Some things you should know about me:
I have never worn my hair in a mullet.
I do not listen to the music of Tegan and Sara.
Sure, I own some flannel shirts, but I live in Houston, so they rarely get worn.
I do not view the continuing success of Ellen DeGeneres as a personal win for me in any way, shape, or form.
I have never accused anyone anywhere at any time of being “homophobic.”
I do not go to gay bars, I am not sexually promiscuous, and I was not abused as a child.
I always get my kids to school on time during the week and to church on time on the weekend.
Sometimes, just before I do something really stupid, I stop and I worry about whether what I am about to do will reflect badly on every other gay person on Earth.
For a long time now, I have worked to make it so that the only major difference between me and everyone else is that I happen to be attracted to people of the same sex. I have worked on this hoping that if I am ladylike and practical and soft-spoken, if I clean my fingernails and use rational arguments to support my beliefs and I don’t make any sudden movements, then I might be acceptable and accepted. I might, at the very least, be thought of as “one of the good ones.”
What I learned over at the H.E.R.O. protest last month was this: To a lot of people, no matter what I do, I can never be anything other than a queer and a sodomite and a pervert.
I learned this from a minister, a man of God who was one of the people who had organized the protest.
While we spoke, the minister held a sign that said this: “Homofascists in Action: Equal Rights Ord.”
While we spoke – at that very same moment! – business leaders and pillars of the community and ordinary Houstonians of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds were inside City Hall, celebrating the actual passage of the Houston Equal Rights Ordinance. But I was not inside City Hall, celebrating. I was outside. I was trying to find some common ground with a man of God who could not see me as anything other than a queer and a sodomite and a pervert.
Why did I bother?
Why do I care?
Why should I be the Good Queer?
When I dream about my future, I dream of a life that is amazing and bizarre and completely unlike yours. I dream of pretzeling my brain into impossible shapes and going places you’re convinced do not exist. I dream of offending you.
Liking girls is the least offensive thing I dream about.
And so I am through with it. I am through with wasting my time. I am through debating with ministers about ambiguous passages in the Epistles of Paul. I am through with ministers entirely. I am through with trying to convince you that I am average. That I am normal. That I am just like you.
I am through being the Good Queer.
You should probably make sure your seatbelts are securely fastened. This could get pretty bumpy pretty quickly.
(to be continued…)
“After five years of folly and weakness, miscalled politeness, tact, discretion, care for the feelings of others, I am weary of it. … I want none of your faint approval or faint dispraise.” – Aleister Crowley