Whine and Cheese

I don't have a set date for the anniversary of my coming out. As I have posted before, I came out to myself when I turned 30 years old and started the process of coming out to others very soon after. I have never regretted it for a moment.


Yes, I have this many colors of these shirts...

A couple of weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a co-worker about visiting family for the holidays. I don't recall exactly how, but the discussion came around to him asking me if my parents ever tried to "correct" any obvious gay traits (OGTs) that they may have seen in me.

Being non-athletic and a tad histrionic, I was often labeled as a sissy by other kids, including cousins and even siblings. I know my dad often shut me down whenever things got a bit over the top. I remember that he bought me and my siblings glossy tee-shirts, the kind you saw in the 1970s where a thick, photographic transfer was on the front. My sister had something girly, with a horse on it or a kitten (I think). My brother had the "General Lee" car from "The Dukes of Hazzard." Mine was "Daisy Duke" from the same show, played by Barbara Bach, sitting seductively on her jeep. I tried to find a photo of it online and I couldn't. While I would enjoy the shirt for its kitschy nature now, at the time I was unimpressed with it. Looking back, I see it for what it was, something with a hot girl on the front that I could be seen in by others.

When we would watch the show, there was a scene in the opening credits with Barbara Bach in a red bikini. If I hooted and hollered at it, my dad would laugh proudly. It was all for his benefit and in a house full of kids, I got dad's attention for a few seconds, so it became a weekly event.

My dad signed me and the twin up for football in 3rd grade without asking, that I recall. If he did, it was probably phrased "Do you guys want to go play football? It'll be fun!" without telling us exactly what was involved. I just remember being taken to a locker room one day and fitted with ill-fitting pads and pants, saddled with a helmet too small, and then dragged to a field for my first practice. It wasn't fun. I hated it. When I quit after two weeks, my dad was disappointed in me, giving me dirty stares and not speaking to me for a month after. At 8 years old, that was rough. Again, I'm sure it was done to try to butch me up, but luckily my mom said I didn't have to do it if I didn't want to.

On a side note, my sister took this same approach with her kid that Mom did. If my nephew didn't enjoy sports, he didn't have to play them. I often wonder if she doesn't remember my horrible foray into football as part of her decision-making process.

My folks always said I was the quiet child of their brood. The reason for that was that after being shut down so much for any dramatic behavior, I found being quiet got me less correction. Once my siblings and I hit our teen years, Mom and Dad had to give a lot more attention to my more rebellious twin and sis than me, so I was often left to do whatever I wanted.

Today, there is the movement for gender neutrality, no pushing boys toward boy-things or girls toward girl-things. Some (mostly conservative) folks hate it because it fights the comfortable norm they grew up with, while others love their kids no matter what and don't believe it's necessary to push them toward things they may not want.

So did my folks try to correct my behavior, yeah, but mostly my dad. I've heard and read horror stories of others' experience, so mine pale in comparison.

It is that time of year again. While I never remember the exact day, I know it was mid-January of 2003 that I looking into a mirror and finally admitted to myself that I was gay. I'm surprised that I don't recall the exact day. You'd think something so monumental would have branded itself in my mind. So, I'm thirteen years gay, I guess.

There are days I look back on things and I often wonder how my parents or my siblings didn't figure it out first. I wasn't great at hiding it, as evident from the teasing I encountered in junior high and high school. Often I wonder if I wasn't the invisible kid in my own house, the teenage antics of my sister and twin brother, both good and bad, garnering so much of parents' attention that they didn't have to spend much on me.

There were many instances of my admiring the hairy and/or bearded in TV shows and movies. I sometimes drew such men, but made sure to rip up and discard them before anyone else saw them. If anyone paid close attention they could have figured it out. I tried hard not to make any public demonstrations of my desire for these guys, but there was one good instance I recall where I slipped up.

I was the 5th grade and my mom and sister loved to read horrible rags like "The National Inquirer" and their ilk. I admit that I enjoyed reading them at times too. One such "issue" had a story about a pencil drawing that was being circulated publicly of Tom Selleck, that he supposedly didn't want seen. He was in all of his shirtless glory, chest hair for days, and that wonderfully wry smile front and center. From an artistic perspective, it was absolutely spot on (I tried to find it online and couldn't... drat). I used to stare at the drawing with the intensity of a stalker, admiring every curve, every shading, every nuance, getting a pre-puberty boner in the process every time.

One day in class, our substitute teacher was giving us a biology lesson. It basically was talking about how animals tend to have fur, which thickens in the winter time and thins in the summer. She was explaining how the fur helped keep the animal warm in the winter time. In the midst of the discussion, the teacher had said this didn't happen in people.

As if on cue, I raised my hand, asking "What about Tom Selleck? He's pretty furry!"

I felt it was on honest question, but I recall wishing I hadn't asked it almost immediately. The class turned and looked at me with this "WTF" stare and the teacher stammered that she didn't think it was the same thing. I clearly caught her off-guard. It seriously embarrassed me, which is why I remember it so vividly.

At least now, I can openly admire such furry beauty and make these comments without worry for the most part. And obviously, I draw what I like and post them publicly.

It's a good place to be.

January 2013 means I have been out of the closet for ten years. While so many things have happened, it still doesn't feel like it's been 10 years. I remember the frightening feeling of admitting it to myself at 30, but things have certainly gone far better than I thought it would have.


Looks bright, right?

I was wondering what I'd post for this anniversary. On the drive home today, I heard an Aerosmith song on the radio and it came to me (and no, it wasn't "Dude Looks Like a Lady"). It was "Rag Doll" and it reminded me of something from long ago, the first time a guy hit on me. It was surprising and nerve-wracking at the time, yet funny in retrospect.


I was eight years old.

Hey, don't freak out and call Chris Hansen! I wasn't molested or anything like that! This is not a dirty story, I promise.

When I was eight years old, the annual JLA/JSA team-up came out in late 1981. It was a fantastic story, drawn by the always impressive George Perez. This team-up in Justice League of America #195-197 brought out some heroes and villains from the Golden Age. One of the great ones I read in the comic was a villain called Rag Doll, a triple-jointed bad guy who dressed up like a giant rag doll and fought the Golden Age Flash. I was amazingly taken with the Golden Age comic characters because they were new to me.

My dad was a truck driver, who had a regular, daily route between my hometown of Corbin, KY and Lexington, KY about 90 miles away. He drove the local mail to the sorting center six nights a week and brought the Corbin mail back. On occasion, the twin and I would accompany him. On this particular trip, it was just me.

In Dad's truck was a CB radio and we'd chat away on it often. On this particular trip, we had arrived in Lexington around 11 PM. Dad was inside the sorting center getting the necessary paperwork fixed up and left me in the cab alone. I knew better than to touch anything that would cause the truck to move, but the CB was fair game. So I started chatting and came up with the CB-handle "Rag Doll." Anonymity was fun and I thought it was a neat handle.

Some unknown trucker started chatting with me. I don't recall his handle, so we'll just call him "Hairy Trucker." He started telling me that I had a nice voice and asked me what I was up to tonight. I told him I was just passing through Lexington as soon as the truck was ready. He told me that he was breezing through the area on I-75 himself. After about four or five minutes of talking, he asked me if I knew where a certain hotel in Lexington. I said I didn't. He told me what exit it was on and asked me if I wanted to meet there for a drink.

Naive and confused to what he was hinting at, I just blurted out to him something like, "I can't, my dad will be here in a few minutes and we need to get home."

Somewhere in the next few questions, I honestly told him I was a boy and 8 years old. I thought that it was obvious. I can't imagine how freaked out this guy was. He did ask something like, "Why would you use a handle like 'Rag Doll'?"

I told him that it was a comic book character that I thought was cool. He educated me that it was a girl's handle.

Mortified that I had done something wrong, I signed off and stayed away from the CB for the rest of the night. It wasn't until years later that it hit me what Hairy Trucker was asking for. I can definitely see the humor in it now. I often wonder what the trucker told people, if he ever told anyone he propositioned a lady that turned out to be an 8-year-old boy.

Obviously, I was good at chatting and ironically practicing for something I do regularly these days. :D

I've been thinking about what to put on here for my eighth anniversary from the closet. Normally I post some event from the past, but nothing specific has come to mind this year and I think that, in itself, is post-worthy.

No, I haven't lost my mind. Well, okay, that's subjective to some.

When I came out of the closet eight years ago this month, it was quite a personal event. Now I'm guessing I'm starting to mellow out a little bit on the idea of being out. Before it was something like a secret I was revealing to the world, allowing a little bit more of myself to be known to friends and family. It was exciting.

The road has been a good one, mostly full of acceptance with only an occasional disappointment. Am I out to everyone? No. Do I care if others find out? Not really.

Last night I drew this cartoon to describe a happy mood, a kilted cheerleader. Imagine an entire squad of them. If there were such squads, I'd watch sports happily.

Admiring the Non-Standard Beauty
The above toon really has little to do with the entry directly. I just doodled it last night for fun (and after a visit to the gym yesterday).

It is difficult to believe it's been six years since I decided to leave Ye Olde Closet. It doesn't seem that long ago and yet it seems like forever. So many experiences, so many yet to have.

( Getting Long Here -- Cut for the Uninterested )

On the drive back to my office today, I had time to think about my last entry about coming out to my sister. I shouldn't have cliffhangers, I guess, as I'm likely to forget to continue things for next year's anniversary. So, just for the interested parties, here is the rest of the story with my coming out to the twin.

( Cut to save space and the uninterested... )

I wish I had recorded the exact day when I looked into the mirror and accepted the fact I was gay. I remember it was January 2003, but the day is pretty much lost to me. In looking back it seemed so much was going on at the time that the days blurred together. And of course, I didn't have LJ to document it all. Too bad, I think I would have enjoyed having that on record.

I think for this year's anniversary, I'll recount my very first date. I don't mean my first gay date, specifically, but rather my first date.. EVER... at age 30, that just happened to be with a guy :)

( Cut for the disinterested )