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In eighth grade, my world got a little bigger. It didn't occur to me that I had anything in common with Boy George. I remember thinking that was interesting but I never related it to my special feelings. A friend of mine told me, while we were binging on MTV, that the pop star liked to kiss other boys.
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The first person I knew to be gay was Boy George. RELATED: The all of "y'all": On finally embracing my voice, country twang and everything I remember one day, when my uncle was showing us around his new condo, he pointed to what looked like a guest room and said quickly, "That's Paul's room." I could sense that he was uncomfortable talking about his roommate but I didn't know why. His "roommate" Paul was conveniently absent whenever we visited their home. He was considered a bachelor, showing up alone to every event and gathering. My uncle was a gay adult in my own family who was hiding in plain sight. So there I sat in my sixth grade classroom thinking that I was a polygamist, that Miss Carter was a secret widow, and that certain questions made grown-ups really jumpy so I'd better not ask them. In a hushed panic, she said, "Miss Carter's husband died in a terrible car accident! Don't ever ask her about it! She doesn't want anyone to know!" I got enough gumption to ask another teacher why Miss Carter wore that ring. It didn't look like a regular wedding ring but it was, most definitely, on that finger. This was Catholic school and the delineation between who was a "Miss" and who was a "Mrs" was crystal clear, so the ring perplexed me. But, no, all the other kids were still yawning their way through the chapter.Īround that same time, I noticed a thick band of gold on Miss Carter's ring finger. That's what my heart wanted! Could it be that I would grow up to be a polygamist? Was that the word that could finally explain my confusing feelings? I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else was having a life-altering epiphany in social studies class. It was the first time that my secret, special feelings were given a context, were named.Ī thrill ran through my body as I imagined a family unit with only women at the helm. I read the paragraph over and over, swallowing hard. It was about how the particular culture we were studying was something called "polygamist," which was described as women living together and raising children together, separate from men. But then I got to a paragraph that jolted me awake. The room quieted and I began to read and yawn along with my peers. One afternoon in sixth grade, my teacher - I'll call her Miss Carter - instructed the class to silently read a chapter in our Social Studies textbook. It was the first time that my secret, special feelings were given a context, were named. RELATED: Betty White on "The Golden Girls" taught me queer self-acceptance I was all alone, as it were, in a secret closet.
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I came to the conclusion that I would never have the opportunity to express or understand them really. With no context for my special feelings, my self-protective instinct kept those feelings carefully hidden away. I didn't know that I was gay because I didn't know what gay was.
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There were no out lesbians in my neighborhood, in my family, in my church, in the shows I was watching, in the books I was reading, in the romantic lyrics to any pop song, or in the class lesson on "sex and family life." It was a complete and total void. My special feelings were not reflected anywhere outside of me. Because, well, I was a Catholic school kid in Louisville, Kentucky, in Reagan's America, where romance and coupledom were synonymous with a straight, male/female dynamic. It wasn't until I was 10 that I thought something was really wrong with me. My heart would lift, a grin would come upon my little face, and my attention would focus specifically on her, no matter which Muppet or other actor was also on screen.Ĭrushes on various women continued throughout my childhood and grew more intense. All I knew was my innocent and organic response to seeing her on the television set. I didn't call it a crush at the time, of course, because I was only four or five years old. Maria on " Sesame Street" was my first crush.