all the way out

I’d never identified as bisexual until just before the divorce. I guess if I’d been paying attention to my own actions and desires I would have noticed. But I just figured I was into what I was into and never really thought about it. After the divorce I began exploring things a little.

I came out to my mom before I left for NY. It was important to me. Because I’d lived with so many secrets for so long. I didn’t want any more. It was also important to me to be 100% honest to who I was. But I also felt like I was getting weird hints from her. Threads of conversation that seemed like they were perfect openers into the topic.

At any rate. One day I told her. And she didn’t really blink an eye. I asked her how and when I should tell my brother and my dad. She said why not wait till you have a girlfriend. I could deal with that.

I never exactly told my brother. I had a myspace page. There’s a little check box for orientation. I was honest. Then one day he added me as a friend. I couldn’t exactly ignore the friend request. I thought about changing the little check box. But then I decided, no, that’s who I am. Maybe he won’t notice.

He never said anything about it. But there was a day when he and I were out having a beer. Somehow myspace came up. By this point my sister-in-law and my 16 year old niece had also friended me on myspace. I made some comment about how I tried to filter what I said there, because of them. My brother, the baptist preacher, set down his beer and looked me dead in the eye and said, “there’s nothing you could say that would make me love you any less.”

Yeah, so he’d noticed the little box.

Then it was just my dad that didn’t know. There were a hundred times I wanted to tell him. But it’s not like there was ever a girl I dated that was worth writing home about. Until Aaron I wasn’t telling them about anyone I was dating. And really, I was doing more sowing of wild oats than “dating”.

But it started to feel like a lie. And the longer it went, the more I imagined it would hurt Dad when he found out and then found out that he was the last to know. But I was afraid to tell him. Not because I thought he’d be upset or anything. My folks are very gay friendly. But there’s something different about knowing gay people and having your daughter turn up queer. Somehow I couldn’t help feel like I was going to disappoint him. And if there’s one thing that would kill me, it would be knowing I’d disappointed my father.

But, I’m open about my life. On the internet and elsewhere. And the circle of people who knew was starting to close in. I didn’t want him to hear about this from someone else. So I made a decision when I went home for Christmas. I was going to come out to my dad.

I snagged Mom one day when we were alone. Quizzing her as to whether or not she’d ever said anything. She, of course, wanted to know if I’d actually been with a woman yet or if I just thought I liked women. I just looked at her. “Mom. I know, OK? Let’s dispense with the details of how I know.”

So then she tells me that she thinks my dad thinks I’m a lesbian.

Record scratch.

“Wait. What?”

And she explained that since the divorce had been so bad. And seeing as how I never talked about dating anyone. So when I’d told them about Aaron, evidently they were relieved. I had to stop and get more clarification. To confirm that yes, they had an actual conversation about how they thought I’d crossed all the way over to the other side of the fence.

I do live in San Francisco and talk about going to Pride and stuff like that. But good lord, they know that all my friends are gay men. They always have been. That means nothing.

The next person I quizzed was my sister-in-law. She affirmed that as far as she knew Dad had no idea. And she backed up the story about the relief concerning my choice of a boy as a dating partner. How mom had said, over a family dinner, “Well, she’s dating again. And it’s a boy.”

Sheesh.

It happened a few nights later. We were at the ocean. Dad, my brother, and I were sitting on the porch smoking cigars. My brother started chuckling. Made some comment about how this was a situation he never thought he’d be in. Smoking cigars with his sister. I made some comment about how I wasn’t like other girls.

Several minutes later my dad was telling some story about how he’d been out with some of the other coaches after a practice. How he was the oldest in the group and yet he was the one the cute young waitress was hitting on. I asked if she was cute. He said yes. And then there was a pause. So I took a deep breath.

“You know Dad. About that. There’s something you should know.”

“OK.”

“Sometimes I date women.”

“OK.”

And that was pretty much it. We went back to talking about tequila and football and home repair.

A few days later, back at home, Dad had gone through the house turning off lights and locking doors. He came into the office where I was checking email. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I never told you the other day. You’re my little girl. I love you. And there’s nothing you could ever tell me that would change that.”

Even now as I type this, several months later, that brings tears to my eyes.

protesting

I’ve been devastated since the passage of Prop 8 on election day. Feeling like I should have done more. When truthfully I don’t know what else I could have done. I gave money. I advocated where I felt my voice had the furthest reach. I voted. I encouraged everyone I knew to vote.

I believe there is certainly a case to be made that the NO on 8 campaign was poorly organized. I believe there is also a case to be made that the high influx of black and Latino voters had something to do with its passage. And let us not forget the MILLIONS of dollars that the Mormon church and its followers funneled towards the YES campaign. Largely from out of state.

I think that my community, my queer community, never believed that this would happen in California. I believe that many of us were complacent. I am eternally grateful for living in the wondrous bubble that is the bay area. At least here I know that Prop 8 was voted down in every town save one.

This fight is not over. Prop 8’s passage in CA seems to be spurring a national movement. The protests and legal battles are escalating by the minute. Some are beginning to say that this movement is exceeding the Stonewall riots. A notable difference is that the Prop 8 protests have been largely peaceful.

Tomorrow there is a national protest. In cities all across the country. Simultaneously protesting the fact that a minority class was stripped of their civil rights. No single advocacy group has planned this. We’re in grass roots territory. Word is being passed along via blogs, social networking, and text messages.

I plan on attending the protest at my local city hall. With SB’s rainbow flag in tow. So that he can be there in spirit.

Election Obsession

I’m currently parked in my living room with a plate full of sushi glued to the news. Waiting anxiously to see how this election turns out.

I’ve been a faithful voter for as long as I’ve been able. My first love taught me the value of voting while I was still in high school. Because he was passionate about politics but also because even at 18 he was already working for the great political machine. And he was a Republican.

I lived in TX when they voted to amend the state constitution to ban same sex marriage. My workplace was also a polling place. I watched a portion of what was, at that time, record voter turn out. I did as much as I could, within the limits of the law, to campaign against that amendment. But to no avail.

And now here we are. In the final hours of what has been a campaign to end all campaigns. Hollywood is equally obsessed. He and I have spent HOURS discussing this election. For more reasons than just the president.

Because he and I both live in California. And we’ve got some state-wide propositions that are doozies. There’s a proposition to require parental notification for minors who want to get abortions. There’s a prop regarding humane treatment of animals being raised for food that’s been getting lots of press. And then there’s the proposed ban on same sex marriage.

I could go for hours on that proposition alone.

And if I lived in San Francisco proper I’d be able to vote on a proposition to decriminalize prostitution. Not legalize it, but make it so that if a sex worker is assaulted she or he can seek treatment and retribution without fear of being arrested for being a sex worker. And just for fun (so to speak) there’s a proposition to rename a local sewage treatment plant after W.

This has been such an exciting election season. For so many, many reasons. And I love that I’ve spent it in Berkeley. A city with a long political history of its own. And while it’s true that I’m a little more to the political center than most people in Berkeley (but please don’t ever confuse me with a conservative) it’s been incredible to be around so many people who are so involved.

Many of my co-workers were off today because they were volunteering at polling places. There was no question that we would all have time off to vote if needed. Most people I know have donated, phone banked, door to doored, and otherwise campaigned for causes they believe in.

It’s a pretty amazing thing to be a part of.

I have champagne ready if the same sex marriage ban gets defeated. But it might be a day or two before I pop it open. Because even in CA, that’s gonna be a close call.

pride

It’s Pride weekend in SF. June is pride month across the U.S. There have been festivals and marches happening all over the country. Pride festivities have been swinging into gear here for the last week or so.

Why is June pride month in the U.S.? So glad you asked. Because Stonewall happened in June. The Stonewall riots catapulted the gay rights movement to a more present, large scale forum. Today is the 36th anniversary of Stonewall.

I’ve been to two films this week as part of the LGBT film festival. One was a collection of short films either made by bisexual film makers or about bisexuals. Last night I went to a screening of a documentary about the culture of bisexuals in America and how we are perceived. It literally brought me to tears. It was incredibly well made. It covered a wide range of views. It was moving and touching and had me laughing and crying and wishing I’d brought every bi person I knew along with me. I spoke briefly with one of the film makers after the screening.

Tonight I’ll most likely be with my gay boys at a party. I also have an invite to go to the Dyke march with some friends. I may do both. We shall see.

Tomorrow, my lovely employer has a booth at the festival. I’ll miss the parade (I saw it last year, the best part is the opening contingent, Dykes on Bikes), but I pushed to have representation at Pride so I’m perfectly happy to hold down the lead position for the first two shifts. Half the people I work with are queer so it’s silly that we haven’t had a booth before.

This year Pride has been electrified by the recent legalization of same-sex marriage in CA. It has been truly awe-inspiring to be around. There’s still lots of work to do. We’ll vote on a constitutional amendment (to ban same-sex marriage) in November. But I have really good feelings about it. The over-riding sentiment seems to be that it will not pass.

It’s times like this that remind me, yet again, how lucky I am to live in the city I live and to have a family who is wonderfully supportive of who I am.

the lies we tell, the secrets we keep

A friend of mine sent me an IM this week. He wanted to tell me goodbye. He’s someone that I met online. In a bisexual chat room. He and I have chatted for nearly two years. We’ve never met face to face. Unless you count chatting via web cam.

But we enjoyed each other’s company. He’s one of the few I’ve met online that know my real name. We were on each other’s facebook and myspace pages. He knew GF and her husband.

He’s always kept his bisexuality very under wraps. I forget the reason. It’s so common to me that I don’t bat an eyelash at it very often. People make choices. I hope they make choices they can live with. But far be it from me to project my own moral code and philosophy onto someone else.

He met a girl. A girl that he’s become very serious about. For that I could not be happier for him. He’s been able to tell her about all of his exploits. His past. His fantasies. She said she accepted it. But here he was. Deleting everything that had to do with his “secret bisexual life.” Because, as he tells it, even though she’s accepted that bisexuality is a part of him, she remains a little freaked out by it.

It’s just sad to me. I know so many who have to hide away parts of themselves. Even from the people who are supposed to be closest to them. I find it difficult to accept an argument where someone says, “I accept that as part of who you were.” But they can’t accept that as part of who a person IS.

I understand where the fear comes from. I have some of the same fears as a woman who dates bisexual men. Will he leave me for a man someday? Am I enough to satisfy him? My own situation is further complicated by the fact that I’m polyamorous. (But that’s a different story for a different day.)

I told my friend that I understood his decision. (And I do.) And that he would be missed. That I’ve treasured his friendship and that I appreciated the fact that he told me why he was disappearing and didn’t just leave. I told him he knew where to find me if he ever needed or wanted. And that was that.

I hope that he’s happy. That’s all I can hope for. And I’m trying my hardest not to judge. It’s his life. Not mine. But I know what it’s like to live a life that is only one part of who you are. I know how hiding bits of yourself can start to eat away at you.

I couldn’t do it. So I left my situation. BOF is in the same one. He’s married. Two kids. He knew he was bisexual when he got married but didn’t say anything about it. Because he’s the monogamous type. He was happy with his wife. But over time, not being able to share those fantasies got to him. It wasn’t so much that he needed to act on them, he just needed to talk about them.

One day he started to cheat. In a desperate attempt to stave off those cravings. And she found out. About the cheating. About his orientation. And though they’ve gotten past it, she told him point blank that if she’d known when they were 20 that he was bi, she never would have married him.

And now he’s trapped. In a marriage with someone he truly loves, but who can’t, or won’t, accept him for who he is. And that’s how he found me. Because I get it. And lord knows I wasn’t exactly faithful in my marriage so I don’t judge him for his behavior.

My heart breaks for him. I see his struggle first hand. He doesn’t like who he has become, but he sees no other way out. Not now. Not when he loves her. Not when he has children and a mortgage and obligations. If our chats and phone calls and midnight rendezvous are what keep him sane, then I’m happy to do it. Because he certainly gives as much as he takes where I’m concerned.

And the boy (who needs a name in this blog) I’ve been seeing. My little summer fling that got serious. He’s been looking for someone who would accept his sexuality. He told me once he had resigned himself to the fact that he was a freak. That there must be something off about him. But then I came along and shared all the same leanings. Bent in exactly the same way. And he found freedom. For the very first time voicing his true orientation out loud.

So this IM from my friend is nothing I haven’t seen before. It’s a pattern I see all too much. But this week it also serves as a huge reminder of how lucky I am. Lucky that I was able to break free from a life of secrets and lies. Lucky that I’ve managed to surround myself with people who can handle my honesty. Even when it isn’t pretty.