I came out 21 years ago. I used to look at those middle-aged dykes who had been out that long and subconsciously believe I’d never be that old. Am I middle aged? I don’t really care. I’m totally immature, and that’s all that matters.
I felt my first actual attraction when I was 16, to Mari, a beautiful girl at boarding school. I was lying on her bed with her and suddenly just really needed to kiss her. This realization didn’t shock or dismay me; I just thought, oh, okay, and went about my business for a few years before eventually saying it out loud to my good friend. This is how the conversation went:
K: I’m bi.
G: I’m bi too.
Then I came out to my family. This is sort of how the convo went with Mom:
G: I’m bi.
Mom: I figured.
My coming out, as you can see, was not really a big deal. It’s a bigger deal for other people, folks who get kicked out of the house, lose friends, get disowned. This National Coming Out Day, I honor their struggle. I want people to look at this blog when I’m old, or when I’m dead and gone in another 40 or so years, and be amazed that there was ever a time when someone could get away with shit like that.
p.s.: Actually, Mom said she was proud of me when I came out to her. Then she spent a lot of time quietly worrying for my safety. I am one lucky kid.
p.p.s: I didn’t kiss Mari. I still wonder if she wanted to also.
p.p.p.s.: It was college when I finally kissed my first girl. 30 seconds later I kissed my second girl. That’s a story for another time. Or another blog.