Tag: Coming Out

Posted on

The Great State of Gay by Gillian

A Limerick

A lightning bolt hit me one day,
It left me with nothing to say.
You’re gay, don’t you know? How can you be so slow?
So I checked out the gay state of play.

Caught up on a runaway train,
I hurtled through darkness and rain.
I had to come out, not a whisper, a SHOUT.
I could not, ever, go back again.

I came out to them, young and old
I don’t know what made me so bold
I stood tall and proud and I shouted out loud.
The spy coming in from the cold.

This action might not have been wise,
I took it against some advice
But there’s nowhere to run, and it’s all been such fun,
Just go with the roll of the dice.

So here I am every Monday*
Caught up in the gay state of play,
I live a great life – even took me a wife
Here in the great State of Gay.

*Monday is the day we have our storytelling group.

The Wisdom of GLBT Identity    11/26/2012

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.

Posted on

Breaking into Gay Culture by Phillip Hoyle

I didn’t break into Gay Culture but rather carefully walked in prepared for my entrance by my good friend Ted. Over many years he had coached me, revealed the ins and outs of much of the culture by taking me to gay bars, introducing me to gay people, teaching me the language both spoken and unspoken, introducing me to gay novels, showing me more of his life than I really asked to see, and talking endlessly with me about gay experience. His tutoring took on a different seriousness when in my mid-thirties I told him I’d made it with another man, a friend of mine he’d met years before. From that point on, Ted simply assumed I was gay whatever non-gay decisions I made. His assumption led him to open even more of himself to me rather than shield me from realities that would certainly become important should I leave my marriage and go gay full time! Ted was my effective educator.

About two months after my wife and I separated I made my entry into a world I had only studied. Three blocks from my apartment I entered a bar named The New Age Revolution, a bar I had seen while walking with my wife and had wondered if it could be gay. Why else would it have such a name in Tulsa, Oklahoma? I had thought about when I would be ready to go alone to such a place, thought about when I’d go there as a gay man. Would I be courageous enough to do so? Of course, I would. After all, I didn’t separate from a twenty-nine-year-long, perfectly fine marriage to an understanding and lively woman whom I adored without intending to live a fully open gay life. I had already begun preparing to leave my profession of thirty-two years, one in which I realized I would not be able to live openly gay. So I glanced in the mirror, took off my tie, straightened my clothes, walked out the apartment, descended sixteen floors in the elevator, waved at the security guard, exited the building, and walked those three blocks down to the bar. I went early, way too early according to Ted’s instruction. He taught me never to show up before ten. I’m sure I was there at 9:00. I suppose it was a weeknight; I had to work the next day. The place was nearly deserted. There was music. A few people stood around talking to one another. I went up to the bartender, said “Hi,” and ordered a beer; I don’t recall what kind of beer but it was in a bottle. While I slowly sipped at my drink, I looked around at the decorations. This place just had to be gay. I couldn’t imagine any other saloon that would display a decorated dildo on the wall behind the bar. I was pretty sure I had made it to the right place.

This was not only the first time I had been alone in a gay bar; I’m sure it was the first time I’d been alone in any bar. I grew up in dry state with a prohibitionist mother and had married a tea-totaller. I had drunk beers on occasion, but had never gone to a bar before I was in my thirties and living away from Kansas. I had rarely even paid for a drink. I thought about a gay friend of mine who said he sometimes went to gay bars simply for the spiritual aspect of it, as a point of identity, participation, and presence. I stood in the bar that night not talking to anyone, thinking about how being there certainly was a kind of spiritual experience, one of great importance to me. I was finally present publicaly as a gay man. There I was beginning my future life as openly gay.

I drank another beer. Finally I nodded to the bartender, left a generous tip (changes must be commemorated with great generosity), and exited the door. I walked thoughtfully up the hill all the time watching peripherally for anyone that might have seen me leave the place; after all I was in Oklahoma. I entered the apartment building and returned to my home. I suspect I played music and messed around with some art project. I thought about making gay saints for my next series of mixed media works. Would I become one I wondered?

That evening I walked into a bar but wasn’t breaking into gay culture. Actually I was breaking out of several important, long-standing straight relationships. My entering gay culture passed as quietly as that first night in a gay bar by myself, and I’ve never regretted that short walk some fifteen years ago.

Denver, 2012

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, giving massages, and socializing. His massage practice funds his other activities that keep him busy with groups of writers and artists, and folk with pains. Following thirty-two years in church work, he now focuses on creating beauty and ministering to the clients in his practice. He volunteers at The Center leading “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

Posted on

Breaking into Gay Culture by Betsy

Not only was I unaware of how or where to break into the gay culture, I was oblivious of the fact that there was a unique culture belonging to the gay community. Moreover, I was unaware that this is something I needed to do for myself when I came out.

One of my very first experiences breaking into the lesbian community was actually at my place of employment. I was working at a non-profit agency at the time and having seen some of the local lesbian literature around I learned that there existed in Denver a Women’s Outdoor Club. I understood that this was a lesbian club and felt it was a group that would appeal to me and be appropriate for me to belong to. I understood that I belonged in such a group in spite of the fact that I was still married, living with my husband, still one child at home, and was definitely “feeling” my way forward into unfamiliar territory (hoping I was moving forward and not backward, but not sure at this point).

I recognized the name of one of the members of the Women’s Outdoor Club as one of agency’s volunteers. I had seen her many times in the office. She knew I was married at the time. The next time I saw her I said to her, “I think I would like to join the Women’s Outdoor Club.”

In a hushed tone she replied, “It IS for lesbians.”

I said, “Yes, I know, and I qualify.”

“Oh,” she said. Come along on our next trip. We’re hiking up in Rocky Mountain National Park.”

The time came for the hike. My husband delivered me to the car pooling meeting place and after the event picked me up. I often think about that day. He knew what I was doing and with whom. There were no secrets. Everything was out in the open. I think he was hoping I would get a taste of the new culture and find that I didn’t fit or didn’t like it. His hopes did not come to fruition. I do not and at the time did not think of this experience as “breaking into” a culture or a group. The reality was that I was doing an activity (hiking) with a number of female nature-loving hikers. This was really nothing terribly new. The difference was there were no men in the group–husbands or otherwise, nor were we a group of women hiking together while chatting about our respective husbands or male companions.

Another introduction to the culture was a visit to the Three Sisters Bar. The place seemed rather “seedy” to me–dark and almost sinister. I had no idea who the women were who were there or what they looked like. It was far too dark to see anything. Seeing the women together was quite exciting actually. I cannot remember how I got there or with whom either. Just that it was the place to go at night.

During my coming out process I learned about a group for married women or women who had been married who were coming out or considering coming out, were gay, or bisexual or thought they were gay. The group was organized and facilitated by a woman in the community who had travelled the same route more or less; that is, she, too, had been married, raised a family, and came out later in life. Perfect, I thought. That’s for me. And it was just what I needed.

One of the meetings included a tour of the then existing women’s bars. We started with our usual support group discussion and following that left the meeting place to visit the bars. This was extremely helpful to me as I had no prior knowledge of any of these places except the Sisters. It turns out there were three or four bars and they were all quite enjoyable when one was comfortably entrenched in a group and not scared to death. I will always be grateful to my mentor and leader for her support group.

Prior to that experience and meeting many other women of my age group, I seriously thought I was unique in that I was married, had been married for a long time, and now, later in life was coming out, changing my life-style completely. But I found that to be untrue as there were many other women just like me.

In those days the Center sponsored a support group for women coming out. All extremely helpful and made the coming out process much less difficult.

I suspect the gay culture is more discernible, more definable, and takes on more importance for those individuals, gay men or lesbians, who are seeking partners, either consciously or unconsciously.

I have to say that after 30 years or so in the lesbian community and almost 30 years in a stable same-sex relationship, I do not feel that there is an identifiable lesbian culture per se. Maybe among some women there is, but to me it feels more like a women’s culture, free from the constraints, real or imagined, imposed by the presence of straight men. There are plenty of straight women who partake of activities for women alone–free of the influence, direction, or guidance of the straight men to whom they are attached. By the same token by sharing a common sexual identity most lesbians tend to relate to each other more comfortably than with straight women perhaps. In my view this does not reflect a lesbian culture, rather women’s culture. Some of my best friends are straight women. Our bonding is more around our common values and our womanhood. I believe this is true in the lesbian community as well.

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.

Posted on

Closet Case by Gillian

What’s the difference between a Skoda car and a Jehovah’s Witness?
You can close the door on a Jehovah’s Witness.

Doors are what closets and closet cases are all about. And one thing you can say in defense of the closet, you have closed the door on yourself; you have the key in your pocket. It’s up to you when and if that door opens. There are other doors that close from the outside, and someone out there has the key.

A very closeted friend warned me, when I announced my plan to exit the closet,
“Think about it very carefully. Remember, you can’t go back. Once you come out, you are out for ever, like it or not, for good or ill.”
And of course she was right. That closet door, like the Skoda door, is either stuck wide open, exposing your sins to the world, or rusted shut since you de-closeted. You can’t go back in, to that dark, safe, if miserable, place you once inhabited.

Slamming that closet door firmly shut as I exited, in fact did me very little harm and a great deal of good, but that is not the story for everyone. Brave GLBT people lose families, jobs, friends; practically all of life as they had known it, and are still willing to pay that price for freedom from the closet and all it implies.

Betsy and I recently watched the movie, “Chely Wright: Wish Me Away.” This woman risked all in leaving the closet, and it cost her much of her very successful country music career and some of her family and friends, but it also offered huge compensations. None of the negatives were a shock; she knew what she was risking but she had to do what she had to do: a compunction most of us know only too well.
So, for most of us, no regrets about leaving that cold dark closet. For most of us in this time and place, that is.

I spent some months in Hungary at the time they were attempting to transition from Communism to Capitalism (yes, yes, I know, I should say to Democracy!)
World War Two is very in your face throughout Europe and I felt compelled to visit Auschwitz in nearby Poland.
I gazed at the photographs. Those pink triangles; those flesh free faces with fear filled eyes.
What the hell did I know of fear?

Those faces knew fear. Real fear.
And they could not return to the closet.
“Oh but it was just a phase, I’m OK now!” wouldn’t work any better for a homosexual than for a Jew.
“Well I thought I was Jewish for a while, but …. “
No. No escape.
They died for being what they were. At what stage of their journeys to Hell did they regret being “out?” For certain by the time they staggered under that Arbeit Macht Frei sign, but by then of course it was far too late. The closet option was long gone.

Alan Turing was responsible for breaking the German Enigma code during World War Two and is widely considered to be the father of computer science and artificial intelligence. He was a brilliant mathematician, but he was also gay, and homosexual activity was still illegal in postwar Britain. In 1952 he was arrested, and chose the offered alternative to a prison sentence, that of “chemical castration.” This meant taking large doses of estrogen, which messed with not only his body, but also his brilliant mind, and in 1954 he committed suicide.
At that time I still lived in England; in 1954 I was twelve years old.
No wonder I was so deep in the closet that my sexual orientation was a secret even from me.
In 2009, Prime Minister Gordon Brown made a public apology on behalf of the British government, for the “appalling way” in which Turing was treated.

Alas, not all governments have become so enlightened over time. In many countries homosexuality still results in a prison sentence, or indeed a death sentence as in Nigeria, Somalia, Mauritania, Sudan, the Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Yemen, and parts of Indonesia

So as we live with pride, with our heads held high, as indeed we should, let us spare a moment for all those who were, in the past, or are, in the present, not granted such privileges.
Yes we are brave and yes we are strong. But things come in different degrees.

If we faced the horrors that so many of us have done, and still do, I, for one, fear I would be a confirmed closet case.

Gillian November 2012

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.

Posted on

Mirror Image by Donny Kay

When I look in the
mirror at this time in my life I recognize someone that I’ve not acknowledged
throughout most of my life experience. Yes the image in the mirror reflects
someone who is maturing in age with lines surrounding the eyes and furrows
across the receding hairline depicting the experiences of a long and arduous
journey. The weathered skin, giving evidence to the effects of the brutal
Colorado sun.  The hair has turned white. 

And yet as I look at my image I see someone
vibrant and alive with desire, passion and energy expressed in the radiance of
the eyes and smile, as well as the demeanor that is reflected.  It’s no
longer difficult to view my image without seeing qualities that I’ve refused to
consider in times past.  I gaze with honor and respect for my
courageousness to not have given up on this journey.  It’s easy to extend
love and acceptance to the one looking me squarely in the eye.  I find me
desirable, not in a conceited way but in a way that allows me to wink as I
glimpse at the image, welcoming the one who knows me inside out, as I step into
the reflection that is me.

The one who gazes back at me in the reflection
is the one who has journeyed this entire life experience with me. The one in
the mirrors reflection is the one who knows me better than anyone else. 
It’s this one, the one in the mirror that has been present in each moment of
life’s experiences, like a truly devoted and loving friend.  It is the one
in the mirror that some spiritual teachers refer to as the Beloved, who has always
loved me.  It is the one in the reflection that I have rejected time and
again and yet, he is always present, matching my gaze.

The images I was more customary to witnessing in
the reflection in the mirror were not positive.  I would wonder how anyone
could ever see me as handsome or remotely desirable.  I saw myself as a
phony and imposter.  There were times when I would look in the mirror and
loathe the reflection that stared back.  

Six years ago I stood in front of the mirror in
a locked bathroom. The shower was running, the faucets at the sink had been
turned on along with the fan that whirred as the steam was drawn from the
enclosed space. As the sound of the toilet marked its return from a recent
flush, I whispered to the one in the mirror, “I think I’m gay”. 

Tears formed in the eyes of the one looking
back. I think I even detected an affirming wink. For the first time ever there
was a sense of safety and acceptance as our eyes exchanged views. We looked at
one another for a long time, afraid to break the intimate exchange that was
ours alone to experience. If ever I was to experience a homecoming, it was in
the moment of that exchange. 

Six years ago, as this confidence was shared
with the Beloved, this life journey changed course allowing me to finally love
again the one who has always loved me. And in the experience of love,
forgiveness and compassion take back my life. 

What was required was that I be willing to
get rid of the life that I had planned so as to have the life that was waiting
for me.

© 1 April 2013

About the Author



Donny Kaye-Is a native born Denverite. 
He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always
knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male.  In recent years he has confronted the
pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality
and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life.  “I never forgot for a minute that I was what
my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my
loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center
has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his
childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of
his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of
his memory.  Within the past two years he
has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three
children, their partners and countless extended family and friends.  Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected
with his family.  He lives in the Capitol
Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has
resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life
experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community. 

Posted on

Mayan Pottery by Will Stanton

Dear Son,

I hope this email gets to you right away.  We don’t know much about the jungles of South America and what kind of communication set-up you might have at this moment.

Your father and I are so proud of you and your recent success.  We’ve read all about it in the newspapers, and it even has been on the TV news this week.  

I have to admit that, when you graduated from high school and told us that you wanted to study anthropology and specialize in Mayan culture, we had our doubts about your earning a living.  I guess your years of study have paid off, now that you have discovered a Mayan temple that has alluded explorers for so long.  They were showing on TV some of the Mayan pottery that you found.

I can’t say that we know much about Mayan pottery; but when we heard the news story, I searched on Google and found some pictures of it.  It’s pretty, but I am not sure what all those designs mean.  The newscast said that you have found a lot of it in very good condition and are having it transported back to the museum for study.

We truly admire how you have grown up and become so determined and hard-working.  I have to say that, ever since you were a little boy, your father and I worried about you.  You didn’t seem to be like other boys.  You didn’t play sports with the other boys, and you avoided the rough-housing and wrestling we saw with the neighborhood boys.  And, you never seemed interested in going to school dances or dating.  So, we are impressed that you have been able to put up with all the physical hardship hiking through those deep jungles and how you have kept up your spirits in your long search.

I guess our taking you to church every Sunday, having you enroll in Sunday school, and our reading the Bible together every evening did what we hoped and prayed for, making you a strong, God-fearing man.  Your father and I were so thrilled that you said that you owe it all to Jesus, that you have put your complete trust in Him, that He is with you at all times, day and night.  We have told all our friends, and your father stood up in church and told all the congregation about it.  We are so proud of you.  We eagerly are looking forward to your return next month.  I would like to have a party and invite all of your friends.  I’m sure they all would love to talk with you.

Sincerely,
Your adoring parents.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Yes, I did receive your email.  Everything has gone well, and I am planning to return next month.  I’ll be glad to see you again, but you don’t need to go to all the trouble of organizing any parties.  By the way, his name is pronounced “Hay-soos,” and he has been my guide all these months.  Yes, I owe him a lot.  He has been with me constantly, day and night, and we are deeply in love.  When we return to the States, we plan to get married; and you, of course, are invited to the wedding.

Best wishes,
Your loving son, Tim.

© 15 December 2012




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.

Posted on

Culture Shock by Donny Kaye

For all those years that I existed in
the closet I had an impression of what homosexual culture was.  My narrow
perspective was formed by the very same institutions and people that had
created in me the sense that who I was and the sexual energy that stirred in me
was wrong, something to be changed,  Something that even warranted a death
sentence.

I was confident that I would be regarded as dark and sinful and lacking in
moral integrity. I learned from the culture in which I existed there had to be
a sense of moral depravity on the part of those who engaged in homosexual
behavior.   

The culture taught that homosexuals were degenerates and even a threat to the
sanctity of American family values.  Certain politicians had identified
for the American public that homosexuals, especially those who asked for their
rights to marry were no different than terrorists.

Homosexual acts and those who committed them had always been described in less
than flattering terms. After all, gay men were the equivalent of dog fuckers!
Jokes abounded about the likes of homosexuals.  Homosexuals were seen as a threat to all
things decent and good.  Sodomites. Psychiatric nut cases.  Child
molesters. In the minds of some, homosexuals were regarded as “The Revolution”.

As a man of a certain sexual persuasion, I existed in the closet with greater
intensity, extremely fearful of the culture that I would enter if I were ever
courageous enough to step through the door that I had locked and sealed so many
years ago.  Even though I knew who I was, or at least of the sexual energy
that stirred in me, I felt the guilt and the shame from the cultural
understandings of homosexuality by association. 

The shock of the homosexual culture as described by the predominant culture was
so intense, disgusting and terrifying that the thought I could ever cross the
threshold of the doorway, kept me from the very essence of who I am. To enter
such a culture seemed an impossibility. 

At this time in my life the true shock for me that is experienced is in the
disgust I hold for those who perpetuate the lies, judgments and condemnation of
this culture, my culture. 

What I found, once I found agreement
within me to cross the closet threshold and enter the culture that I had feared
for so long; my judgments, my concerns and my fears were immediately disproven.
I read a quote of Dan Savage’s which
begins to address the experiences I am having as I coexist in this family I am
coming to know as my family of choice. 
“…what goes down under my roof is a social conservative’s wet
dream.” 
Within the container of my family of
choice I am in the experience of profound compassion, the expression of deep
caring and consideration, and a refreshing occurrence of people existing with
one another in truth. Yes, there are exceptions but isn’t that true
generally?  There seems to be an
increased level consciousness that I experience as I interact with my newest
family members.  I am realizing that for
the most part they act with integrity, openness and a deep sense of personal
responsibility.  They exist with dreams
and a propensity toward creating peace and living consciously. 
My Friday night experiences on the
dance floor at Charlie’s attest to the capacity of diverse people to coexist
with one another in a spirit of celebration and lightness.  Men dance with men, women with women in some
instances.  And at the same time there
are hetero couples moving about the floor, alongside men following the lead of
their female partners.  Some of the
individuals on the floor are dressed in drag, either feminine or
masculine.  Manly men, gorgeous women,
dykes, butch, fem, it doesn’t seem to matter. 
Old coexist with young.  Black
with white, all the demographics I was taught to fear move in unison to the
music, most significantly with engaging smiles, occasional winks and
always  a parting hug as the music stops
and couples move from the dance floor back into the whole of human kind. 
This is my culture.  It reflects consciousness and allowance for
each to be precisely themselves.  It is
sensible, and reflects hope and desire to live peacefully with the rights of
individuals, assured and respected. It is a culture that reflects true family
values. 

About the Author 


Donny Kaye-Is a native born Denverite. He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male. In recent years he has confronted the pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life. “I never forgot for a minute that I was what my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of his memory. Within the past two years he has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three children, their partners and countless extended family and friends. Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected with his family. He lives in the Capitol Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community.

    

Posted on

Life After Truth by Carlos

I have been outed!

My partner, Ron, and I solidified our relationship on May 1st, entering into a civil union within hours after Colorado enacted them. In preparation for the historical event, we had our tuxedos dry cleaned, purchased new wristwatches to signal a new dawning, and planned a private celebration. I found myself strangely calm, that is until hours before the ceremony when I couldn’t cinch my cummerbund or tie my shoelaces. Suddenly, I understood why some people metamorphose into terrors just before their big day. It was becoming real. After all, I was committing to one man for a continued lifetime of discoveries…in real time.

Upon been ushered into the Wellington Webb Building, I inexplicably unleashed all fears, all doubts, all anxieties, and I became child-like with anticipation. Dignitaries congratulated the couples; families and supporters whooped it up; even tired agents at the Clerk and Recorder’s Office maintained genuine smiles of inclusiveness, conveying this was our day to declare that we in the LGBT community were taking another step closer toward full-fledged citizenship. I realized this was a victory in spite of it not offering full marriage rights.

Being so dapper, and hopefully so cute, every reporter wanted to photograph and interview us. Though we have never been in the closet, admittedly neither have we worn our relationship on our sleeves. That morning, we kicked the closet door open and agreed to every photograph, every interview. Only one reporter was ingenuous, an interviewer who forgot to mention she represented a conservative religious publication. Initially, her questions were innocent enough, perhaps to lull us into complacency. However, my suspicions were aroused when she queried us about whether the legalization of civil unions could in time lead to marital contracts by blood relatives or parties of three or more, arguments that have been used by homophobic institutions to prevent our forming legal families. I caught a whiff of the dankness from the rock from which she had crawled. Upon learning of the organization she represented, I unleashed a diatribe of impunities, informing her in no uncertain terms that as a former believer, I had long ago rejected its patriarchal, sanctimonious, we-are-the-chosen-of-God attitudes. To her credit she stayed in place as I defined the difference between those of us who embrace our spirituality and those of her belief who cater to their religiosity. I informed her that my unconditionally-loving God, was present and, no doubt, was at that moment dancing an Irish jig to a Mexican marimba band while singing in key of his sons and daughters whom He loved and validated and in whom He was well-pleased. I felt victorious as she slithered away, although I doubt that anything within her doxology had changed. After all, oppressors never see themselves in need of transformation, never realizing that bigotry wrapped in prayer is still bigotry. It is for us, the former oppressed, to raise our voices and our fists and repudiate their canons. Only when they feel the ire and the tension of our convictions, do they relinquish their self-appointed power…and then only grudgingly.

When Ron and I were finally ushered into the magistrate’s arena, my stalwart, stoic bravado betrayed me as tears bubbled up in the corner of my eyes, and we solemnly repeated our vows and exchanged rings. It was finally real; it was now official. Reflecting over the last few days, I feel different. For some reason that I am only now beginning to understand, I feel so much closer to my beloved. Our union bonded us as though we were enveloped in a lotus of love.

The next morning I was awakened by the ringing of the phone. Groggily, I answered. Friends were calling to inform us that our pictures of the night before were posted on the internet. My initial reaction was one of nothing-good-can-come-from-this, much like Howard Brackett’s reaction when outed in the romantic comedy In and Out. Apparently, people we have influenced throughout the years were heralding our exodus from behind the closet door. We had been fully outed, no ifs, ands or buts. Therefore, we accepted the inevitable, recognizing that in spite of ourselves a new chapter was opening up in our lives. There was little to do except be grateful for an act of synchronicity. Anonymity was no longer an option. Thus, we accepted our outing with courage, knowing honesty and love can never be wrong.

A new sun has truly arisen, and something good has emerged from it. Therefore, let us live our lives as though we have been outed. Let us finally be free, free, free. Let the echoes resonate in every nook and cranny as we slam the closet door behind us and build a new foundation for a brave new world.

© 20 May 2013

About the Author



Cervantes wrote, “I know who I am and who I may choose to be.” In spite of my constant quest to live up to this proposition, I often falter. I am a man who has been defined as sensitive, intuitive, and altruistic, but I have also been defined as being too shy, too retrospective, too pragmatic. Something I know to be true. I am a survivor, a contradictory balance of a realist and a dreamer, and on occasions, quite charming. Nevertheless, I often ask Spirit to keep His arms around my shoulder and His hand over my mouth. My heroes range from Henry David Thoreau to Sheldon Cooper, and I always have time to watch Big Bang Theory or Under the Tuscan Sun. I am a pragmatic romantic and a consummate lover of ideas and words, nature and time. My beloved husband and our three rambunctious cocker spaniels are the souls that populate my heart. I could spend the rest of my life restoring our Victorian home, planting tomatoes, and lying under coconut palms on tropical sands. I believe in Spirit, and have zero tolerance for irresponsibility, victim’s mentalities, political and religious orthodoxy, and intentional cruelty. I am always on the look-out for friends, people who find that life just doesn’t get any better than breaking bread together and finding humor in the world around us.


Posted on

The Facts by Donny Kaye

The fact is that I am a man of a certain sexual persuasion. As a man of a certain sexual persuasion I am finding a new, more relaxed countenance in which to experience the challenges as well as joys of life’s twists and turns. In this place of honesty, I find myself in a continuing revelation of happiness as I experience all that is my life without feelings of reservation about just being me. The fact is that I’ve not always experienced my life from this perspective. There had always been a reservation about me that if anyone in my life knew that I liked men in the way that I do, I would be judged and excluded from relationships as primary as my parents, siblings and immediate family, not to mention my own children, former life partner and friends who had become part of the fabric of my life, over sixty plus years of existence on the planet. The fact is that I worked very hard to create an illusion about my identity that even had me fooled for much of my life. That expectation started for me in the earliest years of my life when I was declared “such a good little boy” by my parents and others immediately engaged with me in life. The fact is that “when striving to be the best little boy,” even in the body of a grown man, there was no spaciousness for someone who preferred men. This meant that I spent a lot of my energy loathing the very essence of me. The fact is that by creating an illusion about my very nature I have consequently created a situation where those who were close to me are still searching to define their relationship with me now. What I have realized is that there is a disconnection that has occurred with others as I have worked to connect with myself. The fact is My life belongs to me. Those close to me are fortunate that I am sharing it with them. If I love them I cannot share a lie. If they are to love me, I will let them love me. The fact is this has resulted in losing the love of a lot of people, at least temporarily. But if they loved a character that I was playing for them, if they loved someone who wasn’t me, then that love was already dead. The fact is there are people in the world who will love me for who I truly am. The experience I am realizing now, having come out, is that happiness is more complete when not holding reservation about being who I am. The fact is I had money, careers, degrees, vacations, every material thing! Nothing ever made me as deeply happy as “coming out”!

About the Author

Donny Kaye-Is a native born Denverite. He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male. In recent years he has confronted the pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life. “I never forgot for a minute that I was what my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of his memory. Within the past two years he has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three children, their partners and countless extended family and friends. Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected with his family. He lives in the Capitol Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community.