Born This Way (3 page)

A couple years after this photo was taken,
the birds-and-the-bees story circulated around the playground
. My first reaction was to suggest to my best friend a position I demonstrated with my hands. I made two peace signs and connected them, also known as a “scissor sister.” And I said, “Well, couldn't we just—?” Her reaction made it quite clear: “No. We cannot.”

My mother always said that I was a smiling and laughing child. Everywhere she took me, people would remark,
“What a wonderful laughing baby.”
She tells me that I soon learned that smiling—and sometimes posing—would open doors for me. In first grade, I held other boys' hands and pretended to be married to them. I was forbidden to play with dolls, but I still managed to sew outfits for my sister's Barbies.
I hid my sewn creations in a bag and buried them in the yard
so that I could bring them out to play whenever my parents left the house.

In school, I endured beatings and humiliation. When the school bell rang at 3:00 in the afternoon to go home, I bolted out the door to avoid the bullies who waited to humiliate me in the hallways. As for the man I am today? I was born this way, and I am proud!

My mother had to bribe me to wear a dress, and I insisted on no puffed sleeves or ruffles of any kind. I was obsessed with all things NASA and wanted to be an astronaut.
I would lie upside down in our living room chairs and pretend I was orbiting Planet Earth in my own rocket.

When I developed a huge crush on my butch gym teacher (didn't we all?), my mother told me that crushes on other girls were perfectly normal. I spent a lot of time being “perfectly normal” at summer camp, with crushes on older campers and cute, butch counselors. None of my crushes materialized into anything more than long, flowery letters professing undying friendship. I dated boys because that was just what you did. It wasn't until my senior year that I finally came to terms with my gayness.
I knew I wanted more from another woman than long, flowery letters.

This photo was taken at a café in an Italian spa town. My mom, dad, brother, and I all sat down in these modern 1960s chrome chairs; however,
I was the only one who crossed my legs in such a flirtatious way!
As children, we almost never censor ourselves.

I am certain that nobody
becomes
homosexual, and many of our childhood behaviors, mannerisms, and choices are revealing. Seeing this picture now, I think, “Wasn't it so obvious that I was gay from the beginning?” My mother asked me about it during my twenties, but I didn't actually admit it to her until I was forty-five. To my surprise, she was very happy and said, “I wish you knew you could have told me before.” I am so glad I got to tell her before she died. It is important to show who you really are without fear, because
your photos will always show it anyway.

In grade school, I had an imaginary girlfriend.
I wouldn't allow anyone to sit with me on the school bus so that my imaginary girlfriend could sit next to me.
The word
lesbian
didn't exist where I grew up. I did not come out until I was twenty-two, and I fought it tooth and nail. In my mind, it would mean that I was abnormal. I give the gay teens today a lot of credit for coming out so young and realizing exactly who they are.