I want to use this space to talk about poetry, literature, art, and everything else that I love. You will soon discover there is quite a bit of overlap in these areas. 😀 Every once in awhile, a fairly “heavy” subject may come up, but I want to provide a safe, dignified, compassionate, and humorous space to discuss these issues.
There is so much pressure this time of year to be happy & jolly, and, damn it, we don’t always feel happy & jolly! These next couple of weeks can be extremely difficult for those who have experienced loss, who are afraid, who feel alone & isolated, who feel less than worthy for whatever reason. The questions of “Who am I?” and “What Am I Doing Here?” that run through all our minds are made all the more poignant. It’s so important to try the best we can to ease the suffering that so many experience in this world. Whatever we can do or experience or share to ease that suffering are not time wasters & are absolutely necessary!
With these thoughts in mind, I want to introduce you to author Armistead Maupin – a recent discovery that has brought immense joy to me. I want to share with you today the coming out letter he wrote to his parents in the guise of one of his characters from his series of columns in The San Francisco Chronicle. His parents knew their son wrote the column, and they received the newspaper, so they knew this letter was addressed not only to the readership of the Chronicle but also to them…very right-wing conservative Christians who counted Jesse Helms as a close family friend and for whom Armistead had worked in the past.
“Letter to Mama” (1977)
I’m sorry it’s taken so long to write. Every time I try to write to you and Papa I realize I’m not saying the things that are in my heart. That would be Ok, if I loved you any less than I do, but you are my parents and I am still your child.
I have friends who think I’m foolish to write this letter. I hope they’re wrong. I hope their doubts are based on parents who loved and trusted them less than mine do. I hope especially that you’ll see this as an act of love on my part, a sign of my continuing need to share my life with you.
I wouldn’t have written, I guess, if you hadn’t told me about your involvement in the Save Our Children campaign. That, more than anything, made it clear that my responsibility was to tell you the truth, that your own child is homosexual, and that I never needed saving from anything except the cruel and ignorant piety of people like Anita Bryant.
I’m sorry, Mama. Not for what I am, but for how you must feel at this moment. I know what that feeling is, for I felt it for most of my life. Revulsion, shame, disbelief–rejection through fear of something I knew, even as a child, was as basic to my nature as the color of my eyes.
No, Mama, I wasn’t “recruited.” No seasoned homosexual ever served as my mentor. But you know what? I wish someone had. I wish someone older than me and wiser than the people in Orlando had taken me aside and said,
“You’re all right, kid. You can grow up to be a doctor or a teacher just like anyone else. You’re not crazy or sick or evil. You can succeed and be happy and find peace with friends–all kinds of friends–who don’t give a damn who you go to bed with. Most of all, though, you can love and be loved without hating yourself for it.”
But no one ever said that to me, Mama. I had to find it out on my own, with the help of the city that has become my home. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but San Francisco is full of men and women, both straight and gay, who don’t consider sexuality in measuring the worth of another human being.
These aren’t radicals or weirdos, Mama. They are shop clerks and bankers and little old ladies and people who nod and smile to you when you meet them on the bus. Their attitude is neither patronizing nor pitying. And their message is so simple: Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it’s all right for you to like me, too.
I know what you must be thinking now. You’re asking yourself: What did we do wrong? How did we let this happen? Which one of us made him that way?
I can’t answer that, Mama. In the long run, I guess I really don’t care. All I know is this: If you and Papa are responsible for the way I am, then I thank you with all my heart, for it’s the light and the joy of my life.
I know I can’t tell you what it is is to be gay. But I can tell you what it’s not.
It’s not hiding behind words, Mama. Life family and decency and Christianity. It’s not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It’s not judging your neighbor, except when he’s crass or unkind.
Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion, and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength.
It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it.
There’s not much else I can say, except that I’m the same Michael you’ve always known. You just know me better now. I have never consciously done anything to hurt you. I never will.
Please don’t feel you have to answer this right away. It’s enough for me to know that I no longer have to lie to the people who taught me to value the truth.
Mary Ann sends her love.
Everything is fine at 28 Barbary Lane.
Your loving son, Michael.
Peace & compassion to you all–especially to yourselves. I hope to hear from you and I can’t wait to see where this new path in this blog takes us!