Voices of the Year - BlogHer 2012

Blogging affords me a certain level of comfort. I can tell you a personal story and string words together to make you feel something while keeping myself at a safe distance. I might be overcome with emotion when writing and might even cry but those of you reading won't know because the only gauge you have are the words I give you. You can't peer through the screen while I'm writing and see what I'm feeling. I was selected to read Ministrations at BlogHer's Voices of the Year.

When I wrote that post in April...I cried.

I cried because I still have moments when I am tired of being different, moments when I wish I could blend, moments when I judge myself too harshly. But, I also shed tears because I am so relieved that I have the insight to recognize those moments and dare myself to be braver.

Writing words on a page and reading those words to a roomful of people are very different things.

When I stepped onto the stage to read, I was visible in a way that I have not been since I began blogging. I stood there looking so very queer and read a piece about coming to terms with that.

I wasn't nervous about reading the words.

I was nervous about feeling them.

And I did feel them and the earth didn't swallow me whole.

I can't imagine a better audience than the one at Voices of the Year. A roomful of bloggers cheering for you? I'll take it.

I appreciate every single person who came up to me afterwards with kind words and all those who tweeted their support. I'm still high days later.

Thank you to Deborah, the best blog wife ever, for recording this and sending it to me to post.

Also, thank you to Polly who introduced me. I was struck by the fact that Polly and I met and became friends in Minneapolis in 1993 but lost touch after she moved to California. We met again through blogging and, last Friday, shared the stage.

http://youtu.be/oLNM8aDVdxk

Check out the rest of the readers at Voices of the Year (links to the original posts unless otherwise noted):

Elizabeth Jayne Liu: To the Person who Stole My Gordita Fund

Lori Volkman: Fish-Infested Waters

Jenny Feldon: Life Lessons in the Seafood Section

Arnebya Herndon: Walk This Way

Liz McGuire: On Being Nine

Neil Kramer: The Poet at the Genius Bar

Issa Mas: The Horror of Mealtime

Susan Goldberg: It's Always Something

Dresden Shumaker: Welfare Queen (Video taken at Voices of the Year)

Jane Byers Goodwin: Dick Clark and Our Sofa

Suzanne Barston: You've (not) Come a Long Way, Baby

Barbara Becker: The Swastika in the Neighborhood

Varda Steinhardt: Holding Hands

Shari Simpson: The Best/Worst "Female" Story You Will Ever Read

STILL TO COME: The wacky BlogHer recap! You know I have stories to tell!

Anarchy!

There comes a time in a boy's life when he wants and needs deodorant. In an ideal world, the needing and wanting occur at the same time. It's horrible when there is a need but not a want and ridiculous when there is a want but not a need. We were fortunate that the stars aligned in our son's mind and arm pits.

Miguel recently requested deodorant and we thought that was a fantastic idea what with all the soccer and martial arts and push ups and sit ups and general jock-like behavior.

I know...I have written a lot about deodorant. You might even be starting to wonder if I have a deodorant fetish. Personally, I just wonder why I don't have some big time deodorant endorsement deal. But I digress. Let's get back to our deodorant situation.

I wear Sure (mint lemongrass scent) and Luisa wears Speedstick (ocean surf). I knew that I couldn't convince Miguel to wear my deodorant but Luisa's is men's deodorant so I thought he could just use hers for awhile but no - he wanted his own. I told him that I would just pick something up for him and he said that he wanted to pick it out himself and I told him if he waited until we could go together he would probably have a Master's degree and a wife and a new baby and he decided that he was fine with me picking something up for him.

I went to my old haunt, the deodorant aisle at Target, and decided that the best way to pick out deodorant for a pre-teen boy was to find the one with the flashiest packaging and the worst smell. I knew that I needed something that reminded me of the high school boys of my youth, something that smelled like Trying Too Hard. So I began my sniffing marathon with Speed Stick, steered clear of Old Spice and quickly made my way to Axe. When I smelled Axe Anarchy, I knew I had found the most horrifically perfect scent for my son.

When Miguel got home from school, I handed him the deodorant and his eyes grew wide - he loved the look of it. Then, he popped off the lid, took a deep drag and sighed dreamily, "Mom...it's perfect."

I am a deodorant savante.

He quickly rubbed some in his arm pits and took it up to his room. Later, when I called him to dinner, he came to the table without a shirt and wearing only his underwear.

He had never come to the table in his underwear. Ever.

Me: Hello? Where are your clothes?

Miguel: I don't want to wear any.

Me: You can't sit at the table in your underwear!

Miguel: Why? What's the big deal?

Me: BECAUSE YOU DON'T EAT DINNER IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.

Zeca: Dude, it's gross.

Miguel (sighing dramatically): Mom! Why do you always have to make a big deal of everything?

He went back upstairs, got dressed and returned to the table where we ate in silence.

And that's when I knew...it was the deodorant. It was ANARCHY! I'm going back to Target to look for Axe Obedience and I know it will smell so sweet.

On Life in the Closet, Outing and Glee

When I graduated from Grinnell College with my B.A. in psychology, I was 22 years old and my only work experience was filing card catalog cards and setting up projectors for professors. I needed a job. My girlfriend was a year younger than me and I wanted to stay in Grinnell. The only job I could find was working at the Jasper County Care Facility, a massive facility for people with severe mental and physical disabilities. The facility was located in nearby Newton. Grinnell was a college town. Newton was not. The people of Grinnell were open-minded. The people of Newton were not.

I began working at the facility as a direct care provider on the 2 to 10 shift. There were 7 direct care staff and 1 supervisor on each shift. My co-workers were slightly older than me and had lived in Newton all their lives. Some of them were friendly. Some of them were not. All of them looked at me with interest and not because I was the only college graduate that worked there. I stood out because I got my haircut at a barbershop and wore jeans, t-shirts and work boots. Within 3 months, I was promoted to shift supervisor and then people began to actively talk about me behind my back.

There were two women on my shift who were best friends - Tracy and Christine. Tracy liked me and Christine did not. One evening, while we were both on break, Tracy told me that people were saying that I was a lesbian. I just laughed and said, "Really?" She said, "I told them there is no way you're a lesbian." I simply nodded.

I have always been an open and honest person but, from the moment I walked in the door of that building on my first day, I knew that I could not tell anyone that I was a lesbian. It went against my nature to say nothing and every day felt like a lie but I knew it wasn't safe.

Christine was defiant and surly most of the time, regardless of circumstances. I had to confront her regarding her job performance on a number of occasions and as you might imagine, Christine wasn't fond of criticism.

One night, I was in the office finishing some paperwork and Christine came in and shut the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the desk and was silent for a minute. I turned to look at her and she asked, "Are you a lesbian?" I didn't know what to say but I knew that I couldn't hesitate, I said, "It's not appropriate for you to ask questions about my personal life." She stood up, took a step towards me and said, "Well let me tell you something...if I ever find out that you are a lesbian for sure, I will be waiting for you at your car when our shift's over and I will beat the shit out of you." Before I could say anything, she got up and left.

I was her supervisor. I never told anyone. I took no action against her.

I went to work, did my job and went home to my girlfriend every night. A few months later, I gave notice as my girlfriend was graduating and we were going to move to Minneapolis. On my last day of work, I packed up my things and Tracy came into the office. She said, "I'm going to walk you to your car tonight." I told her we could just say our goodbyes in the office. She said, "No. I'm walking you to your car tonight."

Nothing happened. No one was waiting for me. But, when I got home that night, I couldn't help but feel that I'd been lucky.

I think about this story whenever I think about outing and I thought about it tonight when I watched Finn out Santana on Glee. There will be people who will say that Santana deserved it - she is a self-described bitch and a bully. But no one ever deserves to be outed. As much as I would like every GLBT person to come out, it is a personal decision layered with complexity. There is no way to predict the consequences or their severity. Sometimes, I wonder what if...what if someone had outed me all those years ago in the tiny town of Newton, Iowa? What if?