Larry Benjamin's Blog: Larry Benjamin's blog - This Writer's Life - Posts Tagged "sally-ride"
Where Are Our Gay Heroes?
After the passing of Sally Ride last week, I read an article in which the writer stated Sally Ride will be a hero to LGBT youth who can now point to her and say there’s another one of us in history. The article left me sad. Sad because Dr. Ride, for whatever reason, did not come out publicly until after her death, and thus lost the opportunity to be a positive influence on a generation of youth at a time when we had even less LGBT role models than we have now. Sad because, to me, remaining in the closet sends a bad message to our LGBT youth: I am afraid. I am ashamed. And you should be, too.
Undeniably Dr. Ride is a role model, a hero even, for young women everywhere and certainly she inspired a generation to “reach for the stars.” But what about our LGBT youth? To my mind she is no more heroic than the star athlete who comes out after he has left the game. Or Anderson Cooper—where is the heroism there? He has a bazillion dollars and a huge fan base. Even if CNN were inclined to axe him for his rather belated coming out, they wouldn’t, not with that large a fan base, not with that much revenue at stake.
To my mind a hero is a person—man or woman, young or old—who risks a great deal, if not everything, for a cause he or she believes in or to takes a course of action he or she deems necessary; often the hero gains a whole lot more than he risked losing through that act of heroism.
I try to temper my feelings with the fact that Dr. Ride had a right to privacy, that her security clearance could have been revoked had she come out publically, that she could have been fired from NASA (currently employers in 29 states can fire a person because he or she is gay). And I get that. I do. But I still don’t think she’s a gay hero.
So who do I consider a gay hero? The out gay men and women who live out loud. The out gay men and women who do not shout yes, I’m, gay from the covers of a glossy weekly but instead tell their story quietly by living out, living authentically. Every. Single. Day. And the 22 openly gay athletes at the 2012 London Olympics. And Frank Ocean. And a seven year old boy who already identifies as gay, who I’ve read of but will probably never meet. And his parents, who champion and celebrate his right to be himself, openly, freely, whoever that self turns out to be. These are my heroes.
People often ask me about my own coming out and in truth, I never came out because I was never “in.” I’ve always been who I am, have always lived my truth. Why did I choose to always be out? Because I don’t know how to be any other way. Is it sometimes harder? Sometimes, probably. But it’s probably harder to pretend to be someone, something I am not. And I feel I have a responsibility to the generation of LGBT youth who come after me, a responsibility to help them not feel they need to blend, to be invisible to make their way in the world. And I get to feel good when I see the look of relief on the fearful, unhappy face of the 12 year old gay boy in the supermarket whose face lights up when he realizes that Stanley and I are shopping together, that a ring flashes dull gold in the light as our hands reach in and out of our shared shopping cart, that we look happy, that no one is chasing us down the aisles calling us names.
When I was growing up, there were no gay role models, no heroes for us. There were those who were suspect, who were whispered about, but no one who stood up and said, “Yes. I am.” Fortunately I discovered gay novels. They helped me feel that I wasn’t alone, that I would one day find my tribe. Perhaps that’s why I write gay fiction—to help others learn that they are not alone, that their tribe is out there waiting to embrace them.
When I was writing What Binds Us, I struggled with the need for the characters to come out to their parents—Dondi come out boldly, spectacularly but he could afford to, he had a trust fund backing him up and was fiercely independent to begin with. Matthew was already alienated and desperately lonely so he was willing to risk losing his family in order to love and be loved. To me it is Thomas who is the true hero because he as has so much more to lose than either Dondi or Matthew. As he says: “Growing up an only child, without cousins or close friends, my parents were everything to me. Having seen how Mrs. Whyte reacted to her gay sons, I worried that they would behave similarly…Matthew reached over and squeezed my knee but said nothing. I looked at his profile as he stared at the road ahead, knew suddenly that if tomorrow the whole world around me fell away and only he remained, I’d still have everything.”
I don’t pretend to be in a position to tell anyone when, or even if they should come out—that is, after all, an intensely personal decision—but for me not being out wasn’t an option. As I told one closeted boyfriend-to-be, “I am no one’s dirty little secret. I am no one’s shame.”
I am my own hero.
Undeniably Dr. Ride is a role model, a hero even, for young women everywhere and certainly she inspired a generation to “reach for the stars.” But what about our LGBT youth? To my mind she is no more heroic than the star athlete who comes out after he has left the game. Or Anderson Cooper—where is the heroism there? He has a bazillion dollars and a huge fan base. Even if CNN were inclined to axe him for his rather belated coming out, they wouldn’t, not with that large a fan base, not with that much revenue at stake.
To my mind a hero is a person—man or woman, young or old—who risks a great deal, if not everything, for a cause he or she believes in or to takes a course of action he or she deems necessary; often the hero gains a whole lot more than he risked losing through that act of heroism.
I try to temper my feelings with the fact that Dr. Ride had a right to privacy, that her security clearance could have been revoked had she come out publically, that she could have been fired from NASA (currently employers in 29 states can fire a person because he or she is gay). And I get that. I do. But I still don’t think she’s a gay hero.
So who do I consider a gay hero? The out gay men and women who live out loud. The out gay men and women who do not shout yes, I’m, gay from the covers of a glossy weekly but instead tell their story quietly by living out, living authentically. Every. Single. Day. And the 22 openly gay athletes at the 2012 London Olympics. And Frank Ocean. And a seven year old boy who already identifies as gay, who I’ve read of but will probably never meet. And his parents, who champion and celebrate his right to be himself, openly, freely, whoever that self turns out to be. These are my heroes.
People often ask me about my own coming out and in truth, I never came out because I was never “in.” I’ve always been who I am, have always lived my truth. Why did I choose to always be out? Because I don’t know how to be any other way. Is it sometimes harder? Sometimes, probably. But it’s probably harder to pretend to be someone, something I am not. And I feel I have a responsibility to the generation of LGBT youth who come after me, a responsibility to help them not feel they need to blend, to be invisible to make their way in the world. And I get to feel good when I see the look of relief on the fearful, unhappy face of the 12 year old gay boy in the supermarket whose face lights up when he realizes that Stanley and I are shopping together, that a ring flashes dull gold in the light as our hands reach in and out of our shared shopping cart, that we look happy, that no one is chasing us down the aisles calling us names.
When I was growing up, there were no gay role models, no heroes for us. There were those who were suspect, who were whispered about, but no one who stood up and said, “Yes. I am.” Fortunately I discovered gay novels. They helped me feel that I wasn’t alone, that I would one day find my tribe. Perhaps that’s why I write gay fiction—to help others learn that they are not alone, that their tribe is out there waiting to embrace them.
When I was writing What Binds Us, I struggled with the need for the characters to come out to their parents—Dondi come out boldly, spectacularly but he could afford to, he had a trust fund backing him up and was fiercely independent to begin with. Matthew was already alienated and desperately lonely so he was willing to risk losing his family in order to love and be loved. To me it is Thomas who is the true hero because he as has so much more to lose than either Dondi or Matthew. As he says: “Growing up an only child, without cousins or close friends, my parents were everything to me. Having seen how Mrs. Whyte reacted to her gay sons, I worried that they would behave similarly…Matthew reached over and squeezed my knee but said nothing. I looked at his profile as he stared at the road ahead, knew suddenly that if tomorrow the whole world around me fell away and only he remained, I’d still have everything.”
I don’t pretend to be in a position to tell anyone when, or even if they should come out—that is, after all, an intensely personal decision—but for me not being out wasn’t an option. As I told one closeted boyfriend-to-be, “I am no one’s dirty little secret. I am no one’s shame.”
I am my own hero.
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