Why I Am an LGBTQ Advocate

Growing up in a small Southern town during the 1960s and 1970s, I heard some pretty awful and embarrassing comments.  Schools in my county didn't integrate until I was in the third grade, and a sign of being in the comparatively enlightened class was using "nigra."  One way to get a good deal off a salesman was to "Jew him down," particularly if you were shopping at the "Jew store."  My mother forbade me to watch the television program The Odd Couple because it was about "those people."

People of color and Jewish people could take or leave the way people talked around them; we weren't changing, at least not yet.  Whatever LGBTQ people were around could hide in plain sight, however, adopting the mannerisms and slang of the straight majority. 

Of course, there were a couple of exceptions.  I can remember two men, in particular, who were so obviously and publicly gay that no one could conceive a world where they'd be anything other than "queers."  One of them cross dressed and shopped around town in a blouse and painted fingernails.  Just mentioning either one's name was a virtually guaranteed laugh line.

As I reflect upon those days and stories involving the local gays, CB radios, and truck drivers, I realize those must have been two tough men.  If I were going to pick a fight with someone, it wouldn't be a queen.  A pair of size 10 pumps upside one's head could do real damage.

When I was in college and graduate school in the 1980s, multicultural education, at least in the South, was not yet a cliched list of platitudes and bizarre conversations about empathizing with people who want to blow up people like me (white, Christian, American, etc.).  We actually had serious discussions about using basic human decency, staying away from hurtful stereotypes, and not assuming everybody else believed or worshiped as the majority did. 

Such courtesy did not always extend to LGBTQ folks, however.  As a young TA and instructor, I joined in smirks when an effeminate male left the room.  I snickered about the potential sexuality of Homer Barron, a character who "liked men" in William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily."  I declared myself liberal on social matters -- pro-choice and opposed to teacher-led school prayers, for instance -- while clinging to and all too frequently voicing homophobia.

Around 1993, I experienced one of a few epiphanies, or "aha" moments, in my life.  I was attending a conference on diversity, where I participated in a session about attitudes.  The facilitator asked questions, and if we strongly agreed, we walked to one side of the room, if we strongly disagreed to the other.  Often, our group found ourselves in clusters, some on either side and some gathered near the center.

Then came the question, "A truly multicultural class reflects respect for others' sexual orientations."  I paused for a moment.  I thought of my "I have gay friends, but" past.  It wasn't right.  My attitude and actions throughout my adult life just weren't consistent with kindness or fairness.  I determinedly walked to the "Strongly Agree" side of the room.

I wish I could add a "happily ever after" postscript, but neither life nor LGBTQ issues in America are that simple.  Not until after the year 2000 and political fights over same-sex marriage did I finally decide that I cared deeply LGBTQ students and civil rights.  In my defense, I can offer only that I've come a long way since 1970, baby.

How far?  I'm really, deeply proud of one example.  Last week, my high school freshman daughter decided to attend the Gay-Straight Alliance, a group only in its third year at her high school.  At the meeting, she overhead another student speak into his cell phone, "Don't pick me up at the usual time today, Mom.  I have a chess club meeting."  My daughter was puzzled.  Why, she wondered, would someone have to lie to his mother about something as innocent as a GSA meeting?  I breathed a sigh and muttered a silent "Thank you, Lord" when I learned of this story.

I have heard dreamers speak aloud of a time when skin color will be as meaningless in our culture as eye color.  I wonder if sexual orientation will ever become as insignificant as whether a person loves jazz and is unmoved by rap or vice versa.  I hope such a day comes.

For now, I have a voice, a vote, and this little blog.  As a father and a teacher, I will try to follow Gandhi's advice and be the change I want to see.  That is why I am an LGBTQ advocate.