I love bigots, particularly people who like to speak openly against different people. They give my body a giddy heat, a delightful boiling of my insides that makes me want to punch something—but I don’t. I instead opt for cheery counters and flagrant homosexuality: if you have a problem with me—or anyone—I will get gay all up in your face.
For much of my life people called me gay. People would yell “FAGGOT!” at me from across the mall or even follow me around, snickering about how I was a homo or gay. Much of this occurred before I was out, way before I even realized that I was a homo. I still got those calls and, while this hasn’t happened in years (Maybe months?), there’s something so invigorating about that open hate. It excites me to want to do something.
My response to these people was to remain quiet—at least that was until I hit a certain point in early college where I decided to take them on. Instead of idling by or pretending I didn’t hear people following and heckling, I literally would turn to them and ask, “And? Do you want me to get gay on you? Are you requesting I ‘gay’ you? Do you think we are in a gay bar? Do you want a dick in your ass? Do you enjoy sodomy as much as I do?” Maybe I didn’t say the part about the dick in the ass but I would confront these people. Some were strangers and some were friends but, at a certain point in your life, you have to turn to them and tell them what they want to hear: yes, I am gay and, yes, I do gay things. Fuck you if you don’t like that because I’m going to gay everywhere I go.
That was my response to stories like this, this, and even this, strange reminders that archaic thought processes are very much alive and well. They are the giggles behind the back of progress. They are the persons who will be nice to your face and then throw something at your head when you turn around. While progress attempts to have a major life event, these are the calls of “FAGGOT” heard in the background.
They’re getting quieter—Or louder, like an empty wagon.—and more surprising. That’s kind of exciting, though. I love bigots. I want to get gay up in their face, showing them that I am real and that my way of life is real. Disagree with my putting myself into and onto other men. Go ahead. I will kiss you, spreading my gay to you as well.
It all goes back to a very important quote from Harvey Milk. You have to be out and in people’s faces. You have to be the change in order for change to occur, in order to silence these fucking psychos who are so grossed out by the idea of same sex interaction that they outlaw it. This all reminds me of a time a few years ago when my younger brother would actively use the word “gay” to call things stupid, which he and his wife took great pride in. It was like a shitty jokey game that they would play, broadcasting all over Facebook.
I wasn’t out to my family at this point so I mostly “let it slide.” But it got to a point where I would have to comment on his posts and in family reunions that this was unacceptable, that making fun of gay people—Especially so publicly.—is wrong. There was some snickering at my expense but the point got across: no one in my family talks to my little brother anymore.
(And the joke is on him: his safety nets have disappeared since DADT was lifted and marriage equality arrivare I hope that he has to look at gay people in the face every day and see that they are braver, stronger, better people than he is.)
So be gay up in people’s faces. Your pride and happiness will smother how ridiculous other people are. Your being you is the best way to silence others. I am not a quiet person, nor am I someone who allows myself to appear straight: I am gay and in your face. I wear shorts so short you can almost see my asshole. I am gay up in your face and you need to fucking deal with it.