All Boys Aren't Blue

by George M. Johnson

That the most beautiful of joys—the birth of a child—would be met with a denial of your very existence? Oh, but be clear. You were meant to be here.

Ain’t no American history without Black history.

Ain’t no America without queer people.

I’ve come to realize that when you’re making history, you’re rarely doing so because you are choosing to make it.

But my beloved child, you are the light.

When our gender is assigned at birth, we are also assigned responsibilities to grow and maneuver through life based on the simple checking off of those boxes.

I did what I always did with most things I didn’t want to deal with—buried it.

My second identity—queer—is a journey that I will be on until the day I die, and I honestly believe that.

This book is proof positive that you don’t need to go to the graveyard to find us.

Many of us are still here. Still living and waiting for our stories to be told—to tell them ourselves. We are the living that have always been here but have been erased. We are the sons and brothers, daughters and sisters, and others that never get a chance to see ourselves nor to raise our voices to ears that need to hear them.

When you are a child that is different, there always seems to be a “something.” You can’t switch, you can’t say that, you can’t act this way. There is always a something that must be erased—and with it, a piece of you. The fear of being that vulnerable again outweighs the happiness that comes with being who you are, and so you agree to erase that something.

Children remember. As much as we hold on to the good moments, we also keep the bad ones.

But later that night, I realized the only place that was truly safe for me would be in my imagination.

My ability to be a kid came at the expense of my gender identity.

We often talk about bullies in school, but rarely when they are in our own families. He could be my biggest protector and my worst enemy.

Homophobia denies queer people happiness.

Navigating in a space that questions your humanity isn’t really living at all. It’s existing. We all deserve more than just the ability to exist.

It was the moment I realized that safety trumped satisfaction, even as a kid.

American history is truly the greatest fable ever written.

Symbolism gives folks hope. But I’ve come to learn that symbolism is a threat to actual change—it’s a chance for those in power to say, “Look how far you have come” rather than admitting, “Look how long we’ve stopped you from getting here.”

Knowledge is truly your sharpest weapon in a world hell-bent on telling you stories that are simply not true.

As much as I wanted to lead an openly gay life, I also didn’t want to be a disappointment.

Notice my confusion in how strong I was in some moments and how weak I was in others, because that is what coming out truly is. It is not a final thing. It’s something that is ever occurring. You are always having to come out somewhere.

Queer folks often live a second adolescence throughout much of their adult lives because of this deprivation.