Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Hi, my name is Hampton and I want to tell you about how real and true
the phrase It Gets Better is to me. And while I do, Im going to bring
up some of the privileges I have come to understand that surround
many gay males experience in the US. I work much better when I write
things down first; so if I sound like Im reading, its because I am.
It is a privilege to be born a gay man who has masculine behaviors and
traits, which allow him to pass as straight whenever he so chooses.
The rest of us gay boys see a different side of the world. We see the
side that detests the sight, the sound, the spirit of a feminine man. We
bear the burden of peoples comments, jokes, insults, scoffs and eye
rolls and on top of how people react, were surrounded by a world of
advertisements which leave no room to be anything other than strong,
built, tough, lacking any weakness. And at the end of the day, it
doesnt matter what your orientation is if you are a guy who acts like
a girl, you probably know how quickly a situation can go from totally
fine to feeling like you just want to scream and run far away.
I have always been a feminine boy. My voice is higher-pitched and
nasal, my mannerisms are soft and dainty, my personality is vibrant
and sweet, my interests are reflective and creative. I have never
enjoyed being aggressive, rowdy, or rude. I grew up in rural parts of
North Carolina, until I was thirteen; and my feminine spirit did not fit in
among the other kids at school or in church youth groups. I had a
couple of guy friends when I was 7 or 8, we loved to play video games.
And then they started wanting to go play football during recessand I
just wanted to hang out by the swings and talk about the new
Backstreet Boys album. So we stopped being friends, and I joined the
girls. Not only did I act like a girl, I only felt comfortable hanging out
with girls. I was the only guy in my grade (perhaps my school) that had
only girls for friends. And for the most part, I tried to live my life
without making a big deal about it. But then someone would say
something to me it was mostly one of the guys, although sometimes
it was one of my girl friends and I would freeze in fear. They would
tell me I acted like a girl, or they would ask why I hang out with girls all
the time. I knew I was different, but having my peers speak it and call
me out on it in front of everyone made me feel like I was a freak (and
not in the Lady Gaga, glamorous, who-cares kind of way). It wasnt
long before the comments were replaced with insults. I was called a
faggot in elementary school, before I even knew what the word
meant. In those moments when boys would outright taunt me and call
me names, I could only think to lash back and act out of anger
attempting to defend myself and also challenge their impressions of
me as weak and vulnerable. As these instances became more
common, there were few times when I felt completely safe in social
settings, particularly around boys.
But it wasnt just at school. My parents would call me out on ways I
behaved: Dont hold your hands that way! Stop walking like that!
You look like a queer! Even when I would play pretend with my sister
and assume the female role, my mom would say, Do you want to be a
fairy?! I remember her shouting this at me with a mocking highpitched voice, exaggerated limp wrists, tip-toeing around like a
ballerina. And my parents were constantly pressuring me to make
more guy friends signing me up for sports, or church boy scouts,
hoping that I would develop interests that most boys had, so that I
could relate to them more. I dont know how many times my mom had
me go hang out with my dad as he changed the oil, or worked in the
yard hoping some of his masculinity would rub off on me.
I thought I could hide my secret from the world forever, or at least until
I had learned how to fix it but then my parents found out. I was in
sixth grade (just eleven years old). My mom found a journal entry I had
written and later ripped up, pocketed, and forgotten to throw away. The
first sentence read, Dear Me, I think I am gay. and was followed by
me describing my struggles, and listing my boy crushes. I remember
sitting with my parents in the living room one night, and my mom
showed me the paper she has taped together. I felt all the blood leave
my face, I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet while sobbing.
My mom leaned over me and called me disgusting. She called me a
pervert. I told them I was willing to change, and I meant it. I cried all
night as my parents pressed me for more information and grimaced at
me like I wasnt even their son.
My mom decided public school was the reason I thought I was a
homosexual with all its worldly and sinful influences. So she pulled
me out in the middle of the school year and started homeschooling
me. And I was homeschooled until I graduated high school. We moved
when I was thirteen, and I made lots of new friends at church and
homeschooling activities but the teasing didnt stop, it just became
less obvious. But I knew. Every time people were talking about how I
hung out with girls, or how I acted gay, I could feel my face instantly
grow red and I froze with fear, worried about what they were saying
and whether that would confront me or if they would tell others.
Sometimes I would get annoyed and angry, but I would still be scared
solid: What if someone tells their parents Im gay? What will happen if
they tell my mom and she keeps me from my friends? Or we move
again because shes ashamed?
My parents didnt bring up the subject much after they calmed down
from initially finding out. My mom had called it a phase, and so I
suppose they either thought my desires had gone away or they
secretly hoped I was handling it on my own, and that they had done
their part to set me up for success. They were also very distracted by
their own relationship issues, and they finally divorced when I was
fifteen. There were a few times my mom would find a reason to
become concerned it would mostly be sparked by noticing I was
hanging out with only girls in group situations, or one-on-one hangouts.
She would threaten to send me back to public school if I didnt make
more guy friends, and she knew I was terrified by that thought - she
would describe how horrible I would be treated for being feminine, how
I would be teased and isolated. Thankfully, she always dropped her
threats when her insecurities had time to dissipate.
During all of this, I still believed that my attractions were sins against
God, and that every time I allowed them to linger any more than a
flash, I was pushing myself further and further away from a life of
purpose, meaning, and ultimate salvation. It became a cycle: of going
to church twice a week, and during moments of prayer and reflection I
would express to God how ashamed I was, and I would ask Him to
relieve me (even for a few moments) of my sinful attractions. I would
leave church feeling some resolve and a bit of hope that that time the
following days would be easier: that I would resist temptations, and if I
did it enough, then eventually I could suppress my desires altogether.
But that never happened. I would see a guy in a store, or in a
restaurant, or while driving even in an advertisement - and I would
rush over with attraction and heat. I would indulge in it, let it linger
however long; giving myself another reason to feel guilty and ashamed
to ask for forgiveness. Based on the beliefs I was raised with, my life
Everything changed when I finally got away from my mom, got away
from my community of conservative Christians, and went to college. I
never ever expected how much better things would get. I met people
from all walks of life and learned all different kinds of things that I had
never been exposed to before. My world opened up to the beauty of
diversity and the joy of discovering who I am. I met people who had
been out for years, who were comfortable with their sexuality and
had a community to share life with, to feel normal around. And I
allowed myself to take a chance and understand things in a whole new
way to learn how to love myself exactly as I am, and not force myself
to be something that Im not.
It was a process that was both sudden and gradual: I was relieved to
finally have a place to be feminine, flamboyant, and simply gay; and
another part of me was determined to understand more about how my
sexuality intersected with the Bible, whose verses I had memorized
growing up. I spent a great deal of time researching, reading, thinking
through every issue that came up for me. One of the books that I
appreciated most was a small, detailed book called What the Bible
Really Says about Homosexuality it helped me to understand how
peoples interpretations from long ago of ancient words and phrases
shaped the Bible into what I knew it to be; and that there are
legitimate reasons why cultures thousands of years ago had the rules
that they did. Humans are still humans, but we know more about our
world and ourselves than we used to and homosexuality is not the
first debate Christianity has waged which is hinged on nothing more
than an inability to accept healthy and loving change in the world. I
love the quote: The freethinking of one age is the common sense of
the next. Poet Matthew Arnold wrote that in 1875. Through my avid
research, I began to see a bigger picture of how masculinity has been
consistently demanded of men, because people believe it is the way
God intended things to be. Conveniently, this concept of masculinity
includes birthrights to all roles of power and leadership, allowing men
to maintain authority and dominance (just like God, who is also male).
In order for this to work, women must be feminine submissive, quiet,
and uninterested in leading at all. The wrench in that system is
someone like me a feminine man. Peoples fear of difference, and of
change, compel them to do terrible things to maintain the status quo.
The truth is, each and every one of us has a mixture of masculine and
feminine within us; and the only way to live a healthy life full of love
and inner peace is to accept all parts, integrate them, and express
them in the ways that bring us joy.
College was my safe haven that allowed me to nurture my sheltered
spirit, grow in confidence as a gay man, and come to terms with my
beliefs in a completely new way. After a year of learning and growing to
feel secure in my sexuality, I had come to a peace about the idea of
sharing all of myself with the people I had known the longest.
My sophomore year, I let in my family. My boyfriend introduced that
phrase to me as his preference over coming out, explaining how the
process is a gesture of love, opening up oneself for another to see, like
welcoming someone into your home: a space that is yours, and which
allows someone to learn about you on a deeper level. I prepared for
months to let my family in, expecting my mom and dad to have severe
reactions and to withdraw all financial and parental support. I
consulted with an attorney, I met with a financial aid advisor at my
school half a dozen times, I persuaded my mom to sign over the car
to solve this for me, like she did when I was younger. It only took her a
few days to become frustrated and disgusted, and she kicked me out
for the rest of winter break.
By that time, I had already told my dad. We had gone to dinner or
something, and on the way back I asked him to stop somewhere we
could talk. It was raining that night, so we stayed in the car. As I was
proceeding through my prologue of how much I loved him and wanted
to be honest and open with him, he stopped me and said, I know, son.
You dont have to say it. He took a moment, and I noticed tears falling
down his face. And he told me, I dont really understand it, and I dont
agree with it; but youre my son, and I will always love you, and this
doesnt change how proud I am of you. I always will be. Those were
indescribably refreshing words to hear, especially after the train wreck
of an experience I had with my mom. I knew it wasnt easy for my dad
to open up and step out of his comfort zone like that it was
unexpected, in the best kind of way. And when my mom sent me away,
my dad welcomed me to his place for the rest of break.
After I let my family in, everything became so much lighter and more
enjoyable. I had told the three people that I was so worried would find
out before I was ready I didnt have the same level of anxiety about
anyone else in my life discovering. The next year or so was a rough
road with my mom. She told several family members without my
permission - contradicting what she had initially demanded of me, and
robbing me of the opportunity to personally share who I am with them
on my own terms. There was a lot of distance between us, and we
didn't talk much for several months. When I would visit during breaks,
she would bring up the subject and it was clear she saw me as a
rebellious son who wouldn't listen to her "reason." I would eventually
start arguing with her, determined to make myself clear. Time passed,
gradually, it got better. It was far from easy, and it didn't all happen at
once; but it happened. Now, I live in one of the most gay-friendly
places in the nation. I share my life with a man who is nothing short of
an angel. Every day is a new opportunity to know more about myself,
to heal my wounds, to appreciate the flowers or the light of the moon.
I've learned that when we find the good in the world, it will show up in
ways we never imagined. Sometimes it feels like there's nothing good
at all - hold on to yourself in those moments, and trust me when I say
that it is always darkest before the dawn. Never give up - you were
meant for incredible things, and you are going to touch hearts and
impact lives. Don't be afraid to love yourself - because you are worth
more than you'll ever know.