Chapter 4 - Coming out

Chapter 4 – Outing

“How long have I been gay?” 

This has got to be the most bizarre question any gay person is asked, and yes, it is a question inevitable posed by someone who is straight.

“How long have you been straight?”

We live in a world that relies on the political construct of a family. Mum, dad and a couple of kid help the world go round; buy a house, getting married, school fees, the list goes on. Everything around us shows this family unit as the norm, the expected way to live. TV, film, all those around us, neighbors’, everyone down the street, in the suburb, and on and on. What is a young poof supposed to do, who can they identify with, who is going to tell them that it’s okay to be different, in fact it’s a gift and it’s wonderful.

As a young boy I had a preference for playing with the girls in the playground. Jump ropes, ball games were more appealing occupations than the only other alternative which was playing football. So I quickly became used to the label of ‘cissy’ which didn’t really make any difference to my life, but I did begin to identify with this intended negative label. I did have a buffer from this playground taunting which was the fact that I had an identical twin, Blane, and he did play football and we created a unique pairing which resulted in a blending of both our qualities into a single unit in most people’s eyes. From age 6 onward until I reached high school being a ‘cissy’ was simply part of who I was. This was never a positive name to be called and it was intended on the playground as a put-down. It was name calling with a negative connotation. Luckily in my third year of primary school a new boy arrived in our class, Grant, another ‘cissy’ and we were soon best of friends. We spent a lot of time together over the next few years, almost a buffer for each other when dealing with the stereotype ideal of boy’s games and girl’s games. We didn’t fit in and we knew it but for us there was no other option.

As boys, my two brothers and I were often allowed to spend the weekend at our Nana and Papas place. Looking back it was obviously an opportunity for our parents to spend some time together without us but we loved these times. They lived in a big house in the centre of the village that we were born in, Kincardine. We would spend time in the garden with our Papa from whom I inherited my green thumb, I loved nothing better than dipping the watering pail in the manure stew he used to make to fertilizer his vegetable patch. Or if the weather didn’t permit gardening I’d sit in the nanny’s room, which sat between the 2 main bedrooms on the second floor. The nanny’s bedroom was my favorite room in the house. The room was about the size of a large pantry, a window on one wall, a bed built into the opposite wall and a door on each of the remaining walls. Above the bed was a small inbuilt cupboard which housed a book collection that had been collected since my mother’s youth. Edith Blyton, the fantastic four, Brer Rabbit, all manner of story books which I hungrily devoured. If we spent time with our Nana we were often given chores like polishing the brass. A fireplace covered in horse brasses, a sight and smell I will never forget, hours spent rubbing brass until it shone. Sitting in front of the TV was also a chore with my Nana, she liked nothing more than having her back scratched, and so we would spend hours scratching away while the money slowly ran out on the TV. There was always a stack of 20p pieces sitting on top of the TV which needed to be placed into a box at the back of the unit to continue the operation. We didn’t have a TV like this so it was fun as a kid to have to pay to watch. It was how the TV license money was collected, basically the original pay for view. One such day there was a show on which featured the Jackson 5, Michael Jackson was still young at the time and was singing away with his older brothers. As the song came to a close my Nana made one comment, it was to set my mind reeling and began my journey towards recognizing who and what I was, “He’s such a cissy,” she said. I tried to sink into the back of the lounge chair, desperate not to be seen, the tone used to utter this simple statement was not the same as that used as playful jibes by the boys at school. There was a distinctly hateful tone in her voice, this was definitely something that she did not think was good. So Michael Jackson was a cissy, I was a cissy, if Nana finds out I’m a cissy; will she not love me anymore?

 Adults do not credit children with enough intelligence to create or understand an argument, but they’re wrong. In that instant a simple argument went through my head.

Michael Jackson is a cissy.

Michael Jackson is to be despised (according to my Nana’s tone).

I am a cissy, therefore I would also warrant being despised if my secret came out.

So at the age of seven I had realised that I was different, that those around me did not see my difference as a good thing and I didn’t know why or what it was about me that made me that way. Without understanding why or how, I became a carpenter at age 7 as I began to build a closet around myself to protect me from the world around me. Before you can come out, you need to get in. So looking at the world through the crack of the door frame, the journey of my ‘outing’ began.

I need to pause here and talk a little about ‘closets’, it is a fundamental part of a gay persons arsenal and at the same time the darkest place to hide yourself. By the age of 7 I had learnt to hide my true self away behind closed doors. Without fully understanding what I was keeping secret I knew that my real personality was not in keeping with the expectations of the world around me. Luckily for me I always kept the door a little ajar so that I would never lose sight of who I was and when the time felt right, as you will soon see, I threw that door open so violently, it shattered so fiercely that it could never be  put back together again. And that’s exactly where I intend to keep it, in splinters around my feet, a reminder of a direction I will not revert back towards. Not everyone is as lucky or as strong and many spend their whole lives trapped inside, shielding they’re true selves from the world. Peering from inside this closet was where I was to stay for the remainder of my youth. This makes me sad, the lives lost because the doors were sealed so tight that people can’t breathe and perish in their darkness. If I could pick only one thing that I have ever done to be proud of it would be helping other guys getting the locks of the closets they were in and freeing themselves from the guilt of exposing who they truly are. 

By the time I reached High School my family had moved to Sydney. Starting school in Australia was exciting, because for the first time we were to attend an all-boys school, perfect timing, just as puberty kicked in. Just like all groups of boys at that age the main topic of conversation was sex. This was still a time when porn was still primarily paper-based. Boys stealing copies of their uncle’s porn magazines to increase their respect amongst their peers. Those days are probably gone now with internet porn so readily available. The porn itself never interested me at all. The sight of a females pendulous breasts did not stir my teenage loins as it so obviously did my peers. What I did notice was the feeling I was getting through watching my fellow porn purveyors, their excitement was triggering mine. The only material procured by my fellow students that gave me any form of pleasure was when a male model was part of the photo shoot. Maybe it was the gay culture which was already visible in Sydney or maybe an Australian attitude, but homosexuality was part of the repertoire of our school ground banter. Maybe I was lucky but this banter was always used more as jibes than insults so I never felt like I was being threatened being part of this horse play. I was slowly, by the age of 13 able to recognize who I was. I’m not saying that I was completely at one with my gayness but I did have a name for what I was feeling and I did begin to recognize that it was other boys and not the girls around me that gave me any form of sexual feelings and offered any sort of physical appeal. Like all boys at that age my hormones were running high, it’s a time where you start to discover your body and the pleasures it can provide. Of course there is always the embarrassment of those unwanted erection, I remember sitting behind my desk in class hoping the bell wouldn’t ring until the strain of my pants deflated before I had to stand up. It was never something that was easy to hide when wearing stubby school shorts, but then again I wasn’t the only one going through the same thing (lucky me!!).

A couple of years later with a family move to Brisbane I once again found myself at a co-ed high school. It was here that I would remain until graduating from year 12. The dynamics of returning to a school that also contained girls was not a good one for me. I preferred the company of other males and in a boys school there is a far greater sense of brotherhood, it’s really hard to explain but a group of boys who do not have the distraction of girls around them are much more relaxed and comfortable with each other. When girls are present there is instantly the expectation of superiority and competition between the males vying for the attention of the female school body. I instantly became aware that ‘gayness’ was used as a method of downgrading other males when in competition for any given girl, and it was expected that every male would take part in this battle for the ‘Alpha’ spot.  So after being able to step out of my ‘closet’ with one foot while in Sydney I soon found that I had taken a step back and with my feet firmly planted inside could once again only look through the slightly open door. All through these later years of high school I was never without a girlfriend, to be otherwise was to attract attention. It was a period of sexual experimentation for both the boys and girls so sex was well and truly on the cards. I will just state for the record that I did not and have never taken part in any sexual activity that has involved a female. There was never anything about the female body that would tempt me to even explore the possibilities. I even went so far as to date a girl who had just come out of a relationship which had resulted in her obtaining an abortion. My thinking was that the trauma that she had gone through may dampen her drive for sex so I wouldn’t have to tackle the issue. I hope that doesn’t sound too manipulative or uncaring but it was the sort of thing I had to think about to survive those years.

I did go through a phase during this time when I questioned myself, a period when I felt I was broken, not normal. It was a time when I somehow knew that I had to make choices about who I was, to start forming an identity that I could live with. So I found God, God help me! This would be my salvation, through the church I would become normal, I would be able to fight back my urges through prayer. Never one for half measures I soon became immersed into the church hierarchy, spending a great deal of my time with the Elders of the church, a married couple, and their two sons. I’d found my vocation, I was going to become a minister. The Elders thought this was a great idea and I soon began to conduct Sunday evening services if the Minister was away for any reason. I spoke to my school principle and arranged to start a Christian fellowship at the school and was soon making announcements at school assemblies to rally the Christian masses. Then something happened that not everyone can place in their biography, I was exorcised. The Elders felt that I would benefit from having an exorcism performed on my, by them, to help me get rid of the demons that were still inside me, holding me back. They had performed a similar ritual with their eldest son the get rid of the homosexual demon that had possessed him in his youth. Alarm bells! This was the trigger I needed, I suddenly saw how Luke, the elder son, was living a lie with his arranged girlfriend who was going to make him straight. I knew that if he continued down this road he would never truly be happy but would always question his feeling. I did go through with the exorcism, how many chances do you get to be part of a ritual like this. I was placed into a meditative state while both Elders prayed over me, casting out the demons that arose in my relaxed and mumbling state. A couple of weeks later I made my way to church on Sunday morning as I had for the last couple of years but as I entered things had changed. I was quickly escorted back out of the church door by three men from the congregation accompanied by both Elders. Promptly told that I was no longer welcome in the church, I was advised to leave the premises and not to return. The next day I was called into the principal’s office at school to be informed that after a meeting with the Elders he had no choice but to ask me to remove myself from the Christian fellowship that I had begun. I was never given an explanation as to why these actions were taken but I feel that I said something during my time under at the exorcism that waved flags about my homosexuality. Whether the Elders thought this was too close to home because they were trying to suppress and deny Luke’s’ sexuality I can’t be sure but I think having the two of us spending so much time together was a threat. Although this sounds like a negative story it was actually one of the best things that could have happened to me as I began to shape myself as a man. The hate displayed in a place that pretended to preach love brought forth all my Taurean traits. My stubbornness in the face of opposition and my inability to forgive or forget kicked well and truly into gear. I have the church to thank for giving me the strength to kick at the doors of the closet that had contained me and the anger I hold towards, not just the Christian church but to organised religion as a whole helped me splinter that closet into fragments. I came out fully to myself at that moment and I was happy at last, everything fell into place and I finally found peace, the struggle was at an end. Then rose the anger, anger that I had been forced to endure society telling me that I wasn’t right, broken or evil. Anger against an attitude of hate, a society that forced young gay people to hate themselves to the point of suicide because they couldn’t cope with the conflict. At that moment, just like a Buddhist enlightenment everything became clear, and although I had yet to find all the answers I had found the path.

From that moment on I was out to my school friends and as it happened my school principle and I finally felt like I could let them see who I really was. It wasn’t as if I changed overnight into a completely new person but I was finally able to express my views from my perspective rather than through a false view enforced onto me by straight social norms. I was again comfortable with myself enough to reach out to others and got rid of my virginity quick smart. Never anything serious and usually something which was not repeated with the same guy twice but a great period for catching up on that teenage experimental phase that is such a normal part of growing up. The last year of school saw me exploring further afield, with age and an independent income from a part-time job, came the ability to spend more time in the city without parental controls. Fortitude Valley was an instant draw card, the party centre of the city containing the red light district was also an area known for its gay culture. I was soon having sex with men much older than me and was thirsty for new experiences and opportunities to discover the gay world. I still hadn’t come out to family at this stage, except my twin brother who never seemed to take any interest in what I was going through anyway, but that was about to change. Eager to discover everything about being gay I often grabbed a copy of the local gay paper if I was in the ‘Valley’. I left a copy under my mattress thinking that it would be safe but I came home one day from school to clean sheets. My mother came to my room, my copy of “Q News” in her hand.

“What’s this? She asked. As if she couldn’t see “Queer News Weekly” in bold print across the top.

“Get rid of it before your father sees it,” she continued before I had a chance to reply.

Handing me the paper she turned around and walked away, I stood in disbelief, not knowing what to do. The threat of telling my father wasn’t what scared me as much as my mother’s sharp ending of the conversation. So I made two decisions at that moment, I would not create any conflict, I wouldn’t bring the subject up if my mother didn’t, and I would move out as soon as I could. I need to make something clear here, “Q News” was a newspaper, it contained articles, adverts, and calendars revolving around the gay community, it was not porn. This fact told me more than the actual words spoken by my mother at that time. If she had discovered straight porn under my bed I may have been scolded but in a halfhearted reprimand, but a paper that mentioned gay life in a positive way caused distress. But I had to finish school first.

Within months of graduating I moved out of home with a school friend who was studying medicine. Stephen knew I was gay before we moved in together but was mature enough to know that I wasn’t some predatory creature like those described in the straight press in Queensland. I had begun working in the Head Office of a bank and was open about my sexuality from the get go. I didn’t flout it, I was never a ‘flaming queen” but I was not going to hide and at 17 was determined to never deny who I was ever again.  I discovered a world where the fact that I was gay made no difference to how I was treated or how I was judged. 

This decision to be who I was is most likely what brought me into conflict with the police at this time. As I mentioned earlier I was constantly harassed by officers no matter where I was in Brisbane. My dress was bright, yes, but this was the 80’s people. Most people would think that having the police escort you home would be a blessing but in Queensland in the 80’s, they were the danger for a gay person, watched out for and avoided. Stories of guys bundled into paddy wagons and driven to secluded spots where organised gay bashing were performed by the police were not uncommon. To be out as gay in Brisbane was to place a mark on your back for anyone to use as target practice and if you did get into trouble there was nowhere to turn for help. The police promoted and encouraged violence against us and unless forced to by straight witnesses, would not come to our aide.

After surviving a few years of treatment under the oppressive regime of Queensland the move to Sydney was like deliverance. I was most definitely out from the moment I saw the Opera House and Harbour Bridge once again.

“I’m here, I’m queer, and I ain’t going shopping!”

I lived a completely gay lifestyle. Ate, slept, shopped and partied in a completely gay ghetto. Breeders were rare and shunned in a similar way to the way we had all been treated in our youth. Not welcome in our lives. I was out, I was political and I was loud and proud of it. I had walked away from being cowered by the straight community and had discovered a place, like Oz where Dorothy only needs to click her heels 3 times and all will be good. A place where being straight was to be an outsider and being gay was the normal way to live. 

So where am I now in regards to being out?

I’m maybe a little more subdued, more comfortable in my own skin. My attitudes haven’t changed and I am most definitely a fully paid up, card carrying poof. But I no longer feel the need to thrust it into people’s faces like I did as an angry youth. I don’t regret a minute of what I did during those years and will be the first onto the barricade if I see any sign of an enemy advance such as the recent fight for marriage rights. But I tend to let things grow a little more organically these days, I will make a gay innuendo at work if the conversation is in that direction, I can’t make a ‘titty’ joke but will achieve the same result with a dick joke in the right situation. I no longer wait for a reaction if I do make a gay reference like I would have when younger, eager for a negative reaction so I could attack. My world used to revolve around being gay now I’ve become more comfortable with who I am as a person and not just as a gay man. Although recently I feel like I need to return into the fray and step up as an Elder of the community, like an Aboriginal Elder, to show the way for the next generation and make sure the path is clear. 

I was asked today by a cousin who is reading this blog from England, why I writing this blog and I think in part it is this renewed desire to be an active member and a voice for the community that has spurred me on. The other is the 12^th of March.

My Doctors reassuring grip on my arm remained as he looked into my eyes.

“Dean, are you married?” he asked.

“No, I’m gay.” Was my reply.

Now this exchange may seem strange but as I have just explained I was at a stage where I didn’t flout my sexuality to everyone I came into contact with. There had been no clinical reason for this topic to be discussed during my visits to the practice so no reason for me to mention my sexuality to him.

“Okay, do you have a partner?”

“Not a regular partner as such, but a number of regular guys I see,” my confusion increasing.

“Okay, well the results from your recent tests are in.” he said letting go of my arms as he turned back to the computer screen and began hitting more keys on the keyboard.