The Power of a Label

I received a Christmas card a few days ago from a cousin of mine in Idaho. We haven’t talked in twenty years. I have drifted away from my family. And it honestly hurts like hell to think that labels can separate us, all of us, so much.

I always had a big problem with my label. My family said to me when I told them I was gay, “We love you anyway.” You know, before I told them, I had to endure harassment and physical violence at school. I prayed to God to change me to a straight person so I could be “normal”. I told God that if he didn’t change me, I would kill myself. No sixteen year old should have to go through that. But I did go through that, alone. I had no one to talk to because being gay then was as bad as being a murderer. So, when I finally got up the incredible courage to tell them I am gay, they hit me with “We love you anyway. That’s the first time I realized that this problem was not fixable. It was me, and that part of me was not something they would accept. That is the power of a label.

One label has made me different from them. I always knew that the label applied to me. I just never really knew, or wanted to accept, the price it would demand of me if I honestly wore that label with honesty and pride. Not the kind of pride of being a homosexual, per se. Rather, the pride to proclaim that what I am is ok.

Was it worth it? I suppose it’s a pointless question to ask. The label was applied to me before I was born. It was simply a choice of living my life with some dignity, with some pride, or being ashamed of myself. But the price is high. I will never get the years back from the separation from my family. They will never really know me, or I them. I saw them last August. They were the same, but different. Or was it me who has changed? It’s probably both, but the past is gone.

I think people like us are special. You have to be strong to survive. Many of us in families that can’t accept decide not to go on, and we end our lives. I can’t criticize that because by the time I told my family, I was in a position to not have to live at home anymore. I was old enough by law, to leave. But if you are too young for that to happen, and you are trapped in a world that doesn’t accept you, there’s no clear path for you to take. That was then.

Today, there is more acceptance that we can have a place in this world. Recent events have shown me that the tacit acceptance we have gained can be easily taken away, and there are efforts to do just that. So we have another label to try to reconcile ourselves with: marriage.

After all these years of struggle, of being fired for being gay, of being attacked for being gay, of having my family relationships destroyed for being gay, can any lasting and genuine happiness come from the thirty year relationship I have with my mate? We are happy to be together. We love each other very deeply. But, what happens when one of us dies? If Kent dies first, if my home is taken, if I can’t visit him in the hospital, and all the rest of what comes from marriage, will I want to go on? The only answer I can come up with is, no, probably not. That’s the honest answer. If some friend asked me point blank about that, would I be as honest with them as I am this blog? Probably not.

You can take only so much away from a person before life becomes meaningless. Kent is my world now. I think I would be able to go on without him, if other things were in place. If I had my marriage to comfort me when I am left alone, and I knew that nothing horrible was going to happen, I think I could go on in the memories of what we had together. If the recognition and dignity of that is stripped away by the state and my country, would there be anything left for me to live for. Probably not. I would be ready to let go and leave. But, it’s only marriage right?

That is the power of a label.