BEING GAY IS NOT A CHOICE

It never ceases to amaze me when people who are not gay automatically think those who are gay have a choice. If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say- Why the hell are you like that? To the over enthusiastic- Why on earth would you choose to be gay? Let me tell you that when I bump into these individuals I dismiss them in my mind by picturing me stamping their head with the word IDIOT on their forehead.

Then ever so often I bump into those religious zealots who scream from the top of their lungs in words and psalms with anger disguised as passion letting me know how I am going to hell. That no matter how good of heart I am or loving to humanity I am going straight to hell. They never took into account that my good heart and will to help others had nothing to do with GOD because I was going to the eternal damnation.Them not knowing that I really didn’t have a choice at all of what I am. It never made sense to me by the way how when their own children became gay they felt OK to throw them out on the street leaving them defenseless and in a worse situation then if they had their parents with them.

Let me start by saying that just for the record I was born gay. I didn’t decide over a bowl of Frosted Flakes or Lucky Charms and in between spoonfuls I said- Hey I want to be gay. I want to make my life a little harder. I want to add years on inner turmoil and ostracizing from the rest of the world. I didn’t get bored of woman and decided to put something a little more spicier on my plate as if going out with the same sex is easier. Oh and let me add I didn’t wear pink so long that something came over me and I never came back to being straight. Hilarious!!! No I was born this way!!!

Since I was 5 years old I can recall emotions rising in me when I looked at men. Having amorous feeling for them and noticing how they looked or how their muscles flexed, their swagger, how they spoke. I was immediately drawn to the alpha male type of guy.

You can just imagine how I was when the talk of the birds and the bees involved me with woman and then you marry and have kids. To me it absolutely had my jaw dropping because it felt completely wrong to me. When it was told to me it didn’t register. Something in my head said out loud- this is not you. What the birds and the bees were showing me was not registering in my head at all. There was definitely something missing from the equation.

Looking back I thank GOD that I had a huge support system. When I say this I mean that after a while me being gay wasn’t a huge thing for my family. They accepted me and defended me till the end. My brothers defended me and never allowed anyone to hurt me. I still went through some teasing and taunting but I took care of that or it would get worse when my brothers found out and they took matters into their own hands.

One of the most memorable moments for me was when I was in JHS. At the time I was already a very animated and expressive child- oh please let me not make it sound nice! I was a very flamboyant gay kid. I walked around loud and stylish as can be. All the girls were my best friends and I didn’t hide that I had crushes on guys. I had this Guidance counselor by the name of Ms. Santarpia. She was always soft spoken and had jet black hair cut in a shag. She was a waif of a woman and extremely pale. She saw me in the hallways and asked me to come into her office. For the life of me I didn’t know why and as I sat at her desk she politely told me that my mother had to come in to see her. She wouldn’t tell me why. Now this was a big fear for me. You see my mother didn’t like coming up to school. I knew that when I told her this she was going to be in a very bad mood. She might even beat my ass just because she had to miss a few hours of work. I told mom and didn’t get hit for it which only meant that she was going to wait and find out. That way she would determine how bad my ass beating would be. The next day she went and I escorted mom to her office. Ms. Santarpia told me to wait outside while she spoke to my mom. Now mommy wasn’t too fluent in English. Like most mothers from the motherland she understood English but didn’t speak it and the few words she did were usually spicy to say the least. Standing outside her office my stomach was flipping and turning. My anxiety was on high. For the life of me I really didn’t know what this was. The conversation felt like it was forever when in actuality it was just a few minutes. It ended with hearing my mother cursing her out. At that moment the door opened and Ms. Santarpia was asking my mother to be calm. Mommy told her to go fuck herself and as she walked out she grabbed me and said in Spanish- This bitch is crazy! I am not retarded or special and that if they change me to let her know. I was lost. Mom kissed me and left and said she will meet me at home.

I had found out that Ms. Santarpia had suggested to my mother that because I was a feminine child I need to be put in Special Ed class. That me being gay or wanting to be a woman was a disease. Well mommy wasn’t having that. She asked Ms. Santarpia for my grades. I had good grades. I read way above my grade and my math skills were just as good. Mommy told her that me being feminine had nothing to do with learning. That if Ms. Santarpia moved me she was coming back to the school and beat her an inch of her life. My mother was not signing that paper for that transfer and never to suggest such a thing to her again. The transfer never happened.

You see till 1975 homosexuality was considered a mental disease and Ms. Santarpia felt that it was something that could be corrected through therapy. Mommy on the other hand didn’t really believe I was special. Yes I was loud, yes I was animated but I was far from special. Needless to say I stood in my class and it was never brought up again

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