A letter to Gay Family Values

This is a response to a post about transgendered rights on a friend's blog that I recommend you check out.

Bryan and Jay! Long time, no post.

I'm loving this topic. It is something that has been bothering my quite a bit over the past couple weeks - ever since a Transgendered Rights bill was brought up in the House of Commons and then shot down because of the Senate and our current election (it only passed the House of Commons because of our minority government, not a single Conservative MP voted in favour of it).

Recently a read a Canadian novel called Annabel by Kathleen Winter, which is about growing up transgendered in rural Newfoundland. I thought it was a great novel, and I found myself relating to it far more than I ever anticipated - not only in the parent figures who often reminded me of my parents, but also in how the main character so often feels alone and trapped in a body that doesn't make sense to them.

I'm not trans.

But I am gay. And oftentimes I realize that, even as a 'relatively masculine' gay, I play with that gender variant line a lot more than I ever could've imagined I would. And that is important to me. For the past couple weeks I have been toying around the philosophical idea of being transgendered myself - or perceiving myself as such - because I am not exclusively male in a traditional sense. And I am not a woman. I sit on the fractured earth between the two continents of our cultural ideas, and sit there with millions of others who can't identify as one or the other.

Today I was filling out a job application. It had me check a box for my gender. Male or female. I checked male - but only as a formality. Inside I knew that it wasn't me in that word, and I wished I could've drawn a line between the two and place myself on that spectrum.

Some people encounter that moment every day. And moment of their existence.

I would highly recommend Annabel - if you can't get your hands on a copy in the States, let me know and I will ship one to you.

- Neal

So a gay man and a priest walk into the bar...

This title has nothing to do with this story. Sorry if you came here looking for a story because you won't find it.

Instead I've a much less interesting story for you.

A friend of mine was talking to me today. We sing in choir together - we've known each other for quite a few years. She found out last year I was gay; I had my suspicions of her being a lesbian confirmed at the same time. We have been good friends since - beforehand being connected by nothing but our mutual love of singing with large groups of people.

We had a rehearsal for a performance not too long ago. A technical rehearsal actually; our performance involved a lot of changing lighting, projections, and much more - everything was very studiously considered and synchronized by the director. And she had an image.

In the consummate love song, towards the end, the director asked us to hold our partner's hand or do something else to communicate a sense of attachment and friendship. I was ok with it. So was my friend. I held my partner's hand - a stunning young alto that I am sure has been admired by many people from afar for her amazing black hair - and my friend held her partner's hand - some young man that I can only recall for occasionally failing to sing the correct tone.

Being in a choir, there was not quite enough men for all the women to be partnered to one. (what I am not telling you here is that we accidentally had a couple sopranos get through the auditions who could neither sight-read music with pitch or with rhythm, and so we had to search for more sopranos to try and smother them, and this almost destroyed the balance of the ensemble as a result.) So some women were partnered with women.

One, a friend of my friend, refused to 'hold hands with a woman'. I remember overhearing this and being a little bit annoyed - as I was holding hands with a woman myself. A stranger at that. And regardless of her beauty, I had no interest in her whatsoever. The friend of the friend did not provide an explanation, but the song we were singing was clearly written with romantic love in mind. What was communicated was that a woman cannot being romantically involved with a woman, or, at the very least, a woman who is not interested in being romantically involved with a woman should not be forced to act as though there is some sort of chemistry between her and another woman.

This bothered me for a moment or two, but I let it pass. She is young, and from a small town in B.C. I figured she would grow up in her years at university.

My friend did not let it slide. She told me how she raised it with her friend in a conversation, as something that really bothered her. That she was angry at her friend for her comment, her insensitivity to the fact that all of the homosexuals and other-sexuals in the room were actually not having their romantic relationships recognized at all but were in fact being asked (once again! oh scourge of existence!) to act straight. She was angry.

My friend then told me how her friend did not feel she had done anything wrong, and that she was confused by how anybody could possibly think she had. This is a friend (of a friend) that knew of my friend's sexuality, and that was supportive, and that celebrated my friend's recent first move into the world of romance with her.

And they have not spoken since. Certainly there are many rational explanations for why they have not spoken for the last couple weeks - it is finals period, which is busy for students. My friend's friend has been moving to a new apartment, and is prepping to do a quick visit home to B.C. before her job starts up. My friend just started a new job herself, and has had a series of concerts and associated rehearsals ever since (the joy of being a musician during Holy Week).

But she wanted my advice anyways.


And I told her this (not a direct quote):

"Don't ever get mad at your friends for what appears to be insensitivity. This existence is newer for them than it is for you. The language we expect of them is confusing. They will make mistakes all the time - we make mistakes all the time. Your allies are your core people, and they will suck some times. Be patient with them, just as they have been with you."

Thankfully my friend is quite introspective. I know people who would never accept a response of that nature.

Don't become hetero-phobic and get angry at people when they are making mistakes about gender and romance in a new world of developing sexual equality. This is hard stuff for society to accept, even harder for them to change consciously. Let them make mistakes, and don't correct them in anger.

"Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, while underneath the sex is the very opposite of what it is above."

- Virginia Woolf


I should be promoting this only in my other blog, but I have started reading a piece of Canadian literature about transgendered individuals in rural Newfoundland. It is called Annabel, it is by Kathleen Winter, and it is beautiful.

This quote from Virginia Woolf is provided before the prelude.


I wonder if we will ever see the day when we all recognize our own transgendered-ness.

I support my gay son because he is my child.

The Fondation Emergence released a campaign in the March of 2011 to encourage immigrant families in Quebec to support their children if they are gay (which is something that many immigrant parents have never had to consider, as many come from countries where the social stigma against differing sexualities is painfully oppressive). I don't need to tell any of you, I am sure, about the enormous benefits of having supportive parents for gay children - the reduction it plays in our potential to commit suicide, or the potential to contract STIs and HIV/AIDS. So when I seen this kind of promotion, directed at parents of gay individuals, I think 'What a beautiful thing.'

Inspires me. And makes me wish we had stuff like this happening in my hometown.

Which would not be difficult at all.

A word that matters.

Dearest KindaGayBlog,

I like your blog. I like your videos. I like your perspective on life, and on how we make relationships, and on how important those relationships are. I think you are a smart man, who has started to make his life into what he wants it to be.

But I think you are wrong about this word.

But first, I like the basis of what you are saying. I like that you want us to rise above this word as a community, so that we don't allow this word to have power over us. You are right in pointing out that the only reason that we recognize this term as a curse is because we allow it to be one - not because it inherently is.

But I would argue that the vast majority of gay people, particularly those of us who are young and grew up with it in the school yard - hidden somewhere in between the sandbox, monkey bars, and swing set; stuck in the unheard lexicon of childhood, used when we are free from the supervision of teachers and adults and other sources of authority. "You throw like a girl." "Your mom!". "Fag!"

- We don't allow the term to bother us as we encounter it in our day-to-day existence. Even though now it is generally heard under breath (unless your first name is Kobe and your last name is Bryant), we manage to get over it. We are used to it. And we've found the strength to get past it - we've accepted who we are.

We have come out.

Perhaps, KindaGayBlog, this is my eternal educator coming out (won't somebody please think of the kids!), but I remember this term used in its virile sense as a closeted young teen - not as an out-of-the-closet and outed young adult. I can remember hearing it, not as an under-the-breath, slightly ashamed grasp at freedom of speech, but as an insult. And it was for these insults that I stayed in the closet.

And hated myself.

Because I knew that there was something wrong with me. Not because of the term (it is not inherently bad), but because of the tone of it. And as an isolated young man who was interested in other young men, I was not able to get over it. I couldn't imagine ever being able to get over it.

And, because I am only a young gay man, both in the sense of my actual age and in the sense of how long it is since I have come out, I cannot help to remember the pain that being closeted caused me - the fear, isolation, hatred, self-hatred, the false sense of love and acceptance. And I think that, if anything, my concern as a gay man should not be for those who are 'out' but for those who are not yet 'out' - who still hate themselves in ways that I can only just barely remember, and who hear the term 'faggot' and hope that nobody knows that this is who they are (but also who they aren't).

We should be concerned about love. Always concerned about love. And the term 'faggot' prevents us from being able to love ourselves.

And it is for this reason that we should fight to have it removed from popular usage. Yes - making it a big deal makes it clear to those that hate that it is a term they can use and use with success. But it has also forced society to consider it in a new light. People no longer scream out the term 'faggot'; they say it under their breath. Society chides those who do. Even if your name is Kobe and Bryant.

And this is a good thing.

I hope that my opinion does not discourage you from what you do, because I do enjoy your videos.

- Neal Adolph

Answering questions in a context where the question can't be true.

This past weekend was my one year, Drag Show Anniversary. And I celebrated by going to another Drag Show! Nothing quite like watching people bend gender barriers, celebrating courage, and pride, and Lady Gaga.

I had several 'straight' friends join me for their first Drag Shows. Just as I mentioned one year ago on this blog, it was a cultural experience. One thing they noted was the diversity of people in attendance.

The other thing they noticed was the breaking of gender barriers.

Every new performance on stage was accompanied by the somewhat-but-not-entirely hushed query: "So, girl or guy?". I answered the questions, though as the night went on I did so with increased hesitation.

Because the point of the night was for that question not to be asked, but to be comfortable in the ambiguity of gender that exists for people all the time - all physical, sexual, and psychological. Answering the question made it seem as though the only way to determine gender is by looking at somebody's junk, even though the other two forms of gender that I mention (and I am sure the dozen other forms that I am not yet familiar with) also play an important role in determining how we identify.

So, the 'man' dressed in a shimmering golden mini-dress, is he a boy or girl? Or both, or neither, or the thing in the middle that isn't really allowed to have a name?

And, how does that reflect on me? I am a boy - I have testicles, and a scrotum, and I like playing with them. But I also have somewhat feminine tendencies at times - and these become more and more pronounced the more comfortable I become with myself. Am I a boy? Yes, and no. And I am not a girl, but I can be. And I am not that thing in the middle that doesn't have a name - though I probably could be.

In answering the queries as I did, I missed an opportunity to outline the mysteries and complexity of gender, not only for transgendered people, or for drag queens, but in how they affect my everyday existence. And I sold out the soul of the show - the soul of pride, courage, mystery, and Lady Gaga.

In this season of disgruntling politics (when I am forced to realize that, once again my vote will not be of any importance to the government), I am forced to cheer up by the weather.

Spring has arrived.

In the past week, the glacier that has dominated my lawn for the past 5 months has receded. I can now see my flower bed.

And what colour is that I see?

Green.

There is green there. And it isn't from bulbs, but from root-based perennials.

That I planted last year. And that are growing back. Is it wrong of me to be joyful?

I am now planning what I will be planting in my vegetable garden for the last time; what biodegradable foods I will be giving my perennials for the last time; how I will help my parents turn their yards into gold.

I will miss having a yard in Vancouver, I am certain of that. But I will be able to find an urban garden to volunteer in, I am sure.

A message from Charlotte Bronte

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeat it--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase the gilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.