CCBC-Net Archives
desire, graphique
- Contemporary messages sorted: [ by date ] [ by subject ] [ by author ]
From: Maia Cheli-Colando <maia>
Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 20:33:44 -0700
Nancy,
/I began this message offlist -- surely, I thought, this is too much information for the public discussion? It is also, for me, uncomfortably personal. But I didn't want to let the "ours" and "not yours" of pride stand unquestioned... and I couldn't figure out how to question it in the abstract. And, I know that other people -- other teens and once-teens feel this way, and so few seem to speak to this. So here goes...
/ As a girl who would have killed myself (literally meant) had I been unable to keep my attraction to other girls largely subconscious, I do feel that it is a personal issue for me. I knew I walked a very tight line from sixth grade onward, after my first crush on a female counselor. Being sexually attracted to girls was an absolute non-option until the summer after I emerged from high school. (It was quite a revelation to be able to fall hard for a lovely young woman one month into college. So much freedom in escaping fundamentalist hell in the form of my public school.)
As a young woman whose parents refused to talk to me for a month after I marched in a GLB parade... and naively answered the newspaper reporter's questions about the history of the triangle and thus ended up on the front page of our local paper... I paid a personal price. (So did my parents, who lost clients, their land-share up north, and a significant deal of public respect over my speaking.)
As a woman who married one of the two great loves of her life... who happened to be a man... I am on the outside of lesbian culture. But how truly am I? Were Kevin lost to me, I'd undoubtedly date women, as well as men, depending on whom I met whom I might love. Most of my close friends are women. On average (but what an odd thing to run stats on!) I find more individual women attractive and interesting than individual men. So what minority/majority is mine?
When I was in college, to many in my social sphere, sleeping with a man was betrayal. (This was regardless of your sexuality. I hung out with a rather radical feminist crowd.) But most of the women I knew weren't straight or lesbian, they were bisexual. The bisexual men I knew had it even harder; the tolerance from other gay men was nearly nil. I remember what one gay friend said, that he simply wouldn't call himself bisexual anymore -- not because he wasn't, but because he was in a gay relationship, and being bisexual was such a social struggle. His attractions were as much as women as to men (as I was in a good position to know).
Like my friend, I found that my relationship came to define my sexuality... not to me, not to my heart, but to all of my cultures. I married a man, thus, I was straight. End of story.
If life were a progression towards a epic conclusion where each of us were exactly and all that we were meant to be, I guess I'd have to be straight -- at least, if today is the epic end. But I don't believe that life works that way; and heck, if it worked that way for me, I'd be a lousy YA writer. In order to write about being a kid, or a teen, in order to empathize (rather than just sympathize) with the teens I know, I have to be willing to remember my own uncomfortable history. I have to be able to acknowledge all the me's throughout time.
I put my family relations on the line, I put my fears on the line, I put my sense of self on the line when I walked the streets at nineteen proud. That same person is in me still. I'd take those risks tomorrow. I guess I am taking some of those risks now.
So when I say that Pride Parades are for everybody, it's because no one except yourself knows your heart and your desire. And even you learn more of your heart's territories through time. No one could have pegged me for a gay kid. But if it had been free, unpunished, undemonized, then I might have been a more joyful teen... and getting past eighteen might not have been quite such a razor wire. And, I think that if we were all free to acknowledge the complexity of our desires, living less in the black and white, we'd do better at understanding each other. How better to make safe the world for gay and lesbian teens than to set everyone free of shame?
Maia
Received on Wed 29 Jun 2005 10:33:44 PM CDT
Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 20:33:44 -0700
Nancy,
/I began this message offlist -- surely, I thought, this is too much information for the public discussion? It is also, for me, uncomfortably personal. But I didn't want to let the "ours" and "not yours" of pride stand unquestioned... and I couldn't figure out how to question it in the abstract. And, I know that other people -- other teens and once-teens feel this way, and so few seem to speak to this. So here goes...
/ As a girl who would have killed myself (literally meant) had I been unable to keep my attraction to other girls largely subconscious, I do feel that it is a personal issue for me. I knew I walked a very tight line from sixth grade onward, after my first crush on a female counselor. Being sexually attracted to girls was an absolute non-option until the summer after I emerged from high school. (It was quite a revelation to be able to fall hard for a lovely young woman one month into college. So much freedom in escaping fundamentalist hell in the form of my public school.)
As a young woman whose parents refused to talk to me for a month after I marched in a GLB parade... and naively answered the newspaper reporter's questions about the history of the triangle and thus ended up on the front page of our local paper... I paid a personal price. (So did my parents, who lost clients, their land-share up north, and a significant deal of public respect over my speaking.)
As a woman who married one of the two great loves of her life... who happened to be a man... I am on the outside of lesbian culture. But how truly am I? Were Kevin lost to me, I'd undoubtedly date women, as well as men, depending on whom I met whom I might love. Most of my close friends are women. On average (but what an odd thing to run stats on!) I find more individual women attractive and interesting than individual men. So what minority/majority is mine?
When I was in college, to many in my social sphere, sleeping with a man was betrayal. (This was regardless of your sexuality. I hung out with a rather radical feminist crowd.) But most of the women I knew weren't straight or lesbian, they were bisexual. The bisexual men I knew had it even harder; the tolerance from other gay men was nearly nil. I remember what one gay friend said, that he simply wouldn't call himself bisexual anymore -- not because he wasn't, but because he was in a gay relationship, and being bisexual was such a social struggle. His attractions were as much as women as to men (as I was in a good position to know).
Like my friend, I found that my relationship came to define my sexuality... not to me, not to my heart, but to all of my cultures. I married a man, thus, I was straight. End of story.
If life were a progression towards a epic conclusion where each of us were exactly and all that we were meant to be, I guess I'd have to be straight -- at least, if today is the epic end. But I don't believe that life works that way; and heck, if it worked that way for me, I'd be a lousy YA writer. In order to write about being a kid, or a teen, in order to empathize (rather than just sympathize) with the teens I know, I have to be willing to remember my own uncomfortable history. I have to be able to acknowledge all the me's throughout time.
I put my family relations on the line, I put my fears on the line, I put my sense of self on the line when I walked the streets at nineteen proud. That same person is in me still. I'd take those risks tomorrow. I guess I am taking some of those risks now.
So when I say that Pride Parades are for everybody, it's because no one except yourself knows your heart and your desire. And even you learn more of your heart's territories through time. No one could have pegged me for a gay kid. But if it had been free, unpunished, undemonized, then I might have been a more joyful teen... and getting past eighteen might not have been quite such a razor wire. And, I think that if we were all free to acknowledge the complexity of our desires, living less in the black and white, we'd do better at understanding each other. How better to make safe the world for gay and lesbian teens than to set everyone free of shame?
Maia
Received on Wed 29 Jun 2005 10:33:44 PM CDT
