In some ways, I was like every other boy in my town: I played sports, told girls that they had cooties, and was a different Ninja Turtle four Halloweens in a row. I had an imaginary friend named Frank who was smarter and cooler than your imaginary friends, but overall, I was a normal, healthy, southern boy.
I had always known Josh. Our mothers were best friends and we used to play battleships together and trade baseball cards. He was a few years older than me, which I liked. I thought his life as a fifth grader was so glamorous. See, I was stuck in second grade with a patronizing teacher who could barely do math and a room full of morons who still didn’t know that Santa Clause was their mother.
I learned a lot from Josh.
He was very smart and funny. I even thought he was attractive. This attraction caused confusion in my young heart. Trust me, even though I was eight, I knew a lot about sex and even more about Christianity. I wasn’t under the assumption that white storks brought black babies to Chinese homes. I knew where babies came from. I also knew that God hated premarital sex, interracial dating, and especially homosexuality. It sounds strange today, but I wish I could have pleaded youthful ignorance and just followed my heart. I liked Josh, and it has taken me nearly 15 years to admit that.
When I hit puberty, I did what every teenage boy does. I started yelling at authority figures, worrying about acne, buying clothes from American Eagle, and talking to other boys about girls. Middle school is about survival, and I certainly wasn’t immune to the need to fit in to impress my schoolmates. The wrath of God is one thing, but the wrath of the popular middle school crowd was something I feared much more.
I educated myself on how to be popular and was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. I made my mom buy me a pair of Timberland boots, which she couldn’t afford. I acted like I didn’t know some of my old friends because they weren’t attractive or popular. I learned what the word ‘faggot’ meant, and I made sure I was never called that.
What I had with Josh was five years earlier, and I was over that. So, like every other guy, I asked a popular girl to be my girlfriend. She said yes, which set me up for a successful adolescence. (I am crying as I recall the hell I put others through during this time of life. I put them through hell because I was living in a self-imposed hell of self-hatred and self-rejection).
I was baptized in eighth grade. I remember being so excited beforehand because I knew that baptism would take away my unnatural thoughts for other boys. I knew that I had sin in my life and I wanted to come in contact with the blood of Christ so that I could be cleansed and spend eternity in Heaven with Jesus. So out of the water I arose: a straight child of God. (My preacher’s handsome nephew was visiting, so my heterosexuality lasted all of fifteen minutes). Because of my feelings for the preacher’s nephew, I knew my baptism was invalid. I considered being re-baptized, but this thought kept me in the church pew: “Baptism washes away sins, but I guess it doesn’t wash away me.”
High school was a little bit easier, not because it was any less confusing, but because of my involvement and constant busy-ness. I was an all-state athlete, an outstanding tenor in a choir of tone-deaf boys, and a scholar. (I maintained a 4.0 all four years). I should have felt good about myself, right? Well, I did for the most part. However, Josh was a senior my freshman year, which marked the first time that we had been in the same school building since our innocent encounter in 1994. Since our moms weren’t as close as they had been in the past, Josh and I naturally grew apart. I avoided him like the plague, but we ran into each other occasionally at parties. (I had taken to drinking because I enjoyed the feeling and I was still hiding my pain and confusion behind the mask of popularity).
One night Josh and I had both had a little too much to drink, and we were sitting together on a tailgate talking about football. I remember opening up to him about how I felt about him when we were younger. He was a senior and was terrified that someone would hear us, so he yelled at me and called me a faggot and said that I was drunk and he didn’t know what I was talking about. It would be five years before we would speak again. I was devastated, confused, and hurt. This was a turning point for me: I started dating a girl, which lasted for two years; my entire sophomore and junior years. I lost my virginity to her, cried over her, and bought her nice Christmas presents. I was straight. I don’t know how it happened, but I was cured. Praise God.
I was cured until I met David.
He transferred to my high school for our senior year. I had never met someone so smart, so funny. We spent hours talking about Calculus, Physics, and Emily Dickinson. I had never met a guy as intellectually curious as I was and certainly had never met a guy who could express his emotions so fluently. He captivated me, even though I knew we were both straight Christians who were just really intimate friends. I longed to be around him all the time.
Towards the end of our senior year, we were at a party with a few close friends, including our girlfriends. Everyone was drinking and we decided to play a game of “truth or dare”. It was funny at first, watching people drink whole beers in one breath, answering questions about who they had made out with. When it was my turn, I was dared to kiss David. So after we pretended to be adamantly against it, I leaned over and gave him a split second kiss. Afterwards, I pretended to be sick and ran into the house. In reality, the tears had begun to flow.
I was in the bathroom when I heard a knock on the door. I assumed it was my girlfriend, Brooke, checking on me. It was David. This time, he grabbed me and gave me a real kiss. He told me that he felt something and that it was confusing for him and he didn’t know what to do. I agreed, but we decided to go back out to the party and talk about it later. When we did discuss it later, he told me that he loved his girlfriend and wanted to stay with her. I broke up with mine, claiming that I was worried about the distance we would face when I went off to college. She and I are still friends to this day, seven years later. (David is now married and is expecting his first child. He called me about a year and a half ago, right before his wedding. He told me that he has thought about me often and that he just wanted to know how I was doing. I think about him often and wish he and his new family the best).
When my mother was helping me move into college, she leaned over and asked, “Are you sure you want to stay here? These people seem crazy and there are too many rules.” Touché, Mom. Truthfully, I enjoyed my college years. I made lifelong friends, received a quality education, and grew closer to God. I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything in the world. As active and “spiritual” as I was in college, I still found myself attracted to men. Trust me, I tried changing. I went to counseling, prayed fervently, and dated a wonderful girl, who I almost proposed to.
I love women and think they are great and beautiful. Even though I think women are wonderful, I am not attracted to them. I can’t explain it (as if I need to explain myself anyway). This is my life. I know every argument that has been made for and against it. This is not the life I chose for myself. This is the life God has blessed me with. I have tried running away from God and my God-given life. But I can’t “run away from God” because God is where I am headed, and God is where I have been. Most importantly, God is where I am.
So here I am, a young, gay twenty-something who is still searching. I don’t expect many of you that read this to understand. Whatever the reason for your interest, I hope that you read one thing, and that is this: You are sitting in the student center right now with gay guys; you are in class right now with lesbians; your roommate is struggling with her sexuality; you sit on the same pew at church with gay students. These students are no different from you. They love God. They love people. They are confused about their futures. They want to be loved and understood and appreciated, just like you.
So, if you can’t understand, listen.
If you can’t listen, love.
Love can be heard.
If you are gay or struggling with your sexuality and spirituality, seek help. There are people who understand and can lend an empathetic ear. You are not alone. Your journey is meant to be lived in community. Find yours. It’s out there waiting for you.
If you know who you are, don’t waste another minute living someone else’s life. Your life is precious and so is time. God is with you, and if God is for you, who can be against you?
Love,
Each Other
