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Out Again
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By: Owen Sukowski
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Imagine if you will, being a seventeen-year-old
gay teenager who has lived in a small Indiana
town for all of his life. This town has a
population of about 10,000. It is one of those
places where all the people go to the same church
on Sunday; the local Wal-Mart is the main hang
out; and everyone seems to be stuck in the 50's.
I can imagine that because for me it is all too
true. I live in a "conservative town," as my mom
puts it. It is more like a "don't ask don't tell"
type of place to me.
I have known I am gay for just about all of my
life, but I did not really come to terms with it
until about the sixth grade. During my sophomore
year, I had my first long-term relationship.
While I was initially reluctant, my now ex-
boyfriend basically dragged me out of the closet.
After we broke up, I just did not deny it
anymore, although I still did not actually come
out with it. By this time both my friends and my
mom knew I was gay. In retrospect, it was a good
coming out experience. At that time, I thought I
was out of the closet for good. In reality, I
still had my foot stuck in the door.
My mother continues to remind me of the fire that
lies in the hallway before the next door of my
life opens. Now that I was mostly out, I began to
search the Internet more openly. I also began to
read XY magazine. I let some of the real me begin
to show. Around the end of March, some of my
friends and I decided to go to the Gay Pride
Parade in Chicago. This was a huge step for me.
Even at this point, there were people in my town
who still did not know, meaning my macho act had
not ceased. I began to notice that I had acted in
this macho way for so long that I thought these
actions were normal and actually reflected who I
was; yet, I was still hiding.
After thinking about it, I decided I needed to go
and explore this uncharted territory of the gay
world. So on Sunday, June 25, 2000 I boarded a
train to Chicago. I had brought along a rainbow
necklace, which I had been taking on and off all
day, and a shirt with the phrase, "I love boys"
was tucked deep in my backpack. While getting on
the train, I will never forget seeing this older
lady wearing a shirt, which read, "little dykes."
I wished I had the courage that she had. My heart
raced as the train sped towards Chicago. There
were seven of us all-together, but only three of
us were gay. One was bisexual, and the others
were good friends who were also very accepting.
While it lasted an hour and a half, the train
ride felt like ten minutes. As we stepped off the
train at the station I could not count all the
pride symbols and gay couples around me. My
excitement grew faster and faster as we walked to
the subway that would take us to Belmont. From
there we would walk. I honestly think everyone on
that subway at eleven o'clock Sunday morning was
gay, bisexual, transsexual, or maybe even curious
wannabes.
Even as all this was happening around me, I was
still removed from the experience. I held back
all of my gay mannerisms or "flits" as my
straight friend Dennis calls them. This is what I
had done all my life; I held back, hiding, and
acting like John Wayne, speaking in as deep a
voice as I could muster. I noticed my walk still
needed work. I began to realize how 17 years in a
rural town had really closed my mind and spirit
to the open world and to myself. We all stepped
off the train at Belmont and walked the rest of
the way to Halsted, which I deemed the Gay Mecca
of Chicago. I kept my guard up even after
thinking that every person in the four-block
radius was gay. I walked, talked and thought as
though I was still hiding behind the closet door.
In retrospect it was a very obvious and
embarrassing display. All my friends let
themselves go, while I played it like a Baldwin
brother. Joe wore his "I love boys" shirt with
great pride and some desperation. As badly as I
wanted to put on my shirt, it was still deep in
my bag hidden from the world.
As we arrived at Halsted, the crowds of people
were gathering. My friends and I gathered in
front of a little mini-mart as the parade began.
The crowds were massive. There were people as far
as the eye could see and beyond. I have never,
nor will I ever, see so many pairs of tight pants
and fashionably dressed drag queens. So much true
pride and expression all in one place it was over
whelming. All of this made me take a step back
and think. Some of these people live in the same
kind of sheltered setting as I do. After this day
they will go back to their normal life; some go
back into hiding of sorts, but for this day they
can come out and truly express all that lies deep
inside and truly be queens for a day.
Hopefully, for some, this will be an introduction
to the rest of their lives. As I pondered, the
parade moved past me. As each float went passed
all the fear and shyness I felt began to change
into feelings of joy and happiness about who I
really am. A more external change also took
place. Those little mannerisms began to show
through. The deep voice faded. The hands began to
move as I spoke, and my walk turned into a smooth
stride. Before I knew it three hours had passed,
and the parade was over. By this time, I should
have sprouted wings. In these three hours, my
life changed as it never had before. I had
finally let the floodgates open wide. Words
cannot describe the joy and freedom I felt at
this point. I only wish I had let it all out
earlier in the day and earlier in my life. I
finally realized what 17 years of "playing it
straight" had really done to me. The social
culture that surrounded me as I grew up had
distorted my perceptions of my real being. For me
the parade was an introduction to the rest of my
life. Right there I made the promise to myself
that those gates would never close again. No more
James Earl Jones voice. No more John Wayne
stride. I would always be proud of myself and
never hide again. I also realized how many other
people across the world were like me both those
similar in age and those four times my age.
That is what encouraged me to write this article.
I want to pass on two lessons to all who read
this. First, never be ashamed of who you are.
Accept and love yourself; don't be what others
want you to be. Secondly, the most important
lesson I can pass on from my experience; I know
what it is like to live in that small homophobic
town, to have a parent who does not want to talk
about it, and to have "friends" who turn their
backs. It is terrible and it can really shape,
and at times, distort your views on
homosexuality. This can cause you to hide and
change who you are to fit into the expectations
of others and the culture of the community in
which you live. To all those out there hiding or
stuck in a small town, find some way to step out
into the light. Tell a friend. Go to a gay club
or pride event. Just go to your local bookstore
or library and read up on homosexuality. Even if
you just start chatting online, find a way to
express your true self. It can do you more good
than you would imagine. Do not hide from others
or yourself, because if you hide long enough, you
might not come out.
To those six friends who braved Gay Pride with
me, I thank you. It meant the world to me. To my
mom, thank you for always accepting me for me,
even when others do not. I could have never asked
for a more loving, caring, parent and friend.
Finally, to those who should read this, if I
could pass on one piece of advice to always
remember, it would be this, "You must love and
accept yourself before you can love and accept
others." Now I have stepped out of the closet...
again, that big door will close behind me for the
last time.
"Some people walk into our lives and leave so
quickly. While others leave footprints on our
souls. These people, who we seem to love the
most, have one quality that others don't. They
can show us that which is lovable about
ourselves."
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