Glitter, Terrorists, and the Moral Fabric of This Country
Coming out is like having a Korn t-shirt and a mohawk at an NYSNC concert. Imagine that all of your friends were fanatical about pop music, and spent all of their time obsessing over it and having deep, involved conversations about it, and while you thought pop music was very nice, you had a great love of death metal. No one even questions whether or not you like pop music, of course you do, so for years you nod along and maybe even attend a Britney Spears concert or two, until you can’t take it anymore, and all you really want to do, in the middle of a conversation about Christina Aguilera’s latest single, is jump up on a chair and yell that damnit, you like death metal, you always have, there’s nothing they can do about it, and for the love of god, Ashley Simpson can’t sing! This proclamation, however, would inevitably be followed by a very very long, very awkward silence, so you just don’t. You never wear your Slayer t-shirt in public, you just drag out the glitter and that Mandy Moore t-shirt that doesn’t fit at all and jealously watch the kids gutsy and confident enough to wear their Slayer shirts and spiky belts and not care what anyone thinks. You’re convinced it would just make it weird with your friends, who would try to be understanding, but would start glancing at you awkwardly or apologizing whenever they talked about pop music, or start asking “So, um, when did you know that you like, totally liked death metal?” and “How can you like death metal? You look so normal!” or even “Hey, I have a cousin who likes death metal, maybe you know him” and “My pastor says that death metal fans like you are destroying the moral fabric of this country.”
I, personally, think that the moral fabric of this country died a long time ago, probably knocked out by hair spray and smothered by a leg warmer in the mid-80s, although I’m sure a strong case could be made for it having been killed by terrorists, which would necessitate the immediate invasion of several oil-rich countries. Unless, of course, we’re too busy discharging gay soldiers from our army.
Compared to coming out in the military, coming out at liberal, Birkenstock-ed, we-hug-trees-in-our-spare-time Bates College should seem like nothing. And sometimes it is. But it’s kind of an awkward topic to throw into a conversation (“Yeah, man, this calculus is tough. Did you hear? I’m gay! Hey, uh, when are you going to dinner?”), which can make it a bigger deal than it is. Some people don’t think being queer is earth-shattering enough to sit people down and come out to them; that would be silly. If you’re pulling people aside and, after a nervous pause, in a very serious voice, telling them you’re queer, it makes it seem like you’ve got some sort of deadly disease, and have been keeping it secret for decades. Besides, what’s the big deal? It’s just another random fact about you, like being left-handed or allergic to peanut butter. So a lot of people just go with the ‘common knowledge’ approach, which means that people who didn’t get the memo are fair game for ridicule and scorn, or at least a nice long silence after they say “oh my god, that’s so gay!” (This still requires a good bit of social talent to make it common knowledge in the first place, of which I have none, so can only suggest lots of patience, and perhaps some Tylenol.)
The excruciating awkwardness of starting to come out can only be comparable to slowly peering out of the closet, and then tentatively taking one step, only to step directly on your spiky belt, and then shriek like a little girl and crash right back into your closet and slam the door behind you. But eventually you build up calluses, get past the spikes, dig out your Slayer t-shirt, throw it on, and stop caring what the pop fans, the religious fanatics, and even the terrorists think. Because you’re finally, gleefully, your spiky mohawked self – in the old-school definition of the word, you’re just gay!~ Student ‘08
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