Tag: Gail Klock

Posted on

Connections, by Gail Klock

This is an extremely
difficult topic for me to write about because it reaches into the deepest
places of pain within my psyche. There have been many times in my life when I
have felt extremely isolated, lacking a connection to anyone. I was the little
child in kindergarten who chose to work on jigsaw puzzles during chose time
because it was the only activity which involved no interaction with others, all
the time hearing the other kids laughing and playing and wanting to be with
them. In college, when on a camping trip with a class, I laid awake all night
feeling totally isolated with others all around me, I felt like I was losing my
mind. It was one of the longest nights in my life. The terror I was feeling was
due to the fact I felt isolated, but I was too afraid to admit it. In both
instances, and others like them, if I had only been able to reach out and say
help me, I would have been okay. But I had learned to lock my fears away, I
knew they were not to be hung out like dirty laundry. I came from a very stoic
German family which mistakenly didn’t ask for help, even when it was needed.
There was instead a false sense of pride in handling, or appearing to handle,
all life’s trauma’s by ourselves. The reality was we all needed help,
especially when Karl died at the age of two. Of course back in the fifties this
type of help was not advocated or available. My dad’s yelling at my mom not to
cry on the way to Karl’s funeral was not because he was a heartless bastard, it
was because he was such a sensitive man, who loved this little child so much
and his wife and his other children and he couldn’t deal with his own pain,
much less take on and help the rest of us deal with ours, which he felt was his
responsibility because he was the man of the house. These feelings never left
him, they choked him until the day he died. When he was in hospice, a few weeks
after my mother had unexpectedly died, he lamented to me he felt so guilty and
helpless because he wasn’t there for her when she passed away. He was referring
to the evening of the night when she died in her sleep. She had collapsed in
the bathroom and he didn’t have the physical strength to help her up so he had
to call the neighbors to help him get her up and to bed. He didn’t realize he
had been there for her; he had nearly died the day after Christmas, just a
month before, but after a week stay in the hospital he unexpectedly made it
home. She had told all of us that she was not going to let my dad die first,
she couldn’t handle the death of another person she loved so much. She prayed
nightly, and I think quit taking her heart meds, for this to be the case. She
died precisely as she prayed for, in her own bed, in her own home, next to her
husband. My dad was there for her, by making the call for help to the
neighbors, he provided the means to her prayers.
It was as this four year
old child that I began to surmise that when in pain you don’t cry and you don’t
ask for help. This was solidified further by my mother’s inability to provide
emotional support to me or my brother due to her own debilitating grief. This
was the point in my life when I began to experience a lack of connection with
others. This was triggered once again when I was in college and became aware of
my homosexuality. I instinctively knew, as did my girlfriend, not to reveal our
relationship to anyone else. And in the hiding of who I was I was once again
isolated from society, I could sense the darkness beginning to overtake me but
I didn’t want to ask for help and I doubted there was any to be found. After
all I had learned in my psychology class that homosexuality was a mental
illness and I couldn’t face the label of being mentally ill. This was further
exacerbated by the fact my grandmother had been in the state mental hospital in
Pueblo and no one in the family understood why. None of us ever knew the
diagnoses – but I did know from my visits to the hospital with my mom that I
didn’t want to be sent there. It was very frightening to me as a child to
realize my grandmother was locked up. So to avoid a similar fate, I ironically
locked myself up, tighter and tighter. The longer I stayed in the closet the
more I felt disconnected from mainstream society.
When I experience this
feeling of disconnect I am unable to feel, it is as though I am locked away
from everything, including myself. It is sometimes difficult to access the key
which frees me from my emotional shackles and allows me to deal with the
feelings which I am blocking. I have learned through years of therapy that I
need to let myself feel the underlying feelings, which are either sadness or
fear. It has taken me years to learn this and also to learn these negative
feelings are not permanent and that it is normal to experience them.  I know this and most of the time I can do it,
but I wish I could do it all the time and more quickly.
I have also learned that
life presents us with lots of self-fulfilling moments, that is to say if I go
into a situation expecting it to be enjoyable and thinking people will like me
and want to connect with me, they do. And likewise if I anticipate the opposite
I generally leave thinking I had been right, I was going to have an unenjoyable
time, I wasn’t going to connect with others, and I didn’t. It’s that old bit of
seeing a group of people laughing and looking at you. You might think, “They’re
all looking at me and think I look fat in my outfit”, or you might think “They
look like a fun group of people who like to laugh, I think I’ll join them.”
Sunday mornings for the
past twelve years, minus a few months here and there, and Monday afternoons for
the past two and a half years, have been an immensely important source of
connection for me. I know when I walk into the Golden Recreation Center on Sundays
and the Center on Monday afternoons I will feel connected with whomever I
encounter there, be it a woman with a basketball or a fellow storyteller with a
story. Feeling a sense of connection and the inherent sense of acceptance by my
friends is what makes life worth living.
© 17 April 2017 
About
the Author 
I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents.
Upon completion of high school, I attended Colorado State University majoring
in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison,
Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend
graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached
basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake
Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and
Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long-term partner and I had two daughters
through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by
coaching, I resigned from this position and got my elementary education
certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County
Schools for ten years. As a retiree, I enjoy helping take care of my
granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the
storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT
organizations.
As a retiree, I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter,
playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling
group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Setting Up House, by Gail Klock

This is my third and final attempt at writing this piece on
“Setting up House.” I struggled with it twice yesterday, both attempts were
wiped out with the delete key. I woke up this morning asking myself why it was
so hard, what was the struggle all about. As all of you in this room know
getting words down on paper requires an act of God, well not quite, but it does
kind of require a coming to terms with yourself. My first two attempts
sufficiently covered the superficial aspects of setting up house, all the
details were there, but none of the heart. I am attempting to reach into my
soul and rectify it with my brain to get to the emotions of this piece.
“Setting up house” represents to me the essence of life, the
determining of how I am going to live my life. Am I going to set up house by
myself and find contentment in the doing or am I going to attempt to set up
house with another, and perhaps realize my hopes and dreams. When I’m honest
with myself I know I desire the latter as I am a social person and I really
enjoy being in a loving relationship. I had a couple of dreams lately which
relate to this topic. In the first one I was trying to get out of Golden on a
highway, but I didn’t know which road to take. The one I was on led to a
flyover which was very high and narrow with an arc so great at the top I
couldn’t see where it was leading. I wasn’t sure if it was the right road to be
on, but I knew if I could focus on the road and not on the frightening aspects
of the path itself I would be okay. I awoke at this point and began to analyze
this dream before the details of it escaped me. I knew why I was leaving
Golden, it was where my former partner and I had lived with our family, and our
family as we knew it then no longer exists. Much of the setting up house which
we had done so well unraveled. We, my partner and I, had not paid enough
attention to the infrastructure of our dwellings. The road being high and
narrow spoke to two of my fears, height and confinement. The “focus on the road”
aspect of the dream is literally focusing on knowing that “I am”. I lost sight
of my existence when my little brother Karl died, when our family crumbled
under the grief. I thought I could regain my mother’s love and attention by
giving her back her happiness. In the process, I gave up myself as I tried to
anticipate what her needs were, if I was only good enough I would make her
happy and she could return to the loving mother she had been before she lost
her baby. I tried to “set up house” at the age of four, almost five. The
materials I used worked for the time being, they were at that time the best
available. But it was a bit like using asbestos, the long-term damage was
potentially greater than the original benefits gained. I’m using better
building materials now which are being supplied by more informed builders, not
a four-year-old, but sessions with a very skilled psychologist, Vivian
Schaefer; readings by authors such as Brene Brown and Eckhart Tolle, which are
supplemented greatly by the thoughtful discussions Betsy and Gillian and I have
concerning the meaning of these writings, particularly Tolle’s; and by the
relationship Trish and I are forming. Without Trish, very little of the
progress I am making would be taking place. It is not possible to develop
relationship skills without relationship and both Trish and I are bringing the
integrity needed which allows us to grow.  Through these efforts I am regaining my awareness
of myself and my emotions and the infrastructure of my life is being rebuilt.
My other two dreams involved the living spaces I was
occupying. The first one was rather shabby and run down with locks on the
exterior doors which a man was trying to break into. In the next segment of the
dream I was living in a new apartment which had very secure locks, but was
incredibly small; as I looked around the rooms I realized there was space for
cooking, but no space for a bed. Upon awakening and further analyzation of
these dreams I recognized the locks I have use in life are perhaps not as sturdy
as I expected them to be, but rather false providers of security. I tried for
too many years to protect myself and my emotions by locking them up, which in
reality created a less safe environment. The small safe living quarters allowed
me access to provide sustenance for myself, but it did not allow for a bed,
which was the metaphor for an intimate relationship.
From these dreams, I would conclude that “setting up house”
requires unlocking the emotions within. In order to be safe in a relationship I
must be aware of my own needs, wants, and desires. I must also allow my
vulnerabilities to be known, because they are the infrastructure which left
unacknowledged will destroy the housekeeping. It is unreasonable and unfair to
think another person should be able to intuit my areas of insecurities and thus
respond in the understanding, loving manner I am hoping for.
When Lynn and I set up house there
were never any conflicts over where we lived, the décor, who would do what
chores, landscaping, the amount of money each of us was contributing, or any
other domestic decisions. We were building our lives together, knowing each
person was making a fair contribution and accepting and respecting the fact
that together we would be happier and have more. We lived in rental properties
for the first eight years and finally acquired the finances we needed to afford
our own home. The first house we lived in was designed by my brother Eric, as
he said, to compensate for how horribly he had treated me when we were kids- I kiddingly
told him it was partial payment. Lynn and I did a great deal of the work on the
house ourselves in order to make it affordable, we insulated the house, worked
with the electrician as a gofer, stained all the wood in the interior, painted
and wallpapered all the walls, and did all the landscaping. It was a lot of
hard work, yet exciting at the same time. We did a good job with the
housekeeping aspect of “setting up house”. We had a lot of love and respect for
one another, but we didn’t have enough internal integrity to support the
housekeeping for the duration of our lives. We didn’t know how to be vulnerable
with one another, we used strong locks which provided false security.
I want to combine the aspects of my
relationship with Lynn which contributed to our long-term relationship and our two
wonderful daughters, with my internal integrity which allows for the “I am”.
This combination will provide the most beautiful house I have ever set up. It
is the house I have been seeking for the past 65 years. I have no doubt I will
find it as long as I stay focused on the road which will lead me there and not
allow my fears to distract me. Slowly, I am unlocking the rusty locks which I
put in place many years ago and I am finding the unshackling to be rather freeing.
I’m still a fledgling beginning to test my wings, but I trust the inner
strength which I know is within me, that which will allow me to soar like a
hawk.
© 12 Sep 2016 
About the Author 
I grew up in
Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school, I
attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first
teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of
teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro.
After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the
college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield
College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.
While
coaching at Mines my long-term partner and I had two daughters through
artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching, I
resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I
taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten
years. As a retiree, I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing
senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group,
gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
As a retiree,
I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball,
writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and
attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

Posted on

Dreams, by Gail Klock

As she strolled confidently past our car on that warm summer day I was struck by her beauty, inside and out. It’s been at least twenty years since our eyes met as she graced me with her heartwarming smile. I still think of her…I dream of having her spirit.


Twenty years ago having the self-assurance of this transvestite was beyond my being, but not beyond my dreams. I had some major internalized homophobia to overcome. Let me digress a little, well maybe more than a little, to my nascent years as a lesbian. Growing up in the fifties and sixties, and yes, in the seventies and eighties meant dealing with many negative thoughts about who I was as a sexual person, as a person who chose a lifelong mate of the same gender.

As a high school student the closest term to homosexual I ever heard was fairy. In the deprecating way it was used in hallway talk, “if you wear green and yellow on Thursdays everyone will know you are a fairy,” told me this conversation was not about wee little sprites of the enchanted forests. Out of some undisclosed shame I knew to wear orange, blue, lavender, anything but green and yellow on Thursdays.
In my freshman year of college I had my first sexual/emotional encounter with another woman. She was older and much more experienced in such matters. I can still vividly recall the warmth and excitement I felt when we secretly held hands in her car. I also remember when I spontaneously exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s not fair, it’s not fair, when she demonstrated her sexuality by reaching out and touching my breast. My fear of identifying myself as a lesbian ended this relationship quickly but not those insistent feelings of attraction to women.

Innocent back massages, which slowly and delightfully crept to more erotic areas, began my sophomore year with my second girlfriend. A self-awareness was also beginning to surface that I had never felt this way with the nice, good looking men I was dating. Through-out the three years of this relationship I began internalizing homophobia. All of my available resources to help me figure out who I was were creating a sense of self-loathing. The books and movies of the time, when they dared create a theme of homosexuality, either ended with the woman leaving her female lover as soon as a man entered the picture or contained characters who were so miserable they said lines I could relate to all too easily such as, ‘I’m tired of living and scared of dying”. At the same time many of the conversations I had with my girlfriend were about the men we would meet and marry and the children we would have. This was the only pathway to have lasting love and having a family we knew about, totally betraying our love for one another.

These feelings of being involved in an inappropriate relationship were so overpowering and controlling that I never even discussed them with my roommates my junior and senior years, whom I suspected at the time and later confirmed to be true, were also gay. I even shared a small bedroom with one of these roommates, some nights each of us sleeping in our own little twin bed with our respective girlfriends. I knew what was happening in my bed; I didn’t know if my roommate was likewise engaged and was too ashamed to discuss it. Maybe there would have been some strength in numbers if these conversations had taken place and some of my shame would have been reduced.

Psychology 101, oh I was looking forward to this class, I thought it would be really interesting and I might learn more about myself, what it meant to love someone of the same gender. Well, I learned and it stung, “Homosexuality is a mental illness…”

Six years later the field of psychology was still more of a prison than a tool to help set me free of my unjust self-determined ideas of what it meant to be gay. A psychiatrist I was seeing to help me overcome my feelings of unrest and depression, which were due only in a small part to my sexuality, suggested I use shockwave treatments to cure me of my unnatural feelings of attraction to women. I did not need these treatments, but perhaps he did!

Gradually, as I followed my own proclivities, they became more normal in the eyes of society. The best decision I ever made was in the eighties. I chose to have a child through artificial insemination. My partner of seven years was very honest and told me she might leave me if I got pregnant. I really loved her and didn’t want to lose her but I had dreamed of having a child since I was in elementary school. Fortunately, by the time my oldest child turned three, my partner- yes the same one, and I were arguing about who was going to be the birth mother for our desired second child. Wisely, we followed the advice of a wonderful psychologist and I was not the birth mother. By making this decision we experienced both roles (birth mom and non-birth mom). At this time many people thought of the birth mother as the only “real” parent…the same as a relationship with a person of the opposite gender was the only “real” relationship. To this day some insensitive/ignorant people still ask me which of these young ladies is my “real” child.

I also, in solidarity with my partner, made a decision to be open with all of our children’s teachers about our relationship. At an unconscious level I sensed if we were open about who we were, our children would not take on the guilt and shame which homosexual closets spurned. As a result we received support from a lot of good people. Neighborhood children would sometimes ask their mothers why they didn’t get two mommies. Many people in Golden became a little more educated and liberal due to our family and at the same time my internalized homophobia began to dissipate. Coming out of the closet for my girls was an integral step of becoming what I had dreamed of so many years before.

Yesterday my oldest daughter and I enjoyed seeing “Kinky Boots”. One of my favorite lines was, “When you change your mind, you change the world”. Slowly my mind changed and slowly my world changed along with it. I have almost captured the essence of that beautiful transvestite I briefly encountered twenty or so years ago…she gave me a smile and a dream.

© 9 March 2015

[Editor’s note: This story was published previously in this blog.]

About the Author

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.


While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Doors, by Gail Klock

Buzz, the dull sound of
an institutional doorbell summons the matron with the keys. Footsteps can be
heard descending the stairs. Click, goes the first lock, up two flights of
stairs, then click opens the metal mesh door into the plainest, most
unattractive physical setting you can possibly imagine. A space which lacked
color and texture, the walls and floors an unpainted concrete; no pictures,
wall hangings, or changes of surfaces to detract from the bleakness; no shelves
holding objects of interest. It was a grey world. Visiting my grandmother didn’t
take place in an over the hills and through the woods fashion. We entered
through the locked doors of the mental institution in Pueblo where she was a
patient. She seemed quite “normal” to me. She was dressed like all the other
female patients in non-descript shifts which left you guessing as to the shape
of the wearer. The men were dressed similarly in the same institutionalized
green material with pants that had drawstrings and loose fitting tops. All the
women had the same hair style, one I could have administered as a kid, hacked
off at the neck line.
The room was large and
open, a few tables scattered here and there and lots of empty space. Some of
the patients were moaning to themselves rocking back and forth sitting on the
floor, and others were very intensely playing with their private parts. My
mother and other family members never did know what the diagnosis for my
grandmother was, my guess is clinical depression which was triggered by the
death of her husband at an early age shortly after the diagnosis of his brain
cancer. My grandmother’s behavior didn’t bother me, nor did the actions of the
more severely impacted patients, but the locked doors did. She had been
stripped of her freedom to move about as she liked and to spend time with her
loving family. She lacked the necessary keys to escape this captivity, to
regain her freedom and become all she was capable of becoming.
Fortunately, I’ve had
these keys available to unlock the restrictive doors of life, but I’ve often misplaced
or used the wrong ones in trying to open the doors to happiness.  As a child trying to maneuver through life
without the emotional support of loving adults I developed childish strategies
to protect myself from being hurt and disappointed by loved ones. I played
Simon and Garfunkel’s, “I Am a Rock,” over and over as a college student. I so
identified with the idea of being a rock which felt no pain, and an island
which never cried.  But I didn’t have the
wisdom or guidance to realize a rock doesn’t feel love and an island doesn’t
laugh. The keys I needed to use were the ones which led me through the door of
vulnerability.
Several instances, which
have occurred recently in my life, have given me insight into the desirability
of being vulnerable.   During about the third round of chemo, simply
walking a few steps was exhausting and almost impossible and the myriad other
physical feelings when sitting still were equally horrible. It was at this
point that I realized, “it is what it is.” I can’t fight the feelings, I can’t
change the feelings, I can only live with them. Once I acknowledged the
situation and accepted it for what it was a sense of peacefulness descended
upon me. I knew I was okay and would continue to feel better and better. There
were no longer doors separating me from others, somehow they had sprung open
and I felt more one with the universe. I can’t explain this further, but I felt
a shift in energy.
After my last surgery in
2012 I slowly embarked on the physical healing process which allowed me to return
to playing basketball, an activity I love with my heart and soul. This process
has been slow, at first just getting the ball to the basket was all I could
manage. I didn’t step foot in a scrimmage on the court with others for at least
six months, and when I first did it was with trepidation. The surgery had been
very complex and had involved cutting and moving all of the nerves and muscles
in the hip joint.  Initially I could not
bend either my knee or hip. I asked my doctor if I could try playing again and
told her falling is part of playing and asked if this was a problem, she wisely
stated I might open the wound back up but I wouldn’t hurt anything. She must
have been an athlete herself to understand the significance and relative truth
of this statement.  It took a while for
me to get enough stability to play and it took longer to overcome my fear of
getting hurt. Now I don’t worry about getting hurt… it is what it is, when you
fall you get back up. You might have some bumps and bruises, but you also have
the joy of playing. It’s that one time when you execute the motion just right,
when you get the desired result, when the wholeness of your mind and body are
one, that makes it worth the bumps and bruises. I’ve unlocked the door to
physical vulnerability and have experienced the joy that was on the other side
of the doorway.
I’m well on my way to
accomplishing the same with my emotional life. Even in moments of emotional
isolation, which used to paralyze me with fear, I now realize I have the key
available to open the doors to great love and joy, to actualize the energy
available, which is represented by the concept of “it is what it is”, allowing
the doors to be unlocked. It is only through allowing myself to be emotionally
vulnerable that I will enjoy the greatest love of my life… yes there will be
some tears along with it, of that I am sure. 
But I’ve been that rock way too long, and it was a rather dull rock at
that, now I’m beginning to feel really alive. I feel like the hawk that soars
above, enjoying the warmth of the thermals, knowing it will soar with the wind
beneath its wings, knowing it’s not alone in life, and that all of life’s
forces work together… if only we use the right key.
© 27 Apr 2015 
About
the Author 
 I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents.
Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in
Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison,
Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend
graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached
basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake
Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and
Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two
daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home
required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education
certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County
Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my
granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the
storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT
organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter,
playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling
group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Away from Home by Gail Klock

Home to me is not a place so much as a state of being. It is a place deep within me, where I am loved unconditionally, where I’m accepted and understood. It is that place where my thoughts come to my defense when under attack, like a mother lion defending her cubs. It is that place where I am allowed to make mistakes, and take ownership for my actions and make amends to others if those actions cause them pain.

I am going to be okay no matter the circumstances, are the feelings which reside in that place called home. They are the indescribably good feelings deep within me, like the ones which come coursing through my body when listening to a beautiful piece of music, or when I laugh from the depth of my soul, or cry in empathy for another’s pain. It is the beauty, grace, and power of a hawk soaring through the sky, treating me to the joys of nature.

It has taken me a long time to find home… I was away from home most of my life. I found it difficult to find peace within myself, due at least in part to my homosexuality. It was, and on rare occasions still is, hard to find serenity within, especially when being viewed by others as a deviant person.

I was a pioneer in the gay movement back in the 80’s when I chose to have children through artificial insemination and to be out, knowing to not do so would place my daughters in the position of having shame about the family they came from. But as I was traversing this unknown world I carried abashment within me. My inner world was still not a place of self-acceptance and tranquility. I look back on those times now with admiration for my courage, but I would rather have realized my inner strength at the time. I was still away from home. I was looking at a young lesbian the other day and admiring her hair cut with one half of her head shaved and the other side cascading across her head like a waterfall. I would not have had the courage to wear my hair like that when I was young. But then I kind of chuckled inwardly as I realized I now sometimes wear my hair in an equally brazen fashion.

As long as I remind myself where home is, I can get there. It reminds me of the last time I parked at the Pikes Peak parking lot out at DIA. I dutifully told myself to remember I had parked in the F section. That was all good and fine until I exited the shuttle bus at FF after only 3 hours of sleep the night before. I reminded myself of this lack of sleep as I fought off the notion that someone had stolen my car, after all no one else had my keys. Wandering back and forth several times along rows EE, FF, and GG …dragging my luggage, I knew I had to develop a strategy to find it. I then thought okay, I’ll just go up to section A and walk up and down every lane until I’m successful. As I reached section YY it occurred to me I had parked in F, but I had been searching in FF. I found my car where I had parked it. Of course it was there all along just waiting to be found, which is true for my inner sense of home as well. My serenity was always available to be, I just had to find the correct strategy to get to it. I get there with less angst now, especially when I remember to delete the old tapes which play within my head about the perversion of being gay.

© 2 August 2015

About the Author

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.


As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

Posted on

Acceptance, by Gail Klock

There are many different nuances to the meaning of acceptance. I’ve always been at ease with “giving approval to others” and put great effort into understanding their points of view and actions even when I don’t agree. However, I’ve struggled with the aspect which involves “believing in favorably” when it has come to myself. It is only recently after experiencing some difficult situations and engaging in years of therapy that I can truly say I accept myself.

As a young child I struggled with a positive sense of self due to my lack of connection with my mother. I sensed her depression after the death of my brother and somehow came to the conclusion it was my responsibility to make her happy and in so doing I lost myself to her needs. I did not establish a strong sense of who I was. Now this is not to say that I was an unhappy child. I had many friends at school and in the neighborhood and thought of myself as a capable kid. At home I fought continuously with my brothers and often felt left out because they sided with each other against me, they enjoyed their commonalities of being males and in sharing a bedroom with one another. I did not have a safe place at home.

I was happiest when engaged in sports because this was the one place I felt a sense of wholeness. However, society at the time did not for the most part accept tomboys… especially as I entered the teen years. Furthermore, an unconscious part of me realized I was different sexually as well. It was at this point I began to crumble inside due to my lack of an acceptance of self and the lack of support from my environment. My parents were not negative about who I was- I think it was more of a benign neglect. But I certainly did not go to them to help me through the hard times. It was a struggle I had to face on my own. All outward appearances reflected a very confident young lady, only a very keen observer of human nature would have known otherwise. I recall a situation in junior high which reflected this dichotomy of how I felt inside and how I was perceived by others. In eighth grade we had elections within each of our homerooms for student council members. I was in a classroom of the popular kids- the future high school queens and kings, athletes, and honor students. I was nominated by one of my classmates along with three or four others and was directed to go to the hallway while voting took place to determine who would represent our class. When we came back into the classroom the teacher announced I would be our representative. Although I was pleased with the result I was very frightened by the outcome as I felt somehow I had been set up…if I allowed myself to believe my classmates really wanted me then they would all start laughing and tell me it was just a trick…they just wanted to be able to laugh at me. It wasn’t until many years later I realized they really did like me and wanted me to be their leader, they accepted me even though at the time I did not accept myself. I had learned how to play the game of appearing to be confident to avoid any inquiries as to my state of mind, I was afraid to let anyone know how fragile I was… to do so was too vulnerable- it was scary. I was very good at accepting others and helping them to feel good about themselves but I didn’t have anyone doing the same for me, largely due to the fact I never let anyone know I needed that help.

In college I was very confident in my field, I felt I was receiving a very good education, and I was going to be successful. I had a girlfriend that loved me very much and was very supportive, but I was still very confused about my worth as an individual. I could not look at myself in the mirror and say I really like you, you are a good and valuable person. Within two years I had moved from an awareness of knowing I was different to “you are a homosexual”. And along with this change in knowledge came an awareness that I was socially deviant. I, who had always gained my positive sense of self from helping others feel better about themselves, became a person who was to be feared. I felt totally isolated at times from those around me. I really needed to go to the student health center to see a counselor, which my girlfriend Connie was trying to get me to do and was even willing to arrange for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go as I was afraid of being in the waiting room and having others staring at me and wondering what was wrong with me. I felt like I had a contagious deadly disease which I had to keep to myself so no one else would catch it- I think it came to be identified later as “the homosexual agenda”. It’s probably good I didn’t go for help as the mental health field at the time would have determined my homosexuality was a mental illness which needed fixing. This is not just a projection on my part, as I have mentioned in a previous story that a few years later when I did finally get up the courage to see a psychiatrist he told me shock treatment might cure me of my homosexual urges.

Once out of college I had far more acceptance of myself as a professional than I did as a person. The love and acceptance I received from my friends did not penetrate my own lack of self-acceptance. I felt like a fraud. There were very few people who were aware of my sexual preference which I think contributed to my feelings. I was liked for who I appeared to be, not for who I really was. I thought if people found out I was gay I would no longer be a “good person”. I would become this person with an agenda who was out to seduce every straight female I met. I wouldn’t even let myself look at women with any awareness of their physical attractiveness- I kept those thoughts buried so deep they never saw the light of day. The closets I hid in for twenty years created a dungeon in which necrosis of my soul and spirit took place.

I made a great deal of progress towards self-acceptance in the twenty-seven years I was with Lynn. But my self-acceptance was based a great deal on the two of us as a couple and the family we had created with our children. I was very proud of us and glad to be out of the closet. But when Lynn decided to leave the relationship for personal reasons all my old abandonment issues from childhood came rushing back. I barely made it through the dark days as I had no good feelings about who I was, I didn’t know I had the strength to make it through this soul wrenching sadness, and I certainly didn’t have the desire to. I’m not really sure where the light was that led through this dark, damp, miserable tunnel. I do know being needed by fourteen 3rd and 4th grade students gave my life the purpose I needed at the time to survive. With this purpose and intense, well administered psychological care from Vivian Schaefer I was able to regain my footing and slowly make strides to reach a point of self-acceptance I had never before had. I gained an awareness that the person other people had seen and loved for all those years really was who I was. With this self-acceptance I am the happiest I have ever been. I am looking forward to attending a solstice ceremony tomorrow morning- it will be an emotional event for me as I know the importance of living in the light. For me it is symbolic for an acceptance of myself, full on exposure to the sun with no closets to block the light, be they closets built by others or by myself.

© 21 December 2015

About the Author

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Bumper Stickers, by Gail Klock

“Nobody knows I’m a Lesbian.”

“Don’t judge me based on your ignorance.”
“Focus on your own damn family.”
I’ve never placed a bumper sticker on my car, probably because I’ve been afraid to. I am not a person that engages well in confrontation and the type of bumper stickers I would place on my car would be confrontational. I guess it’s about paranoia, but when I get involved in an accident while driving, I want to know it’s an accident. If I had a bumper sticker on my car I would have thought the idiot that rear ended me, pushing my car 100 feet across traffic, and then fled the scene might have done it intentionally due to my bumper sticker. I’m not sure I would have turned my car around and followed the guy until he pulled over if I had placed my “confrontational” bumper sticker on my car. I probably would have continued on my way and paid for the damage myself to avoid the possible road rage or hate crime that might take place.

I like bumper stickers that make me think, even if they enrage me at the time. For example when I read bumper stickers like, “Women for Mitt Romney,” I have engaging conversations with myself trying to figure out how this can even be possible.

Maybe members from SAGE should partner up with the youth in Rainbow Alley; we could use bumper stickers as philosophical guides. I would like to share with GLBT youth the wisdom I have gained from years of experience, more or less the advice I would like to have received when I was a budding Lesbian and felt so alone and out of sync with the world. The first guide I would share would be, “If you hold onto your dreams too tight you’ll crush their tiny little ribs.” In keeping with aspirations I would add, “If your dreams don’t scare you a little they’re not big enough.”

I think of these dreams in terms of personal relationships, not career goals. I would have loved receiving input on what a gay relationship could look like- what were the possible dreams. The ultimate relationship dream, in my opinion, is marriage, or the ideals that marriage implies; commitment, caring, loving, etc. Now that marriage is a legal possibility will it lend structure to gay relationships? I would suggest to young lesbians that the 2nd date rent a U-Haul strategy does not fit within the big dream concept. Perhaps the big dreams should lead to more dating and possibly engagements? Maybe it will lead to fewer mismatched relationships that are based more on fear and/or passion.

“Be yourself, imitation is suicide.” This speaks to me of coming out of the closet. It speaks of Gay Pride Parades and activities when GLBT individuals can begin to feel a sense of pride in who they are, yes to face our heterosexual friends and enemies and proudly think to ourselves, “I’m sorry you don’t get to be me, because it is a real privilege.” To imitate someone else, either through sexuality or other unique parts of your own being is suicide, it is a killing off of that which makes each person unique and special.

I recently saw the movie, “The Imitation Game.” I can’t begin to put into words how much this movie affected me, how much I related to it. It was so true to what I’ve witnessed in the world, the belittling of people who are different, tearing them down and making them feel worthless. I saw it in my teaching daily and in my home life with my oldest brother who was very intelligent, and not so socially savvy. I have contemplated several times since seeing this movie what Alan Turing endured as a youth, and what he contributed to the world. At the conclusion of the movie it speaks of how many lives he probably saved, which moved me to tears. Perhaps he did more than save the lives of millions; perhaps he changed the course of the world. What if Germany had won and Nazism had prevailed? I’m thankful Turing remained true to himself in spite of the torture he experienced and I’m sad beyond belief that it cost him his life.

“Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.” I’ve always believed in this piece of wisdom, and often my voice shook as I spoke. I also carried it out in my teaching. I emphasized that all voices were of value, that the class would be more meaningful if we heard the ideas of all. I had a very shy young woman in a class I taught at Springfield College. She didn’t raise her hand to contribute until midway through the course. Upon conclusion of her shaky comment the entire class spontaneously applauded her efforts. It was one of the moments of my teaching career which made me happiest.

“Don’t die wondering.” As a coach I often preached against the “could haves”, “should haves”, and would haves”. The idea was to leave nothing on the court, to prepare and play each moment at your best. If this was accomplished you had succeeded. The score of the game didn’t matter as much as overcoming the fear of failure and playing your heart out. I don’t want to die wondering if I could have accomplished all I wanted to in life. I had a reoccurring dream many years ago which has stayed with me. These dreams always involved strategies of reuniting with my brother in heaven. I was in line at the pearly gates talking with strangers, begging, cajoling, and carrying out a number of acts unnatural and uncomfortable to me in order to get ahead in line, because I wanted to be with Karl again as soon as possible. A few years back I had another dream. I was in a rugged terrain with my brother and I had the opportunity to stay with him. But to accomplish this feat I had to jump over a deep and wide ravine. Karl took off with ease and bounded over the ravine. I was too afraid to try. The trauma of the dream woke me from a dead sleep. I knew when thinking about it, it represented my desire to let go of my past, to have faith in the future in order to accomplish what I want today in life. It is extremely hard to let go of the past with traumatic events, to move on from the strategies that provided stability to you as a child but no longer work as an adult, to those which are untried- to leap across the ravine. I’d rather die leaping than wondering!

© 12 November 2015

About the Author

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.

While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

Posted on

Close, but No Cigar, by Gail Klock

Driving home from Pueblo, after my fifty-year reunion for
South High School I was feeling a little melancholy. I was pondering the source
of these feelings; was it the fact that 50 years had passed so quickly and only
a fraction of those years remain to be enjoyed, was it the fact I had lost
touch with so many people who had once been an enjoyable part of my K-12
experience, or was it the hotel room I had stayed in because my parents were no
longer alive? Certainly these were all a part of the melancholy, but not the
primary source. Throughout the events, hovering in the background was a growing
awareness of the different opportunities which the boys and girls had
experienced. All of these attributable differences were driven by gender, that
of the privilege of being male.
The area which was foremost in my mind was the provision of
athletics for the boys- football, basketball, wrestling, baseball, track, golf,
tennis, and cross country, and no sports for the girls… at the time it was
against state law for girls to compete against one another at the high school
level, a fact I became aware of when the principal called me into his office on
a Monday morning and threatened to expel me if I ever played in another
basketball game against girls from another school. The game he was referencing
was a pick-up game against girls from the local Catholic high school in which
there were not even any officials.
I first started thinking about the male/female high school
opportunities when the introduction of former teachers was made. Out of the
eleven who were in attendance four of them were coaches, definitely a disproportional
number to the 59 teachers whom had been on the faculty.  I hypothesize this disproportionate number was
due to the fact coaches work more closely with athletes than teachers do
students, thus forming a stronger and longer lasting bond. This was quite
evident as Tom Mauro, my former classmate, carried out the introductions. His
continuing respect and connection with his former coaches was quite evident and
the introductory comments regarding the other teachers did not reflect this
same elevated note of respect. Before any one jumps to any erroneous
conclusions I must quickly interject that Tom was not a “dumb jock” whom of
course would have been closer to his coaches- Tom graduated from Colorado
School of Mines and was very successful in his career. In addition, he is a
very accomplished pianist.
As I continued to process my observations and feelings as the
reunion continued it occurred to me as I watched my former classmates interact
that sports had provided more than just the opportunity for fitness. The boys
had deep bonds with one another that crossed the boundaries of cliques;
placement in college prep classes, business classes, or technical and trade
classes. The girls didn’t have this avenue which provided for the intersecting
of lives with other girls. Popularity, or the lack there of, was the main
determiner of how friendships were established. I realized as I talked to my
classmates that our high school years would have been different for the girls
if there had been sports for us in which to compete. We had a very athletic
group of girls- girls from all the different education tracks and cliques. A
couple of girls “stories” supported my feelings about the missed opportunity of
competing in sports. Linda a friend from elementary school was an incredible
runner. She could beat all of us, boys and girls alike in both running and long
jumping. I never knew until I talked to her at the reunion that she would have
loved to have been an athlete. As I shared my memories of her abilities and the
grace and skill with which she ran tears came to her eyes and she remarked that
I had just made her day. I never would have guessed this desire of hers, she
was a very bright and pretty girl whom had been part of the popular crowd.  I also didn’t know she had always hidden a
vision problem she had inherited which was so bad she was given a scholarship
her final year of college from the National Federation of the Blind. She could
only play ball sports which used a large ball like the one used in kickball,
but man oh man she would have been a star on a track team had there been one
and her self-described greatest embarrassment through all her young years would
have been eased. Arlene, our head cheerleader stated in response to “What would
you have done differently in high school?’ 
I would have participated on sports teams instead of cheerleading and
would have sought out friends from a variety of groups.
In addition, two of my close friends, whom were both great
athletes, did not come to the reunion. The first Rosalyn told the organizing
committee she hadn’t enjoyed high school so why would she come to a reunion.
Most of my classmates were stunned by this statement as Rosalyn had been a
member of student counsel, dated one of the football players, and gone on to
graduate from Colorado School of Mines- one of seven girls in attendance there
at the time. I had known Rosie throughout school and played with her many times
in pickup basketball and football games with other girls (the boys used to come
watch us play football as they couldn’t believe we would play tackle without
any pads or helmets, which we did because we loved the activity and we had no equipment
available to us). My other friend Vickie, whom I was able to have lunch with,
told me she didn’t want to go because she had always struggled with school and
had not been popular. She added there had only been about six kids she had
trusted in high school. I know in the depths of my heart both of these friends
would have felt more connected with their high school experiences and enjoyed
it more if they had had the opportunity to compete in sports.
When I thanked my former classmate Mike for supporting me as
an athlete while in high school, a unique position for my male classmates, he
replied, “Heck you could have kicked any of our butts, I really admired your
ability.” It was nice to hear this compliment.  I along with many of my female friends would
have benefited greatly had we heard fans cheering for us as we had cheered for
our male counterparts.
Beyond the camaraderie, fitness, and support from classmates
and parents some of the boys were able to attend college on athletic
scholarships. Of course during the time I was in college no similar
scholarships were available for girls, but I am thankful I did get to experience
the other benefits which sports can offer. However, I still need to have a
conversation with the folks up at Colorado State University who still don’t recognize
the contribution women athletes made to the college from the time women were
allowed to compete against other colleges until the inception of Title IX –
approximately a 15-year period of time. Had it not been for Title IX which in
part said, “No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be
excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination
under any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance”,
women athletes, (not the intended primary recipients of this federal mandate)
would still be treated unfairly by institutions of higher learning and high
schools. One only look at the current lawsuit brought by a University of Denver
female law school professor to see the evidence of continued discrimination
based on gender.  We are getting closer
to closing the gender gap- but at this point it is still status quo- close, but
no cigar.
© 28 Sep 2015 
About the Author 
 I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents.
Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in
Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison,
Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend
graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached
basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake
Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and
Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two
daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home
required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education
certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County
Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my
granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the
storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT
organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter,
playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling
group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Forgiveness, by Gail Klock

I have at times been hurt by people I loved or complete
strangers and I hated the feelings it left inside of me; sadness, anger, desperation.
These feelings prohibited me from enjoying life and made the pain last longer.
I know from past experiences once I’m am able to forgive the offend or I no longer
feel like the victim and he/she no longer has control of my life, or so it
feels at the time, even though this is an allusion, they never really did.
In order to move on I try to understand the other person’s
motives and once I do I generally realize these motives are based on
experiences I was not even a part of.  For example, when my mom abandoned me as a
child it hurt me a great deal and had a lasting impact on my life. But after
many years of counseling and maturing I realized the pain I felt was real, but
not directed at me for anything I had done or for who I was- good or bad. My
mom was not trying to hurt me; in fact, she was just trying to make it through
each day living with her own unbearable pain of losing a child.
I really don’t believe people want to hurt others, it would
be a lousy motivator. I don’t think anyone enters a relationship thinking, “I
really want my lover to think the world of me, to cherish me, and put me before
all others, then I can lower the boom and hurt them. In fact, I’m already
thinking of the lyrics to Paul Simon’s “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover”, I
think I’ll use number 23 this time!  However,
at the onset of a painful experience it is really hard for me to lift myself
out of the victim role. Of course it’s all about me. I wasn’t perfect. What
could I have done differently? Why didn’t I see the red flags? Or what does it
mean, “People change, it’s not about you, I just need to make changes for
myself,” The tape in my head plays on and on in the moment and it’s hard to
step back and away from the pain.
The ease of letting go of this pain and bitterness seems to
be related to the relationship and the intention of the offensive action. In
one situation I was very angry and hurt when a thief stole all my camping gear
which I was airing out in my back yard. 
I felt violated by the senselessness of this act. I think in this
instance my ability to forgive was in reality the passing of time. It’s hard to
forgive someone when you don’t know who they are. I was angry too because I had
very little money and I had worked hard for these items which had provided me
with an inexpensive form of entertainment.
Of course as a lesbian I have felt the hurt of those who
think of me as an evil and vile person. I don’t know that I need to forgive
them anymore, I’ve moved on to not believing a word they utter. I’d be willing
to match my positive attributes with theirs any day and I already have a head
start because I don’t try to run their life’s just because of their sexual
preference. I doubt they even know when they made their choices to be straight.
I really think it sucks to be so full of hatred towards others. When does it
leave time to enjoy this wonderful world, to see all the beauty around us. It
would be so draining.
There is one other aspect of forgiveness which I ponder. I
think when a person hurts you and apologizes for their action it takes most of
the sting out of the situation and it is much easier to forgive.
For now, I just hope if I get hurt in the future, I can
remember I’m not the center of the universe. I need to let go of the hurt
feelings to allow myself to move on. I don’t hurt others on purpose and I really
don’t think others do either.
© 9 Mar
2015
 
About the Author 

I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents.
Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in
Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison,
Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend
graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached
basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake
Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and
Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two
daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home
required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education
certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County
Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my
granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the
storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT
organizations.
As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter,
playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling
group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
Posted on

Dreams by Gail Klock

          As she strolled confidently past our
car on that warm summer day I was struck by her beauty, inside and out. It’s
been at least twenty years since our eyes met as she graced me with her
heartwarming smile. I still think of her…I dream of having her spirit.
Twenty
years ago having the self-assurance of this transvestite was beyond my being,
but not beyond my dreams. I had some major internalized homophobia to overcome.
Let me digress a little, well maybe more than a little, to my nascent years as a
lesbian.  Growing up in the fifties and
sixties, and yes, in the seventies and eighties meant dealing with many
negative thoughts about who I was as a sexual person, as a person who chose a
lifelong mate of the same gender.
As
a high school student the closest term to homosexual I ever heard was
fairy.  In the deprecating way it was
used in hallway talk, “if you wear green and yellow on Thursdays everyone will
know you are a fairy,” told me this conversation was not about wee little
sprites of the enchanted forests. Out of some undisclosed  shame I knew to wear orange, blue, lavender,
anything but green and yellow on Thursdays.
In
my freshman year of college I had my first sexual/emotional encounter with
another woman. She was older and much more experienced in such matters. I can
still vividly recall the warmth and excitement I felt when we secretly held
hands in her car. I also remember when I spontaneously exclaimed, “Oh my God,
it’s not fair, it’s not fair, when she demonstrated her sexuality by reaching
out and touching my breast. My fear of identifying myself as a lesbian ended
this relationship quickly but not those insistent feelings of attraction to
women.
          Innocent back massages, which slowly
and delightfully crept to more erotic areas, began my sophomore year with my
second girlfriend. A self-awareness was also beginning to surface that I had never
felt this way with the nice, good looking men I was dating. Through-out the
three years of this relationship I began internalizing homophobia. All of my available
resources to help me figure out who I was were creating a sense of self-loathing.
The books and movies of the time, when they dared create a theme of homosexuality,
either ended with the woman leaving her female lover as soon as a man entered
the picture or contained characters who were so miserable they said lines I
could relate to all too easily such as, ‘I’m tired of living and scared of
dying”. At the same time many of the conversations I had with my girlfriend were
about the men we would meet and marry and the children we would have.  This was the only pathway to have lasting
love and having a family we knew about, totally betraying our love for one
another.
These
feelings of being involved in an inappropriate relationship were so
overpowering and controlling that I never even discussed them with my roommates
my junior and senior years, whom I suspected at the time and later confirmed to
be true, were also gay. I even shared a small bedroom with one of these
roommates, some nights each of us sleeping in our own little twin bed with our
respective girlfriends. I knew what was happening in my bed; I didn’t know if
my roommate was likewise engaged and was too ashamed to discuss it.   Maybe
there would have been some strength in numbers if these conversations had taken
place and some of my shame would have been reduced.
Psychology
101, oh I was looking forward to this class, I thought it would be really
interesting and I might learn more about myself, what it meant to love someone
of the same gender. Well, I learned and it stung, “Homosexuality is a mental
illness…”
Six
years later the field of psychology was still more of a prison than a tool to
help set me free of my unjust self-determined ideas of what it meant to be gay.
A psychiatrist I was seeing to help me overcome my feelings of unrest and
depression, which were due only in a small part to my sexuality, suggested I
use shockwave treatments to cure me of my unnatural feelings of attraction to
women. I did not need these treatments, but perhaps he did!
Gradually,
as I followed my own proclivities, they became more normal in the eyes of
society. The best decision I ever made was in the eighties. I chose to have a
child through artificial insemination. My partner of seven years was very
honest and told me she might leave me if I got pregnant. I really loved her and
didn’t want to lose her but I had dreamed of having a child since I was in
elementary school. Fortunately, by the time my oldest child turned three, my
partner- yes the same one, and I were arguing about who was going to be the
birth mother for our desired second child. Wisely, we followed the advice of a
wonderful psychologist and I was not the birth mother. By making this decision
we experienced both roles (birth mom and non-birth mom). At this time many
people thought of the birth mother as the only “real” parent…the same as a
relationship with a person of the opposite gender was the only “real”
relationship. To this day some insensitive/ignorant people still ask me which
of these young ladies is my “real” child.
I
also, in solidarity with my partner, made a decision to be open with all of our
children’s teachers about our relationship. At an unconscious level I sensed if
we were open about who we were, our children would not take on the guilt and
shame which homosexual closets spurned. 
As a result we received support from a lot of good people. Neighborhood
children would sometimes ask their mothers why they didn’t get two mommies.  Many people in Golden became a little more
educated and liberal due to our family and at the same time my internalized
homophobia began to dissipate. Coming out of the closet for my girls was an
integral step of becoming what I had dreamed of so many years before.
Yesterday
my oldest daughter and I enjoyed seeing “Kinky Boots”. One of my favorite lines
was, “When you change your mind, you change the world”.  Slowly my mind changed and slowly my world
changed along with it. I have almost captured the essence of that beautiful
transvestite I briefly encountered twenty or so years ago…she gave me a smile
and a dream.

© 9 March 2015  


About
the Author 
I grew up in Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents.
Upon completion of high school I attended Colorado State University majoring in
Physical Education. My first teaching job was at a high school in Madison,
Wisconsin. After three years of teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend
graduate school at UNC-Greensboro. After obtaining my MSPE I coached
basketball, volleyball, and softball at the college level starting with Wake
Forest University and moving on to Springfield College, Brown University, and
Colorado School of Mines.
While coaching at Mines my long term partner and I had two
daughters through artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home
required by coaching I resigned from this position and got my elementary education
certification. I taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County
Schools for ten years. As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my
granddaughter, playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the
storytelling group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT
organizations.

As a retiree I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter,
playing senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling
group, gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.