Rosemary Nissen-Wade: Aussie poet and teacher of metaphysics – a personal view
My bestie nicknamed me SnakyPoet on her blog, and I liked it. (It began as
'the poet of the serpentine Northern Rivers' and became more and more abbreviated.)

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Homophobia Is Still With Us

Background (especially for non-USA people). It seems there was a teenage girl who wanted to take her girlfriend to the prom and wear a tux. School said no, girl took school to court, school was deemed discriminatory.  School cancelled prom; court said that was OK. Rumour of secret prom to which everyone was invited except girl. Girl expressed her upset on TV.

Well, I think that’s how it goes. I wasn’t there and didn’t see the TV coverage. The first I knew about it was when, on a social networking site — no, not THAT one — someone said the girl was welcome to her alternative lifestyle but shouldn’t be shoving it down other people’s throats.

To which someone else posted the comment below. I shared his outrage, was moved and horrified by his experiences, and loved his eloquence so much that he is now my cyberfriend and has given me permission to repost this:

Being a homosexual is NOT an 'alternative lifestyle'. How dare you? How FUCKING DARE YOU???!!!

Shoving her alternative lifestyle down other's throats? How about you choke on this? While I lay in a darkened room twice a week, being pumped full of poisonous chemicals that just might kill my tumor before either the tumor or the poison kills. oh say ME, I am allowed to have my Mother by my side.

But my boyfriend? (Boyfriend, a high school term if there ever was one, but in West Virginia he will never be allowed to be my husband.) My boyfriend, the man who has stood by my side for three years, who held my left hand while I held my father's hand in my right as they took him off life support, the man who holds my hair out of my face while I puke every know where he is during my treatments...during my biopsies... the hall. In a metal folding chair, with no rights whatsoever to hold my hand. To wipe my tears. To be there when I am given life changing and often terrifying news.

And do you know what high school was like for me? A kid who could not hide his sexuality and differentness if he wanted the freaking 80's? I lived thru hell on earth. It was not cool to be gay, yet. All the girls did not want to trade hair tips. No kind hearted jock defended me, because his uncle or someone was gay.

I just had to learn to live alone. I had to survive being spit on, death threats called to my house, my locker having faggot spray painted on it.

I never went to a prom, or homecoming, or even a school mixer. In fact, I spent most of what should have been my 'breakfast club' years on the goddamn streets. Desperately trying to understand why the world hated me and wanted to end me based on something I had no choice in or control off.

No one should demand to change the rules? You tell that the family of Martin Luther King Jr. Tell Mrs. Parks she should not have stayed in her seat.

And while you're at it, come tell my 'boyfriend' to his face that we have no right to 'special treatment'. No right to demand our own way, or rock the boat, or...heaven forbid...make someone 'uncomfortable' because they are forced to be exposed to our 'gay agenda'.

You know what MY 'gay agenda' is? That when and if I lose this fight with my own body, I would like to die in the same arms I have cried myself to sleep in for three years.

But you feel free to say "oh...HIM. He just wants to change things and force his way of life down everyone's throats."

And feel free to go to hell while you're at it.