Extending a Hand not Hatred

I need to take a break from the net, social media can be so tiresome and the amount of ignorance that comes across the screen is absolutely insufferable at times. I found myself quarrelling online, with the obtuse, after watching the documentary, "Will and Harper" a few days ago. It was such a moving display of human vulnerability and compassion, demonstrating how we should positively accept and understand our fellow LGBTQ+ human beings, who may be dealing with a tremendous amount of fear and anxiety because of the differences in their psychological and physiological makeup. The emotions this movie raised within me, no doubt fueled the exasperation I felt with those vilifying and condemning Will for his understanding and Harper for her existence.

It didn't take long after I finished watching the film on Netflix, before the social media AI algorithms kicked in, and my Meta feeds were displaying posts and threads of members highlighting the documentary and applauding Will for his support. However, with the emotional state the movie put me in, I went into each post looking for any negative or disparaging remarks, I wanted to give these people a piece of my mind.

I'm turning 50 this year in November, and my determination to be an ally for the LGBTQ+ community isn't something that just burgeoned within me recently. I began a quiet alliance when I was much younger. My mother remarried when I was 10-years old; to a biker, resulting in her circle of friends being made up of some interesting characters and party animals. Since we had an inground pool in the backyard, most of the weekend ragers took place at our house. When I turned 15, a man named Richard started frequenting these outrageous parties.

Richard was hard to miss, with his flamboyant personality, a frosted mullet perm, and looking like a cross between David Hasselhoff, and George Michaels, he was very conspicuous amongst the rest of the partygoers. The usual male patron garb was a leather vest with club patches over a flannel, and grease-stained jeans, with unkempt hair and grizzled beards. These men were no fashionistos, unlike Richard in his light colored linen suits, mimicked Don Johnson's "Crockett" from Miami Vice; making him stand out and catching my attention. What also caught my attention was how the men talked to Richard in derogatory and demeaning tones, while mostly women surrounded him.

I was curious as to why Richard would be at these parties, where the men seemed to not like him, and only the women would gather around him and talk to him. Asking my mother about Richard, she informed me that he was a hairdresser, and that's how the women knew him. I was still perplexed as to why Richard was suddenly at these parties; never seeing him or anyone like him previously. My mother said, "Richard is gay, and that makes the men uncomfortable; but he supplies them all with drugs, so that's why he's around".

Now, one may be wondering what a kid is doing at these parties, being exposed to the types of things I'm disclosing in this story, and why my parents would allow it. Like I said earlier, these parties would last the entire weekend, so who ever had kids would bring 'em. The kids and adults would stay separated for the most part, usually we'd be out in my clubhouse above our barn, but every once in a while the adults and kids would intermingle especially when food was being served or one of the needy kids wanted the attention of their parent. However, I was a unique kid and found myself innately intrigued by the adults social behavior, and having a more mature intelect for my age, I would hang around observing and conversing with the adults more than the other kids. It's arguable that I was exposed t0 situations and conversations, that I was too young to be privy to, but because of my mother's loose reign, I believe I benefited from the wider reality I beared witness to, and ultimately coming to know and understand who Richard was.

I grew up participating in traditional sports, the ones most Midwestern boys involve themselves with. I really enjoyed watching and playing football and basketball, my uncle and dad even coached my youth basketball team, on which I was the star player. Because I was so good at basketball, all thought I was surely going to play on the varsity team as soon as I was in high school. I believed this as well. When I turned 14, this all changed. While looking for a basketball game to watch, I stumbled upon a tennis match between Andre Agassi and Ivan Lendle, while flipping through the channels. The energy, flashy play, and image Agassi embodied really intrigued me. I was immediately hooked and I not only would take up tennis, I would also mimic the image of my new found athletic hero.

By the time I reached 15, I was a freshman in high school, and I not only perfected Agassi's look, I made the Varsity Tennis doubles team. This new sport and look came with some disgust and criticism from male family members, who's ideal image of masculinity probably looked like someone closely resembling Johnny Unitas and acting like John Wayne. I did not fit that bill. I had long bleached blond hair, and double piercing in each of my ears. To the ire of my father, who being upset that I no longer had sole interest, if any, in playing basketball; combined with my long hair, piercings, and interest in tennis asked me, "are you a fag?". That was the last time that I would split my time between my divorced parents. I would rarely see my father after that. Once I moved on to college and throughout my 24 year career in the Navy, I would see him less than a handful of times over a 30 year period. In 2016, I cut him out of my life completely after he treated my oldest sister's son with the same bigoted disrespect. My nephew is a very kind and caring young man, who openly supports the LGBTQ+ community, and over one of his social media posts regarding the subject, my father called him a "pussy" for caring about people the old man didn't agree should receive that kind of consideration. I immediately sent him a damning private message, blocked him on social media, all means of communication, and from my life entirely.

At 16, after almost two years of the long hair and moving my way up the Varsity Tennis team ladder to the number 3 singles spot, I gained a modest amount of attention at my school. As much as I loved the Agassi look, it was growing cumbersome to play tennis with and the girls were raving over the guys from 90210 and the New Kids on the Block. So, I decided it was time for a new look. This is when, my mother highly encouraged me to see our friend Richard, and use his hair stylist expertise. Without reservation, I agreed to my mother's suggestion and the appointment was made during the summer between my sophomore and junior years. Richard did an excellent job of sculpting my "image is everything" mullet into the perfect blend of a Brandon Walsh (90210) and Donnie Wahlberg (NKOTB) hairdo. To his professional credit as well as his personal style acumen, my new look really was a hit with the girls I was trying to impress, to which I would routinely remind and thank Richard for, when ever I got the chance. However, it wasn't the haircut that I appreciated most about that interaction and experience with Richard, it was the conversation we shared and the genuine interest he seemed to have behind the questions he asked about my life.

Richard inquired about my high school studies and what I was interested in doing or becoming when I was an adult. Up until that point in my life, no man had ever asked me that question or even took any interest in knowing, much less guiding me into accomplishing those goals; this includes my father. Richard light-heartedly asked what kind of girls I was interested in and gave me pointers on how to approach them. My visit with Richard lasted over and hour, because I had so much hair to cut, my mother only interjecting into our conversation here and there, for the most part it was the first real conversation I held with an adult man. Then, at my young age, I left really enjoying the interaction I had with Richard; however, later as an adult I would come to appreciate it for great benefit it afforded me in my life. If there are those that would hold any judgement regarding my exposure to the adult parties where I first learned of Richard, I believe the positive influence and experience I gained from meeting Richard at such a young age should extinguish that judgement. I am grateful that I was introduced to Richard at such a young and impressionable age, before there was a chance of prejudice and bigotry to be introduced into my mind, it was filled with a wider reality of human existence and understanding. The haircut I received from Richard that day, was more than that, It was the event that helped shape my understanding and acceptance of the diversity in this world. After my visit with Richard, I would no longer be quietly supporting those amongst us whom are different, but I would now be an open and vocal supporter for their equal and fair treatment.

Back to school my junior year, I was sitting in the bleachers of our auditorium, amongst the 30 or so students of my PE class, receiving information and instructions on how to pick the 4 physical activities modules, amongst many, that we would like to participate in for the semester. Once we received our instructions and student sign up sheets, the chatter began of which activities are the best and who's choosing what. "Give it back!" again I loudly hear, "give it back!" a boy named Louise, was shouting at two other boys, to give his jacket back. As the the two boys had his jacket they reached inside one of his pockets and pulled out a container of concealer makeup, and held it up for everyone to see, making fun of him by saying things like, it was girl stuff and why would he have makeup in his pocket, like a girl. I stood up and stepped off the bleachers and grabbed the jacket from the boys saying, "give it back to him, I have a younger sister that goes to school here, and I sometimes carry her stuff, like makeup"

I handed the jacket back to Louise. Who was embarrassed but happy to have his jacket back. Louise was noticeably different from the rest of the boys in school, his mannerisms and speech were more feminine, I imagined him to be a younger version of our family friend Richard, so I felt compelled to step in and stick up for him that day in the gym, knowing that those boys were bullying him because he was different. I asked Louise if he'd want to join me in the same PE modules this semester, and he agreed. We picked basketball, archerie, track, and tennis (of course). Louise wasn't really athletic, and he never played sports before but I wanted him to feel included so he wouldn't be left out and a target for boys to bully. The other young guys seeing me include Louise, stopped the teasing, at least in 8th period PE class. After the first semester of my junior year, Louise transferred, and I never seen or heard from him again.

My last year of high school a boy named Ryan, that reminded me of Louise, and Richard would always walk the halls in between class periods with groups of girls. I would hear the boys whispered conjectures regarding his sexuality. One day while he was walking with a couple of girls, a boy went up to him and slapped all his books and papers from his hands. The books fell hard to the floor as the papers trailed in the air following the young assailant. I was walking with my girlfriend next to me about 20 feet behind them when the incident happened. I without hesitation took off running after the kid that did it. I caught him right outside the door, of my English teacher's classroom, and had him by the throat jacked up against the wall, yelling at him that he's going to go apologize. My English teacher was frantically screaming at me to stop and let him go. I did let him go, I never hit him, but I believe if it wasn't for my teacher I would have. I was immediately reprimanded to the principal's office, and even though I believed my cause was just, I received a week's suspension for my actions. The unfortunate aspect of this incident was, people looked at me differently, with disappointment even because I used violence, even though it was in defense of violence perpetrated against someone more vulnerable. However, I don't believe I'd have done anything differently because I felt in that moment all the young Richards, Louises, and Ryans feared being around other boys because there was always someone that would going to take their jackets, knock the books from their hands, or do much worse.

In 1998, I would come to know what was "much worse" and the brutality homophobic men are capable of when Matthew Shepard was brutally tortured, beaten, and left to die, tied to a rural Laramie, Wyoming Fence. Writing of this event, still today, brings immense sadness and tears to my eyes because he reminds me of my friends Richard, Louise, and Ryan. When I heard the news story regarding Matthew, I had been in the Navy for only a year and the incident during my boot camp was still fresh in my head. I was assigned a Squad Leader position, that was responsible for 12 other recruits, one of those was John. After about 2 weeks of boot camp, John was having a hard time adapting the the new regimented way of life, as well as meeting the physical fitness standards. John was really quiet and would usually keep to himself and be riddled with anxiety when the Recruit Division Commanders tested his aptitude. Showering in boot camp was a group event, usually 2 squads at a time, so about 24-30 men naked, standing in line waiting outside the showers, for a squirt of shampoo into your hand so you could enter and get your 2 minutes of water to wash and rinse. On one occasion I heard a recruit named Lape, shout, "oh man, look at how small his dick is!" He was directing everyone's attention to John. My heart and head sank. as a squad leader I replied, "Hey no talking in the shower" which was a rule, but the damage was done. All the insecurities John had surrounding his inability to pass the fitness tests and measure up to the minimum of military standards was just reinforced. For two weeks after that event, I worked with John and really tried to help him pass the fitness test and fit in to the military, unfortunately he did not succeed and was kicked out of boot camp for failing fitness standards. At the time, I tried to assure myself that it was best and that the Navy wasn't right for him, but the day he left I worried what would happen to him, and what he would become. The News of Matthew Shepard brought all that back in an instance.

I have had a very distinguished 24 year career as a diver in the Navy. I've seen combat in Iraq, I've participated in humanitarian recovery efforts after the destruction of the Tsunami in Thailand and having to bear witness the devastation that death brings in both of those situations. I've rescued people from drowning, as well as pulling the bodies out of lakes, rivers, and oceans when we were too late. I don't mention these things about my career and life because I want accolades or believe they are what measures me as a man; because for many in our society those things are the metrics used to define one as brave, successful, maybe even noble. However, I mention them, because through my military career my principles have rested on the foundation of core values and an oath I took to support the Constitution of United States. Those core values and that oath, although I may have touched upon them as a boy and young man, when I stood up for Richard, Louise, Ryan, and John; they were forged permanently into me after my enlistment and career in the U.S. Navy. I have sworn to uphold, promote, and protect democracy for all, not just for those who want us to believe that only those that fit some normal standard deserve that right and protection.

I take great offense when I see people disparaging our fellow LGBTQ+ human beings. I want the world to know that this big diesel truck driving, gun owning, meat eating, weightlifting, Navy Deep Sea Diving, long haired full bearded macho-lookin' man has got the backs of the LGBTQ+. You will recognize me, I'm the only big gray, blacked out heavy duty truck, with a Defend Equality sticker on my back window, depicting the LGBTQ+ community flag with a black AR15 style rifle superimposed over it. Know when you see this sticker there will be a helping hand behind it, not hatred.