Author: phoyle

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.” He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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Point of View by Betsy

There are those who work in Washington, D.C. who call themselves patriots simply because they religiously wear an American Flag lapel pin. They claim to be working toward a better U.S.A. I honestly believe there are many politicians, leaders of our nation, who do not comprehend the difference between what is good for the nation as a whole and what is good for their funders, their interests, and their own self aggrandizement.

For example I have to challenge those who believe that it is better for our society as a whole to build an empire and to increase our influence in the world. To cite a current issue I have to challenge those who believe that we should be a continuing presence in Afghanistan for an indefinite period of time. President Obama would like to end the longest war in our history and bring the troops home. In a rare public appearance recently, George W. Bush was asked the question “Why should we keep troops in Afghanistan indefinitely?” His answer was “So that we can ensure that young Afghan girls receive an education.” I do believe that young Afghan girls should have the opportunity for an education; but not at the expense of educating our own young girls and boys.

While we debate whether or not we should be a presence in Afghanistan, the United States continues to fall behind in quality of education. Especially in math and science we are constantly reminded of how far down the list of countries ours is in performance in these subjects in our schools.

Case in point: I just heard this on the radio, Exxon Mobile is always searching for young engineers. Presently they are not hiring American graduates. They are looking in other countries particularly Russia. Hiring Russians? No wonder we have high unemployment. Our graduates apparently are not qualified for many jobs because of our failing educational system. Falling behind in education of our youngsters is a huge threat to the future of the U.S. in my opinion.

And catching up takes decades if not generations.

While we’re on the subject of falling behind consider the status of women in our country today. According to a recent study the United States ranks 23rd in the number of women in positions of leadership and authority in politics and business. Twenty third behind the Phillipines and Nicaragua. Much work needs to be done here at home before we address the ills of other countries. It is my point of view that leaders who are patriots recognize this and work to develop and implement policies to address the issues that directly relate to the well being of the whole nation.

This past Friday being the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, we have been reminded of his legacy and who he was as a man. My point of view is that John Kennedy was a true patriot. I believe that he tried to do what was best for the country, not what was best only for himself, his party, or his friends and associates. It happens that he lost his life because of what he believed was best for the country and because he was effective in implementing policies which were beneficial to all the people. He was the People’s President. He exemplified the all so familiar words “ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.”

In spite of the momentum of the civil rights movement at the time of his presidency, Kennedy took a heroic risk of his political career when he fought for equal rights. He fought the corporate culture and the military establishment. He was considered a socialist by some, certainly an over-regulator at best.

Kennedy was dedicated to bringing lasting peace to his country in spite of the pressure from the military industrial complex and the horrible war in Viet Nam. He was terrified of the threat of nuclear war and was known as the peace president. This in itself takes great courage. The political establishment usually does not embrace the idea of lasting peace. Peace is not profitable.

Had Kennedy survived and had a longer tenure as the leader of the free world, our country, perhaps the whole world, might look a lot different today. Now fifty years after he was shot there is doubt around his assassination and who did it. There is speculation that the murder was a conspiracy of the CIA or the FBI or, certain people in the pentagon, and certain business interests. I do not have a point of view about that. I suppose we, the public, may never know the truth. Perhaps the truth is as it stands as the accepted truth.

So what makes a patriot, anyway? I do not wish to imply that a public servant or any citizen must give his or her life to be considered a patriot. Certainly those who go off to war and pay the ultimate price, or simply risk life and limb–they have to be considered patriots. Maybe they go off to war because they have no choice; it is required of them. Does that mean that they or those who elect not to go to war because they choose not to kill–does that mean they are not patriots? No.

Had John Kennedy not been assassinated would he still be considered a great patriot? Certainly not by those who did and do not share his point of view about what is best for the country. But the reality is that he gave his life while serving his country and in the line of duty. This alone does not make him a patriot. His policies that were implemented were designed to benefit the entire country not just one faction or another.

He WAS a patriot insofar as he sacrificed personal benefit and personal gain for the sake of the entire nation.

That’s my point of view.

11/25/13

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Flying by Ray S

So what’s flying?
Well it’s a word for starts.
It’s what birds do and Icarus did.
Never fly close to the sun or temptation.

Some people do it in airplanes as transport.
Sort of like skipping on board in steerage class like the folks on the Lusitania; but now they only have three classes.

One can have worldwide war by flying.
The Walendos do it all the time; and so do the Cirque people.
There are two commonly used expletives that are flying all the time.

Didn’t you ever have fleets, as in flying of fancy?
Flying from reality, sorrow, lost love, and lovers’ unmet expectations.
Freedom when you fly out your worst nightmare, your dark little closet, ad infinitum. 

See how love flies at your heart and other vital body parts.
Sometimes I fly with you when your memory is close to me.
Those sweet moments we shared: our first Christmas, your tears when I showed you our first apartment in a basement with US Army surplus bunk beds, the two times we went to meet our social worker and collect our new family; first Jimmy and then Carolyn.

Flying can be the way we feel when the music of the symphony envelopes us.
Or the home team wins,
Or when a wrong or injustice has been righted.
Do you see that star flying across the midnight sky? I wonder if it is one of our loved ones. They say the soul is forever and when it wants to, it makes itself known to you.
When is the last time you flew into a rage?
Usually that amounts to a pointless solution and a lousy flight.

Flying is what I like to do on my magic carpet. Come on board with me, there’s plenty of room.
To quote Margo Channing of cinema fame: “Fasten your seat belts; it’s going to be a rough ride.”
But that’s what flying through our respective lives is all about.

—Happy Landing! 

9/30/2013

About the Author

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It Was Worth It by Nicholas

Now, I suppose, the pain will just go away. My back that has been actively aching for two weeks will quiet down. Now that I have humbled myself, or even humiliated myself, to go to the doctor, pay the copay, explain my little discomfiture, have him ask his questions, poke his pokes, squeeze here and squeeze there, and listen to my insides, all to tell me nothing seemed to be amiss. I know what’s going through his mind: why are you again bothering me with your imaginary complaints? He must think I’m just a whiner. It’s just one of those pains, after all.

I knew that. My diagnosis coincided exactly with the doctor’s. My aches were not threatening my life. My joints aren’t crumbling, my vital organs are not rotting with disease, and whatever needs to function, seems to be functioning. It’s not cancer, it’s not kidney stones, it’s not cirrhosis of the liver. I am not going to die—not soon and not from anything I presently know, anyway. But I had to hear it from the doctor because he’s the one, not me, who spent thousands of dollars and many years to get the MD. I guess it’s a matter of point of view. His point of view is what counted, not my aching back or side or whatever.

Most times that’s why I’ve gone to the doctor—to be told I am OK, never mind how shitty I’m feeling. Like I once told a friend who was under some kind of weather: you’re really doing better than you feel. It’s all a matter of point of view. I walked out of the office feeling much better than I did walking in. Maybe it’s the benefit of humility. It was worth the copay.

And, by the way, the mysterious, persistent ache seemed to later be cured by a prolonged soak in a hot pool at the Lake Steam Baths where the swirling jets of hot water gently pummeled my stiff muscles and ligaments or whatever into quietude. Next time I’ll just go there.

Point of View: Denver, 2013

About the Author

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.

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Holiday by Phillip Hoyle

Holiday: an old word arising from the elision of holy and day back in the years of Middle English. Often the word connotes in modern usage a break from the usual, its old religious origin often forgotten. Philosopher Josef Pieper’s essays on Festivity bases holidays as a break in schedule, a change from the norm. The European origin, and probably others, is located in setting aside time and activity in honor of the Gods and in some Christian groups to the Saints who afford access to God.

I can ask: What holy things are found in the American Christmas Holiday? Of course there is always the theme of deified incarnation, the reading of holy stories from a holy book, the cult of midnight mass, Christmas communion, and a vast array of holy songs sung. But I often attend a family Christmas Eve function of my partner’s clan in which not one word of religion or prayer is spoken. There is a tree in each of the houses through which the celebration circulates. There may be Christmas music on the stereo system, but movies watched are not religious in nature. No word of piety is breathed. If there is a religious symbol present, it is the family itself or a bauble on the tree.

My guess is that my partner’s father, the one who died over ten years ago, did lead a prayer before the meal. He was pious in some sense related to his Holiness Methodist upbringing and may have led a prayer with and for his family at such gatherings. When his voice ceased, no son or daughter took up the task.

Well, back to the philosopher Pieper. The clan does leave work and gather on such days as Christmas and Easer. Some of these folk do go to church—two Catholic families, one Lutheran, and one wife in another who is Pentecostal. Most grandkids and great grandkids seem to have no current religious connection. The concept of civil religion seems to have triumphed in my partner’s Scots-Irish derived clan. The day off is sacred in itself; family responsibility rules the gathering; and thankfully, individuals in the group generally like one another.

But this analysis begs the question of our storytelling group. I’m supposed to be telling my story. I do retain a meaningful relationship with holy notions and practices. I attend the annual confab as the gay partner of a son of the family.
They are kind of my family now—well, one of them—these past years.

But what about me, about my Christmas? I pulled away from the church, professionally; a dozen years ago I left the planning, programming, and pastoring aspects of church life. I attended a number of churches after that but didn’t find a home. I began to work on some Sundays. I ended up with gay partners who didn’t attend services or otherwise identify with a congregation.

So Christmas comes. Do I want any part of it? (I analyze so much I can’t stand it), but I do like the gatherings, the giving, and the great gobs of goodwill, to say nothing about the generous portions of food. I like the decorations. I like the specials on TV and radio. I like the music although I tire of its incessant use for sales promotion.

I like the music but don’t believe literally the mythology of births, Santas, elves, Saints, shepherds, kings, and angels. I loathe the content of the well-meant sentiment of putting Christ back into Christmas as if he were a commodity to be manipulated. I laugh at statuettes of ol’ Santa (that means holy) Clause kneeling before a manger that cradles a holy baby. I accept that such symbols may be meaningful, sacredly meaningful, to others, and I don’t sneer publicly. I simply groan inwardly and think how relieved I am that I don’t anymore work daily in the task of religious education!

I want to keep Christmas, so my Cratchet asks Morley for the day away from the office. I want to keep the day holy. It’s in the Big Ten to remember certain days to keep them holy. So I do keep a holiday in which to recall a divine idea that lets laborers and working animals rest as the old myth asserts of the creator who rested on the seventh day.

I try to relax, sing a song, laugh, tell a story, give gifts, receive gifts with gratitude, take stock of the human condition as I understand it, have sex, read a book, tell a joke, hug and kiss my partner’s relatives, and say “Merry Christmas” in a polite and warm manner. 

So on this day of days I say “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
Denver, 2010 (revised 2013)

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. He worked in churches for thirty years, and for fifteen years kept a massage practice that funded his art activities. He has retired and now focuses on creating beauty in art and writing. He volunteers at The Center leading “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

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Hospitality by Michael King

It seems that hospitality is more a commercial term than the cultured warmth and friendliness that one offers their guests. When I was young, maybe 8 or so, I imagined a world so very different than the one I felt I was stuck with. I wanted to live where there was charm, beauty, elegance, love, grace and happiness. I imagined that the surroundings should be comfortable yet exquisite. I had not been exposed to anything like what I pictured but felt that I didn’t belong where I was which had none of the qualities I felt should exist. I remember thinking that the little town of Nashville, Kansas was ugly and the people including my family were ignorant, crude and had no class. It seemed that somewhere there should be a place that was beautiful. When we moved to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico I had hopes that it might be more attractive and there the people would be more civilized; it wasn’t. I never felt comfortable or trusting in those days. Finally when I went to college I got a few glimpses of the environment that I craved. I also experienced times when those hosting an event created the warmth and comfort and elegance that I came to associate with my definition of hospitality.

Many times over the years I tried to create that feeling when guest attended the many parties we had. I loved having people come over and have an enjoyable time with food and conversation in an attractive and comfortable environment. I tried to make the setting as beautiful as possible. I wanted to make each event as much like my fantasy of my childhood. I wanted to create the hospitality that I felt should exist.

I have experienced on many occasions that kind of unpretentious and sincere hospitality and I have also been where it existed because people pay for it. I really enjoyed the dinners aboard cruise ships. A few times I have attended formal dress up events that were very well done where there was that genuine hospitable environment. Some included weddings, dining at upscale restaurants with friends, holiday parties and a few social events. More often it seems that I have had that feeling at casual parties, pot lucks and outings where either the hosts or the staff obviously enjoys making the situation smooth, comfortable and pleasant.

Finally after almost a lifetime I live in the manner that I so craved when I was little and I am around people who are warm and sincere as well as relaxed being who they are and are at home both giving and receiving hospitality. I experience an acceptance and feel more at home in my relatively newer gay environment than I did in the straight world. My world has more beauty and elegance, warmth and friendliness, happiness and joy, love and kindness, peace and comfort and hospitality than I could have imagined when I was 8 or so or even at 68 or so, And if I won the lottery I could throw a few parties where I could pay professionals to help create some of my fantasies and I could travel where hospitality is included in the package, etc., etc., etc. In the meantime I’m just happy to be living the life I have where everything is perfect.

July 28, 2013

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities: “Telling your Story,” “Men’s Coffee,” and the “Open Art Studio.” I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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The Essence of GLBTQ by Merlyn

Michael and I get tested every six months at the STD clinic at 17th and Pearl St. We went on Friday after he got of work at The Center’s front desk. While we were waiting for our turn I was watching two young male couples.

I realized how much different their lives are today compared to what my life was like when I was at their age.

Both couples are used to being who and what they are sexually around anyone and they don’t care what anyone thinks.

The youngest couple were in their late teens and looked like the punks you see on the street, both of them were around 5ft 9, 120 lbs, dirty, mated hair, piercings all over their faces and torn clothes. They were making a statement that they were gay both bottoms and they were really nervous about the test results. They were both OK and were very happy when they got the results.

The older couple were mid 20s, 5′ 11″ 190 lbs and in real good shape. They were dressed in comfortable clothes that did not make any kind of statement about who or what they are sexually. But the way acted around each other you could tell they are lovers that have been together a long time and probably act that way anytime they are together.

I can only imagine what it would be like to have the freedom to live your life in a world where you never have to hide anything about yourself and no one cares if you are having sex with a man this week or had sex with a woman last week.

I believe in a generation or two from now most of the labels we have today will only be talked about in the history books.

The world is changing and as the world changes more and more people will not allow anyone to judge or make them feel guilty about who they are.

Denver, July 15, 2013

About the Author

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day.

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A Letter to My Younger Self by Louis

Uncle Louis went to visit his brother, Arthur, for Christmas in California, and stayed for a couple of weeks visiting. One evening, UL and nephew Louis (NL) started chewing the fat, so to speak.

Louis Jr. has his own opinions. He is 12 years old, is somewhat athletic and is above average in intelligence but not a genius. He had a long conversation with his gay uncle (moi), and politics, religion, adjusting to a world that is not particularly friendly to gay people. Also discussed were politics, religion and the meaning of following one’s career, etc.
UL: So what do you in the athletics department, Louis?
NL: Well, Mommy and Daddy enrolled me in the local Little League. I played in a couple of baseball games. I told Mommy and Daddy that I was uncomfortable competing to try and beat the other team. Being on a team seemed to me like being in a “herd.” So they let me off the hook.
UL: Your Mommy and Daddy and I know you are gay, you know you are gay; how many problems does that cause you?
NL: Everybody who cares knows I am gay, but no one makes an issue of it. If a bully tries to push me around, my friends intervene and stop the bully. I might add that I do enjoy playing volley ball. I like hitting the ball and shouting and hollering, but which team actually “wins” the game is sort of vague. I like that. There aren’t any grown-ups around keeping track who won what.
UL: I can’t tell you what to read and what to think, but I would like to know what you’ve read, already.
NL: Well, I do like to read, especially magazines about hiking and sport cars. I know there is such a thing as “classical literature”. I tried reading Dickens, I didn’t get it. I did enjoy reading Penrod by Booth Tarkington and Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer because they were stories about kids my own age.
UL: Maybe when you are a little older you might want to read Moby Dick and poetry by Emily Dickinson. Sometimes when you read books, there are different levels of meaning. Picking up on the deeper meanings makes the reading more enjoyable.
NL: Yes, maybe one day.
UL: Do you pick sides when you watch TV and see our two political parties arguing.
NL: Well, Daddy tells me he used to be a Republican. I do not completely understand what they are fighting about; I know I think they quarrel too much.
UL: What does Dad think about you getting into the Army or Air Force or Navy one of these days?
NL: I think, uh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a pacifist. We have a debating club at school, and some of the kids say the wars we engage in all the time are dumb. Still, I like the idea of the discipline becoming maybe a State Trooper or maybe the Coast Guard.
UL: One of these days, you are probably going to choose a boy friend to live with on a permanent basis. Some of our moral leaders think you should treat your mate like a sub-human.
NL: Actually, I noticed Mommy and Daddy don’t treat each other that way, and actually I already have a sort of boy friend. Sometimes we go to the movies together. His name is Bobby, and I don’t think he is a sub-human. He’s two years older than I am.
UL: Of course, you have to watch out. Your present or future boyfriend might treat you like a sub-human.
NL: Well, if that happens, I guess I will look elsewhere for a mate.
UL: In the past, many preachers used to rant and rave against gay people in church. Do you go to church?
NL: Mommy and Daddy take me to church about once a month. To be frank, I don’t get it. The preacher tells us we need a moral compass, a light-house to guide us. What does that mean?
UL: I think it means sometimes you get into a predicament and you don’t know which way to turn so you trust what your moral teachings indicate. In reality, though, you have to make your own decisions. Most people think that the Republican Party, especially today’s Republican Party, only protect the interests of wealthy people, and that the Democratic Party, does pretty much the same thing but does care more about middle class people and the poor. Are you going to be a Democrat or Republican?
NL: My older Brother, Wally, just started college and he joined the campus chapter of the Young Republicans. He said he is going to try and encourage the Republican Party to be more middle-of-the-road. Mommy is a Democrat but lately she is unsure they are the good guys. I think there is a possibility of a third choice. One day when I know more, I can make up my mind.
UL: What happens when your government gets enthusiastic about some war, but you have your doubts? I think you should ask yourself some skeptical questions like who really benefits from this war? The military contractors? The arms manufacturers? What if you think the American public does not really derive any benefit from the war?
NL: Well, I’m a kid. I guess I’ll think about that later.
UL: The last big important question. What is your attitude toward poor people, toward homeless people, people who do not have enough to eat.
NL: Mommy used to volunteer at a soup kitchen on the other side of town. Over there people live in run-down shanties, and some of them do not smell so good, Mommy says.
She was able to buy good food in bulk, at whole – sale prices so the soup kitchen could afford to feed a hundred people or so. She said she felt good about it. I care about poor people. One day I probably will get involved in feed the hungry campaigns. I do see pictures of starving children in Africa and India. It’s sad. And then of course there are the sick and dying in the hospitals. Something to think about.
After I returned home to New York, about a month later, I received a letter from Louis’ mother in which she said that, in Louis’ school, she met with Louis’ guidance counselor who told her that he thought that Louis was “mal-adjusted”. She asked me my opinion. I told her that I had a long talk with nephew Louis, and au contraire I thought he was very well-adjusted. He has no unwholesome prejudices about himself or others. He just feels uncomfortable in a competitive sports environment, but he makes good moral judgments when he needs to. Nephew Louis likes school, likes to read so he should do well academically.

10-01-2013

About the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.

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A Visiting Doctor by Gillian

Yes, I’m going back to the days when rather than you visiting the doctor, he, or very occasionally, she, came to visit you. Doctors of those days tend to suffer from a certain type-casting. In the old Western movies they are usually gruff, monosyllabic, and the town doctor frequently doubles as the town drunk. In British period pieces, the village doctor tends to be gruff, monosyllabic, usually Scottish, and enjoying a dram, or two, or three, of an evening beside the smoky fire.
My grandmother had fallen into something between a deep sleep and a coma, so my dad walked to the nearest pub where he borrowed the phone to call Dr. MacElroy. Now those of you who have paid attention have met my paternal grandmother before, and will remember that there was no love lost between my grandmother and my mother and me, or even my father, her own son. She showed none of us any affection. All I ever learned from her, as the dog and cat learned even faster than I did, was to stay a walking cane’s length away or I would get a whack from that cane apparently just on principle; I didn’t actually have to do anything to deserve it.

Enter the gruff, monosyllabic and very Scottish Dr. MacElroy, breezing up in his brand-new Austin-Healey Sprite, a zippy little sports car from which my father had great difficulty diverting his hungry gaze. The good doctor shuffled his way up the dark staircase to Grandma’s bedroom, and shortly shuffled his way back down again.

“Aye, she’s deeead.”

All three of us started in surprise and involuntarily glanced up at the ceiling through which sounds somewhere between labored breathing and snores issued.

Doctor MacElroy harrumphed into his scraggly moustache.
“ No’ now!” He glared at us irritably. “But she’ll no’ make it tae the kirk o’ Sunday.”

Seeing that I, in the few years I had so far inhabited this world, had never known my grandmother to go to church on Sunday or any other day, I didn’t find this assertion earth-shaking.

The next day he appeared again, skidding to a halt in a spray of gravel, his brisk driving the very antithesis of his slow, shuffling gait, not to mention his slow, shuffling personality. Again he huffed and puffed his way upstairs and down, only to declare,

“Aye, it’s o’er.”

Not one of us was fooled into looking up towards the stentorian snoring this time, and he departed in another shower of gravel.

The next day when he arrived, all was silent above the living room.

“Aye,” he muttered on descending the stairs, and helped himself to a seat at the dining table in order to complete the death certificate. Over three days and three visits he had spoken a grand total of twenty words. I guess stereotypes are born and thrive simply because so many people really fit them, and Dr. MacElroy certainly fit the bill. I can never know whether he sipped a few shots of single malt by the fire on a winter’s evening, but as perfect as he was in every other way, how could he not?

Denver, 2013

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

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The Wisdom of GLBT Identity by Betsy

Here are thoughts of a fourteen year old high school girl in 1950 or so.

Mind you, this conversation with herself never took place on a conscious level. I know, however it took place unconsciously and remained festering in her psyche into adulthood.

“I know I’m supposed to get excited about being with boys but I just can’t help myself. I really want to be with girls especially Ann. Talk about getting excited. My palms get sweaty every time she comes my way. My heart is pounding in my chest. I want to make an impression on her. What I really want is to go out with her. What I really, really want is to go steady with her. She thinks I just want to be friends, and we are friends. But I want so much more. I want to be closer to her than friends.

“Yet I know this is a fantasy. Worse, I can’t tell my parents about my feelings, my true feelings. I know from things I have heard that they would probably not take me seriously, and dismiss the subject, and tell me never to mention it again. They would not only dismiss the subject, they would dismiss me. If I persisted in telling them who I really am, they would probably punish me. They might even reject me. They mean well, but they want me to pretend to be someone I am not. I know that if I do not do just that I will be punished or even rejected. That hurts a lot.

“Telling my friends is just as scary. It is not an option, just as telling my parents is not an option. I won’t tell my friends because I want to be accepted. I want to go to parties and dances. Being an outcast would be unbearable for me, even if it means pretending to have feelings I don’t have.”

This monologue never took place in my conscious mind. I probably did not have enough experience in life to have the insight to know that I was choosing to pretend to be someone I was not. But I did have enough knowledge to choose a path that would ensure my acceptance which apparently was more important to me then than expressing my true nature.

A wise person is a person who has both knowledge and experience AND the ability to apply those qualities in daily life. Lacking the experience ingredient is likely the reason I did not come out until I was nearly fifty years old. As I was growing up and as a young adult, I had the knowledge that to identify as homosexual was unacceptable for me. That is IDENTIFYING as homosexual was not an option. It was years later that it became clear to me that to BE homosexual is not in the realm of choices one makes. To behave or not to behave as such is the choice.

As I grew older I learned from experience that to not identify as that which I am, can be devastating, depressing in the medical sense of the word, ie, causing clinical depression, or a myriad of other health problems to say nothing of the behavioral problems and addictions rampant in our community brought on by denying one’s true identity. By mid-life I had the knowledge and the experience to know that to remain in that state of denial of myself would be devastating to my well being.

The wisdom of identifying as lesbian became abundantly clear.

Today there are still many parents who do not accept their gay children as well as others who are not parents who are not accepting of LGBTs in society. But many parents and others who have increased their knowledge and have opened their eyes are accepting–far more than 60 years ago.

One reason for the great strides that have been made towards this acceptance is that many LGBT people have had the courage and the wisdom to not pretend, and to choose to come out of the closet and live out their true identity publicly and without apology or shame. This attitude has not come easily for many. And for some the acceptance of our own identity has come later in life. But then, unlike our sexual orientation, we are not born with knowledge and we are not born with experience. Wisdom must be acquired over time. Is that not what makes wisdom so valuable?

Denver, 2012

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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A Letter to My Younger Self by Will Stanton

I have pondered this, on and off, for a long time. If I miraculously could go back in time, start over, but know what I know now, would it be so different? Of course, such speculation is a moot point, for I doubt that there is much chance of my having that opportunity. But, the main question is, “How much difference to my life would knowing more make, versus how dominant would my innate nature be? Which would hold sway?”

If I sequestered myself from the intruding world, thought long and hard, and wrote a series of letters to myself at various early ages, letters containing every scrap of learned wisdom from my years of experience, would that information prompt me to make significantly different decisions and choices in my childhood? Would I more fully comprehend much earlier how challenging the real word is and how well one must be prepared to live successfully in it?

Would I have chosen a totally different course for my life, picked early-on a future profession, studied much harder? Would I have realized how essential it is to master good people-skills so that I could understand and relate better to my family, my friends, school-mates, teachers, and my work-colleagues?

In addition, would I have realized that childhood is a brief period when one truly can be a child, to play, to have fun? It seems in retrospect that I was expected to be the “young gentleman,” to behave, not to explore or experiment too much. I sometimes feel, as apparently a few friends of mine feel, that somehow I missed that period of being a child.

Then, there is my own nature. How much of that was in-born, and how much of that was learned from early childhood? I seem to have been hesitant, lacking spontaneity. I was not blindly self-confident, a risk-taker. I was more of the observer than the doer. I thought extensively about what I observed, wondering, reconsidering.

I was a bit of a dreamer, too. I think part of that came from my sense of incompleteness with my family. I began to dream of being someone else, being somewhere else, being part of a truly supportive and loving family. Despite my having had many varied and pleasant opportunities not always available to others, they were of relatively lesser importance. I do not recall ever having had truly practical guidance or advice from anyone, not from my parents, not from teachers or school counselors, not from caring mentors during my adult life. Many highly successful people have stated that an essential contributing factor in their success was having had a mentor who could help teach them and show the way to success. I never had that.

For some time now, I have sensed that what was lacking in my life has weighed heavily upon me. It has been like heavy baggage, dragged throughout my life and misdirecting my energies away from pursuing practical goals that could have enhanced my life.

Perhaps, in theory, if I could provide informative letters to myself that I could read at various points in my early life, I could, in a sense, be my own mentor. Maybe that would make a worthwhile difference in my life. On the other hand, would my dreamy, artistic nature and my natural aversion to taking risks have negated much of that advantage? It is an interesting question but not worth devoting much time to. My formative years were a very long time ago.

© 1 October 2013

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.