was more to life and that I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself.
During the summer of 2002 I brought Patrick, who was still living elsewhere, out to my dad and stepmom's house for dinner. They had said he was more than welcome. I introduced him as my roommate, but parents are smart and I was sure they knew he was more. (I would later find this out to be true.) I was excited that they had invited us out together. Was it possible for my dad and stepmom to accept me being gay?
I was getting ready for a pilgrimage to Toronto for World Youth Day 2002 in August. This would be my first trip to see the Pope, one of my lifelong wishes. No one at church knew at the time I was gay, and I wanted it like that. I didn't want to lose my job there playing the organ and piano at Mass. I prayed before I left that while on this pilgrimage, God would show me how to be a better person. I had a lot of anger inside, and wanted Him to show me what He wanted me to do with my life. A few days before I left, I agreed to let Patrick move back in. He was seeing someone else and I told him it would be okay as long as they stayed out of the apartment— to respect me. I left for the trip on bad terms with him. I cried most of the way to the bus in Downers Grove, about a two-hour trip from Bradley. The overall trip was amazing, the most powerful experience in my life yet. And I had accomplished at least one of my tasks—to become more peaceful, a better person. On the trip I met two people in our group who were gay. When we arrived back at Downers Grove, one told me he was and that he knew I was, too. I came home and realized that I needed to keep my peaceful life and stop building up hate again.
The relationship between Patrick and me became physical and he became violent. He would beat me for no apparent reason and got great satisfaction out of the fact that I wouldn't fight back. As the months went by, it got worse. The comments from the fire department got worse and they occasionally slammed me. I had enough and went to the assistant chief and complained about the harassment. The people named in my complaint were brought in and told to knock it off. I got apologies from most of the people involved. The biggest one said something that I won't ever forget: “No matter what you do or who you are, you're still our friend and we love you no matter what.” Little does George know that this has helped me get through some tough times. I knew that I had more friends than I had thought or realized.
The year was coming to an end and I got tired of Patrick's crap and began to st
and up for myself. He would beat me for whatever reason—only now I fought back, something that I regret I had to do. I didn't want to hurt anyone that I loved. It hurt me more than it probably hurt him. One night we fought long and hard and he came after me with two knives and blocked the door so I couldn't leave. At this point I knew that he really didn't love me as he claimed he did. Someone who loves you wouldn't or shouldn't do this to you, nor make you feel like crap. He went on a rampage, stabbing the couch as he passed me. He ended up leaving that night and not coming back until the morning. I fought back smarter than he ever could—I began locking the door after he left so I could sleep in peace for the night. I kept it a secret from everyone, even my closest friends. I didn't want it to be known because of where I work. I've sent officers to gay domestic disputes and fights and have had to listen to the comments come out of their mouths. I was too afraid to say anything or complain, so I let it go on more than one occasion.
Christmas came and Patrick went home for the holidays and I went to be with my family. Honestly, I can say that I did miss seeing him, but didn't miss his crap. He came home late Christmas night while I was at work, a twelve-hour shift. He didn't call or stop in to visit, but called his sex buddy to come to the apartment. I was at wits' end and ready for something to happen.
My friends were telling me to kick him out, but I said he had no place to go. They said he could move back home with his mom. They asked what day my trash was picked up. I told them early Tuesday morning was trash day. They told me trash day was the day I needed to put him on the curb with the rest of my garbage. They told me to pack his stuff and leave it outside, and if I had a problem, then they would do it for me. They also told me that they still loved me but were tired of my complaining about the situation since I didn't want to fix the problem. Finally I had had it. I came home from the store one day and did what I feared. I sat Patrick down and began crying. I told him that I didn't love him anymore and that I needed for him to move out so I could move on. He thought I was joking with him and then it was his turn to beg and plead with me. I stuck firm and said no and began to pack his belongings for him. And in a week he was gone and I was so afraid and alone. This would be the official end of Christopher and Patrick.
Mike and John decided I needed to make my first trip to Boystown in Chicago to forget about Patrick. It was a cold night downtown but it still was fun. I was exposed to just a little bit of the gay life in Chicago. They dubbed it my coming-out party and thus I got free drinks from bartenders. There was so much to take in, in such a short period of time.
I met another friend in June 2003 who would become another support for me—Jacki. Jacki knew right away that I was gay and absolutely loved it! She didn't think any less of me, which was awesome. She had a gay cousin, so she was familiar and okay with it. Jacki and I would become best friends and would hang out whenever we could. She was someone who I could comfortably talk about my problems and life with. Life became normal for the most part, nothing new happening. I began to become less embarrassed about being gay and came out to my high school friends and friends in general. Overall, the support was amazing and they, too, echoed what George had told me: they loved me no matter what. Still, I had another group of people that I needed to come out to— my dad, my stepmom, and her family.
The entire family got together the weekend after Christmas 2003 to celebrate and open presents. My stepsister, Julie, was there. She's someone I've always admired and could always talk to. Julie, her brother Josh, and I were standing in the kitchen downstairs just talking, mainly catching up. Julie asked if Patrick was living with me. I told her no, that it hadn't worked out and he'd moved out. Josh asked me if I cared if he asked me a question, and if he could be blunt. I love being blunt so I said to go ahead. Josh asked if Patrick was just my roommate or if he was more. Julie looked at him as if she couldn't believe he'd asked that. She commented of course we were more. I confirmed that he was more and thus I came out to them. Being curious and not sure how my stepfamily would react, I asked both Julie and Josh for their opinion, if my dad or stepmom, Beth, had any idea. Julie told me that Beth knew a while back that I was gay, and that neither she nor my dad cared. The even better news was that my stepfamily wouldn't care or didn't care that I was gay.
I was honestly surprised. But from that point forward, the acceptance my stepfamily has given me, for the most part, has been extremely wonderful. It's truly hard to find a good family who supports their GLBT child. I used to be jealous of others who had families who supported them, but now I am blessed to have part of my family support and stand by me.
In early 2004, I heard from a co-worker that one of my good friends from high school had moved back into town from Tampa. Eric had taken a job working at Steak and Shake, so I stopped in to see him. There were two reasons I wanted to see Eric: to catch up on lost time, and more importantly, to come out to him. I had not seen him since the night of graduation back in June of 1999. We met for lunch and he was talking about his ex and I commented on how he sounded similar to my ex, Patrick. He looked at me, asked what I said, and I repeated myself. He got a big grin on his face and said, “See, I knew you were. I knew you were back in high school.” It was great to have my friend back in town, and even better—he was gay. Eric showed me that it's okay to be gay and show it, for it's who I am. To be perfectly blunt, Eric is a little flamboyant, plain and simple. He doesn't hide it from anyone, not even at work. Just by hanging out with him I've become used to this and it's helped me. Not only have I become more comfortable with myself, but also I've stopped hiding the fact that I'm gay. There's no reason to be ashamed.
On one shopping trip we went to the local mall and stopped by a “little girls” accessory store. The store had a big supply of rainbow rings, stickers, and purses. You name it, they had it in rainbow. I had nothing with rainbows on it—I was too afraid. I purchased a ring and so did Eric. I wear it almost all the time—even at work at the police and fire departments. The only time I take it off is in front of my mom's family, which is purely out of respect, and of course at Mass.
Now that I am hanging out with Eric I find myself spending more time in Chicago. Being gay in Chicago for the most part is not a problem and it's accepted. But where I come from, only fifty-five miles south of Chicago, you won't find two guys walking down the street holding hands or kissing. You won't even find a rainbow flag flying high and proud. In Chicago it's like I can be a different person—be me without having to be afraid or embarrassed about who I am. It's a shame that I and many others have to feel like we need to escape to Chicago for the right to be ourselves.
I now subscribe to The Advocate and Out and I don't read them at home in seclusion. I take them to work with me and read them during the slow times while wearing my gay pride ring. In the past three years I've learned a lot and have become happy with myself. In the beginning I wouldn't have taken Out to work, let alone acknowledge that I was gay. I've learned that I have nothing to be afraid or ashamed of. I've gone from someone who was depressed and thought about taking the easy way out, to wanting to work and lobby for gay rights and joining PFLAG and subscribing to gay magazines. I'm happy about who I have become and I am looking forward to what the future holds for me. All you need is a plan, and friends and family who support you. Some are lucky, while others are not. But it's important to remain faithful to who you are, not to what or who somebody wants you to be. Granted, it does hurt having to go through the coming-out process alone and not having your loved ones support you.
I had to think, should I do what would make my family happy and be miserable, or do what I want, which will make me happy? It's all about me when it comes to happiness. I'm not here to make other people happy with my decisions, but rather to make me happy. It's because of my good friends and family who love, care, and support me that I was finally able to get back on the bike that I've fallen off so many times and ride into the sunset a happy and proud person.
The Night Marc Hall Went to the Prom
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br /> by J. J. Deogracias
May 10, 2002
“I feel at ease now just knowing that we're getting free of discrimination.”
Seventeen-year-old student Marc Hall said this to reporters as he and his twenty-one-year-old boyfriend, Jean-Paul Dumond, hopped into a limousine and headed to the prom at Monsignor John Pereyma Catholic High School in Oshawa, Ontario. He said this just hours after a judge ruled Hall had the right to take his boyfriend to the dance. The school principal and the school board had told Hall he could not bring his boyfriend to the dance on the basis of Roman Catholic teachings.
“We think it's so cool that he's coming,” said a girl classmate who knows Hall. “Because he's the GREATEST! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
The school board, disappointed with the decision, will abide by the judge's ruling but plans to fight it in court.
“I'm prepared to take it to trial in order to set a precedent so that nobody else will have to go through what I had to go through,” Hall told reporters.
“Wow, that's so amazing,” I say. I press the AM/FM button, and the neon green display flips from AM 680 to FM 97.3 in my boyfriend Wesley's silver 1992 Toyota Camry. I lie back in the gray passenger seat in the new black tearaway pants my mom originally bought for herself and my white T-shirt depicting a teddy bear doing weights, with “I'm in no shape to exercise” in baby blue print on its shirt. The commercial for Sleep Country Canada jingles, “Why buy a mattress anywhere else? (Ding!).”
“I don't think I could ever be so brave,” I say. “It took me until my final year to come out in an all-guys school.”
“Yeah, me neither,” says Wesley, who wears a blue sweatshirt and blue jeans. He steers the car, driving past orange-and-white-lit lampposts and the streaking lights of other passing cars. I stroke the small hair bristles on his right cheek.
He giggles. “Bunny?”