I used to be a lot more conservative than I am today. I know, I know — little ol’ me, who is about ready to pick up a straight Democrat ballot on Election Day later this year.
In high school, a friend mentioned seeing two girls kiss in the hallway (which by the way, I now realize was WAY ahead of its time in small-town South Carolina), and I chimed in my disgust right along with the group I hung out with.
Going to a women’s college, I’m surprised that there were few lesbian students who were “out of the closet.” Well, I’m sure there were some we probably had suspicions about, but the whole situation blew up during my junior year when a lesbian couple signed up to room together the next year.
I shudder now thinking about how I opened my Bible to Leviticus and read the passage about the punishment for homosexuals — conveniently not seeing the rule of how children who disobey their parents should be stoned to death. I felt ready to do everything but picket in front of the dorm.
One Sunday morning a couple of years later, my Sunday School teacher proposed this situation to us: You have to decide between two people for a promotion. The more qualified person is a homosexual while the lesser qualified is a Christian family man. Whom do you choose?
The answer was obvious to me: the more qualified person should get the promotion no matter what his or her sexual preference. However, the preacher’s son began rambling about how he would promote the Christian family man over the homosexual.
Another girl in the class and I immediately began tearing apart his arguement — the logistics of which I can’t even remember right now. All I remember is listening to this ass go on about what his responsibility was as a Christian, and I had a glimpse of what impression I must have given in college. It was humbling, to say the least.
A couple of years after that incident, K, one of my closest friends, revealed that she was a lesbian. While I had lost a lot of my conservative tendencies, she still worried about telling me because another mutual friend of ours pretty much severed ties after finding out. I had been friends with K since high school, and I knew that sexual preference didn’t matter to me.
What mattered to me was the fact that she was the only person I knew when I started my freshman year in college, and she always checked up on me. She had called my room not long after my parents left from moving me in, and when she heard the tears in my voice, she invited me to her room. What mattered to me was the fact that she was an excellent listener and could help me see the brighter side of any problem. What mattered to was that she was one of my best friends.
She wasn’t disowned by her parents or ostracized, but it still wasn’t an easy time for her. Seeing her willingness to stand up and say, “You know what? This is who I am, and I’m not going to let other people’s judgement keep me quiet,” just floored me. I found a tremendous amount of respect for her because I don’t know if I could do what she had the guts to do.
My friendship with her and other homosexuals has opened my eyes so that I can see the impact of this incessant need to declare heterosexuality as the superior lifestyle. When I read about and listen to these fucktards ranting about how the institution of marriage must be preserved, all I remember is that pompous, pretentious ass of a preacher’s son spouting his line of self-righteous bullshit.
And even though I’m in the minority, I’m glad — even relieved — that those close-minded days are behind me.