Of course, I see coming out as something I do virtually every day of my life, so it's hard to isolate it to one story. But some of the most interesting moments of my big original coming out process happened my Freshman year in college. I guess I was waiting to get out of the midwestern suburb I grew up in to come out, because I came out absolutely to myself about 5 minutes after I got to college.
I promply fell madly in love with my roommate, who was in love with some ridiculous boy. So I pined away alone until I got the nerve to tell my Resident Assistant. She sent me to Eric Marcus, the most out guy around, and a friend of hers. Confusingly, I had a bit of a crush on him--he was one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. You may have heard of him--he's written many gay books now.
So then they sent me to see a teacher--actually my English teacher. She seemed ancient to me, and represented some other ancient lesbian world. No one ever told me she was a lesbian--it was just implied. I was just told to go talk to her. I had never met a lesbian, that I knew of, so this was very exciting! So I told her my story and she said nothing except that I should go talk to an alumna who lived in town. It was like some weird, secret treasure hunt or something.
So I went to see the woman in town in her apartment. She was a writer and had literally (no pun intended) wallpapered her living room with rejection slips. Ok, well, writers get alot of rejections; I knew that, and tried to keep my mind open. She got us some juice, and we chit-chatted a bit until she stopped and said, "You're probably wondering why you're here." "Ahhhh, yeah?" She took a big, butch swig of her juice, as if it were whiskey, apparently for courage, and then very nervously blurted out, "I've been with some women!" and looked sheepish.
So we had a very awkward conversation about it, and I walked away with nothing except this story and some feelings of discouragement about finding other lesbians who could say the word without non-alcoholic support.
The teacher told me also to write to another alumna--again with no information about why, other than that she might be able to give me more information. I was losing faith in these referrals, but I did it anyway, because I was desperate. I looked for a letter every day, not knowing what to do with myself--being the only sane lesbian I knew of, and madly, secretly in love with my straight roommate.
One day, a letter came, and it was by now familiarly vague and of very limited use. However it did say one thing: "Women gather at Zippers, in New Paltz on Saturday nights." "Gather" was obviously a euphemism, but what did it mean? "Women"--presumably lesbians...had wild orgies at Zippers on Saturday night? "Women..." "gathered??" They stood around using euphemisms, trying not to say the word "lesbian" and smoking cigars? What the heck did "gather" mean? As scary and confusing as that sounded, I was determined to meet other lesbians I could get to know, no matter what it took. You'd better believe I went to Zippers on Saturday night!
Zippers turned out to be a bar with a disco ball and a painting of a zipper unzipping on the wall. Sure enough, it was filled with only women--dancing with each other, talking, "gathering," and looking different than women I'd seen before. They had short hair, a bandana around their necks, head, or in their back pockets. I didn't relate to any of them any more than the mysterious closeted women I'd met before that, but at least they were celebrating their love of other women. It's amazing through all that that I still came out. If I'd had any choice about it, I would have given up about the time I got to the eccentric writer. But I actually never for a moment questioned the fact that I was attracted to and fell in love with women, and nothing was going to stop me.
Last Edited by on Apr 14, 2009 11:17 PM
This reminds me of Rita Mae Brown's character Molly, who also gets "sent" to a lesbian authority figure on staff at her college, (who turns out to be the English teacher's lover, if I remember correctly). In any event, it's a lucky thing you discovered and celebrated yourself in spite of Zipper's and your college roommate. (BTW...do you know if your college roommate really was straight? Mine turned out not to be...many years later!)
Lol! Actually I'm still friends with both my freshman roommate and my resident assistant who was the first one I came out to, and all these years later, they are both most definitely straight! (Oh, and Eric Marcus is still as gay as always)!
OK,I haven't done this before but here's my coming out story. So...I was a hyperactive and problematic kid, who always had a propensity for women. I had crush after crush. I LOVED Summer Camp! (All those counselors! Meg Christian was dead on). I held back with most of those feelings, except for tagging along behind the swimming instructor like a love sick puppy. I went along my merry way with wondering why I was so weird until 1977, when I was incarcerated in an institution for delinquent girls in Portland, Oregon. Although this was a state school, it was housed in the Convent of the Good Shepherd, so I was surrounded by nuns for a year (so much for separation of church and state). I was 15 when I went in and 16 when I left. As anyone knows, adolescence is a time when hormones are in overdrive. Anyway, one of the "therapeutic" methods this school employed was to have us sit in a circle every Tuesday night for "group".
One night at group, I was informed by staff that I was spending way too much time with Lydia (who eventually confessed to bisexuality). She and I used to lie on her bed and just hold each other. Sometimes we kissed, but only on the cheek. (OK, once on the lips). I held doors for her, and held hands with her on school-side. Staff said I was behaving "like a man". At the time, I had no clue where they were going with this, I just remember feeling shamed; that somehow, going around like a gentleman with Lydia was not acceptable behavior. In hindsight, I should have said "So what's your point?" but I didn't have the wherewithal then.
During my incarceration, my adopted parents split up. My brother went with my dad and I stayed a ward of the court, until a few months went by and I ended up in a foster home, again with all girls. I started working in the theater and a whole new world opened up in terms of what was considered socially acceptable elsewhere and what was totally OK in the theater world. The theater was a safe place to explore those attractions.
OK, so jump forward 5 years. I tried everything to make myself straight. (OK, I exaggerate...I didn't try very hard). I did date and sleep with men. I even married one. But then I did a lesbian play in Hollywood and entered into a relationship with my first gf, who also happened to be my boss and the stage manager of the show. After we broke up, I returned to Oregon, where I got involved with a younger woman who had some serious anger issues. She threatened to "out" me to my parents. She had already outted mutual friends so I knew she could and would do it. In my panic, I called my dad and said I needed to talk. We sat in his car while I poured out the story to him. While I was speaking, the woman who threatened me walked past. I pointed at her and said, "she's the one who was going to tell you". His reaction was basically one of disinterest, frankly. Ever since then, though, he's thought of it as either a "phase", or just another example of how much I'm the spawn of Satan.
My bio family, however, is chock full of gays and lesbians, and would have been (and are) extremely accepting. My bio uncles even participated in the Hamer Study several years ago. I found my birth family in 2004 and one of the first things my bio mother did was start telling me who all in the family was gay. We're celebrated. Pretty cool, huh?
Oh...as regards my adopted mom; "I always knew", she said. Don't they always?
