San Francisco Vignettes

“You’d probably be dead.”

We were having dinner Friday night at an Italian restaurant in the Castro with George and Lee, new friends whom we had met on our Croatian gay cruise in September. They had invited us to have drinks in their stateroom and to join them for dinner with some of their friends. Mark and I had been feeling down that night, depressed about Mark’s cancer. Their invitation saved the evening for us, and we greatly enjoyed our time together. Before the cruise ended, they had asked us to contact them if we ever came to San Francisco, and we had arranged to have dinner together Friday night.

We had been talking about coming out, their stories and our stories. They’re both about my age, and it was fascinating for me to hear what life had been like for them when they were young, While I was working for my father’s company in Zanesville, Ohio, heavily closeted but desperate for friendships and relationships, George had arrived in San Francisco. He told us how one of his first jobs in the city before going on to dental school had been working as a dental assistant across the street from where we were eating.

“I started keeping a list of people I knew who had died of AIDS,” he explained. “but I stopped counting when the list reached 100 names. I was lucky. Chances are very good that if you’d come out as a young man, you’d probably be dead now.”

Mark and I had often said the same thing to each other, partly to ease the regret we sometimes felt at not living our life out loud during those youthful years. This was the first time we had heard it from someone else’s mouth, and it felt strangely comforting. 

*************

“Are you guys monogamous?”

We had finished dinner and had just said good-bye to Lee and George on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Across the street, several bars were full of Friday night customers. 

I turned toward the source of the question and saw a slightly overweight blond woman who appeared to be in her late 30’s or early 40’s. It was immediately obvious that she had been drinking rather heavily. I could have taken offense to her very forward question, but I had been drinking as well and was in a pleasant, warm mood.

“Yes,” replied Mark.

“Cuz I was over there,” pointing to the bar across the street,” and I was talking to guys who have been together for years, but they have sex with other men.”

“Not us,” said Mark.

“You know,” veering of onto another subject, “I’ve lived in San Francisco for years, but I’ve never been to the Castro. It’s amazing.”

At this point, Mark preoccupied with ordering an Uber, walked a few steps away into the street, leaning heavily upon his walking stick.

“Hey,” the woman called out, “how come you’re using a cane?” I think Mark had had enough by this point, and he ignored her walking a few more steps away.

Again, I could have taken offense, but I decided just to be honest. “He has cancer,” I said. The woman’s demeanor immediately changed. She looked directly at me, compassion in her eyes.

“I lost my husband to cancer,” she said, her gaze sliding down toward the payment before looking back up. “How long?” she asked.

“Four to six months,” I replied. 

She didn’t say anything, but she immediately reached out her arms, drawing me – a total stranger – into a warm, firm hug. We held each other for several seconds before she released me, drawing back and saying, “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Thank you.”

By then, Mark had walked back over. The Uber car was drawing up on the other side of the street. The woman turned toward him.

“This man loves you,” she said to Mark. He hadn’t heard the recent conversation and seemed irritated by her forwardness. “I know,” he muttered before turning around.

I started across the street before turning back toward the woman. “Thank you.” She was wiping tears from her cheek. I waved. She waved back. Then I stepped into the car and we drove off.

Love, Life and Michael Tolliver

I've been doing a lot of reading since the first of the year. Among the books I've read in the past four months have been six books in Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City Series: the last three of the original series and the three that have been published more recently.

For those not familiar with the series, Maupin, an openly gay man, started writing the books in the mid-1970's. They feature a core group of characters who live in San Francisco that includes gay men, lesbians, straight women, straight men and trans men and women. Since the original book was written in the mid-1970's and the most recent book was just published, the series follows the lives of these core characters (as well as others introduced from time to time) over the course of 40 years.

My favorite book in the series is Michael Tolliver Lives - the first Maupin wrote after an almost 20-year break (which I'll get back to below). Michael, a gay man originally from central Florida, was one of the original characters whose youthful wit and vitality very much reminded me of the character Emmett Honeycutt (pictured above) from the TV series, Queer as Folk. When the Tales began in the mid-70's, Michael was in his 20's; in Lives, he is in his 50's with the third great love of his life, the first having died of AIDS, the second, Thack, having moved on.

Coming Out and Learning to Love Oneself

Michael had a lot to say over the course of the nine books about being gay and about sex, love and relationships, and I would have loved the novels based on his character and his comments alone. I first truly fell in love with him when, early in the series (More Tales of the City), he wrote a coming out letter to his very religious, very conservative "Mama" back in Orlando who had become involved in Anita Bryant's anti-gay crusade of the mid-late 70's. I wrote about this letter here, and I'll just include the following passages in this post:

"I know I can't tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not. 

"It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like 'family' and 'decency' and 'Christianity.' It's not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It's not judging your neighbor, except when he's crass or unkind. 

"Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength. It has brought me into the family of man, Mama ..."

Living and Loving in the Shadow of Death

Jumping ahead to the book, Sure of You, Michael and his lover, Thack, deal with Michael's HIV-positive status. This novel was written in the late 80's, and at that time there was virtually no assurance that anyone who was positive would survive. Life became a waiting game to see if HIV became AIDS. In this environment, Maupin put the following words in Thack's mouth:

"Sometimes I watch [Michael] with [the dog] or digging the yard. And I think: This is it, this is the guy I've waited for all my life. Then this other voice tells me not to get used to it, that it'll only hurt more later. It's funny. You're feeling this enormous good fortune and waiting for it to be over at the same time."

This passage obviously resonated deeply with me. Mark is the one I've waited for all my life. I feel enormous good fortune; but I know he has inoperable cancer and that, at some point, he will leave. We wait to see what his PSA will do, knowing that it will continue to go up. We wait to see how his hip pain will evolve, grateful for days that he is pain-free. We wait to see how he will feel tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, or next month, or in three months. We wait. But we live each day and cherish the love that we have in and for each other.

Michael Tolliver Lives ... and Loves

I suppose Maupin chose the title for this book because Michael Tolliver lived: he didn't contract AIDS, he didn't die. He grew older. In this book, he is in his early 50's. A younger man, Ben, has become his love and his husband. 

But this novel, although it explores the relationship between these two men, is primarily concerned with Michael's relationship with his family of origin back in Florida. His father is dead and his mother is dying. He journeys to Florida with Ben to visit his declining mother and his brother's family. Against this backdrop, below are some of the passages I highlighted as I was reading this book.

"[L]ove is always on loan, never the nest egg we want it to be." 

Michael has realized that love is not something we can cling to. We must hold it, gently, as a butterfly in our hand that may fly away at any moment.

"'The thing is,' [Michael] said, 'Thack did me a favor by leaving. I might never have noticed how little [love] I was getting if he hadn't taken it away.'"

Michael had learned his lesson. So have I. So have others. Sometimes, we cling to a love because it's all we know. We invest ourselves in it, thinking it's all we deserve. Or we want it so badly to be real and authentic and nurturing. But it's not. And we only find that out until after the relationship has ended.

"My folks still love me alright, but they saw that love as cause for forgiveness, not acceptance ... My life had been conveniently reduced to a 'lifestyle' by then, something easily separable from me, that they could abhor to their hearts' content without fear of being perceived as unchristian."

In this short passage, Michael gives voice to what so much of us feel but can't quite express. We know in our hearts that "love the sinner, hate the sin" is deeply hateful ... of the person, not the sin. We sense that what we are offered is not real love, but "compassion," i.e., tolerance tinged with a bit of forgiveness.

Michael's older brother is everything Michael is not. He is a real estate wheeler dealer, lives in a monster house somewhere in the Orlando area and is a deacon in his church. Many of us have relatives like that whose lives appear - on the surface - so charmed, so perfect, so "right." After visiting for a few days in Florida, Michael says of his brother and his life (as well as his own):

"[I] realized that I envied nothing about my brother's [conservative, 'Christian'* and straight] life ... none of the the things I once worried I might be missing if I committed fully to a life of homosexuality. That life hasn't been perfect, but it has been my life, tailored to my dreams and safely beyond the reach of God's terrible swift sword. My brother can't say that. Never could."

Isn't that what so many LGBT people have had to face at some point on their journey: that if they were true to who they are, they thought they would be missing out on what our culture overwhelmingly values? How many people, on the other hand, can say that their life - with all its imperfections - "is MY life, tailored to MY dreams?" [*Am I the only one who is sick of conservative evangelical Christians claiming for themselves the label of 'Christian' - as if mainline Protestants and Catholics aren't really "Christian?"]

Michael had a difficult relationship with his mother. I could relate very strongly to their relationship. When "Mama" was near death in a nursing home, Michael had a choice to make. As he and Ben were waiting for their flight to Florida, they received word that the woman whom Michael viewed as his "true" mother, Anna Madrigal, was in a life-threatening situation. He chose to stay in San Francisco to be with Anna (who often quipped that she and all her "children" - none of whom were related by blood - were a "natural family" rather than a biological family. When my mother passed, I was faced with a similar decision: I was needed at home. I had said my goodbyes already.

Of his decision, Michael explains:

"People always say, 'Of course you love her, you have to, she's your mother,' but that kind of love can die as easily as any of the others. It has to be fed by something ... I let her go a long time ago. I've done my mourning already."

I could have said the same thing.

Thank you, Armistead Maupin, for creating Michael Tolliver.

Palm Springs: Me, My Dad and a Gay Wedding

We are in Palm Springs this weekend to celebrate the wedding of Chris and Jason, two dear friends. It will be the first gay wedding we have attended (other than our own), and we are looking forward to it. Meantime, however, we are enjoying simply being here.

This is Mark's first time. I was here over 30 years ago on a golfing trip with my dad and step-mother. Most of my memories of that trip involve the ridiculous places where I managed to hit a golf ball, including right in the middle of a swimming pool of a house bordering the fairway and into the clutches of one of those jaggedy things that grow out from a palm tree. I couldn't retrieve either ball - the first for obvious reasons, the second because it was about 20 feet up the trunk of the palm tree.

I have another memory, however: of me sitting on the edge of a bed in my parents' hotel room, sobbing. I can't remember what triggered this breakdown, but I know it was the closest I ever came to coming out to my dad. I was working for his company at the time and was, I suppose, feeling adrift and lonely. I had no friends, did no socializing. Some might put it this way: I really didn't "have a life."

I think Dad suspected that I might be gay. There had certainly been indications. Such as the time that I was working for him in the early summer of 1977. We were driving to lunch in New Concord, Ohio. The news was on the radio, describing Anita Bryant's efforts to repeal Miami's non-discrimination ordinance and her crusade against gay people. I distinctly remember turning to my dad and saying, "Why don't they leave those people alone? They have a right to live their lives like everybody else." I think my dad was so surprised by my comments that he simply nodded. I don't recall him actually saying anything, and the subject was never discussed again.

Dad in high school, holding his nephew

Back to the hotel room in Palm Springs. My dad tried to comfort me and shared a story from his youth that he had never told me before and never mentioned again. Given the context in which he shared it, I was given an insight into my dad. A secret one. One that could not be talked about, but only talked around. 

Dad told of an evening in his youth when he was coming home from the little village of Alma, Illinois to his parents' farm a half-mile or so out of town. As he crossed the railroad tracks, he was confronted by some "toughs" from the village. They apparently surrounded him, taunting him and perhaps smacking him around a little. My dad intimated that they were making fun of him, accusing him. The context of the story indicated that they may have been calling him things like "sissy" and "queer." My dad didn't go into that; it had been "put out there," however.

His point in telling the story was that those guys were still back in Alma or its environs and had not done anything with their lives. (He used a more graphic term.) He, however, had moved on with his life and left that behind. I could do the same. 

It was a curious episode, never again discussed. But it was a turning point of sorts in my life - one of those instances when I flirted with chucking the pretense and coming out, but ultimately decided not to.

So it is interesting that I am here now, 34 years later, an out gay man, attending a gay wedding with my husband ...

We arrived late morning yesterday and had several hours to kill before we could check into our room, so we decided to take in Palm Springs' most popular tourist attraction: a tram that climbs up to Mount San Jacinto and offers stunning views of the valley.

I'm pretty sure one would only this truck in an area with a relatively high gay population. Interestingly, Mark had asked me as we were packing whether he should wear a crew-neck T-shirt under his open-necked dress shirt at the wedding. I had replied with a definitive "no."

Out of the Closet and Into the Kitchen

So, Ive started a food/cooking blog. (Here's the address.) Why is a 50-something man who has never cooked much his entire life writing a blog about food and cooking? And, while we're at it, why is a 50-something man bothering to learn how to cook?

Fair question.

Coming Out

The answer, I think, is attributable to one primary fact: I am gay, but I spent all of my life in the closet until a few years ago. I was married to a woman for over 20 years, and I have ten children. My former wife liked to cook and is pretty good at it, so I never bothered to learn to cook. Besides, I was too busy earning a living for my family.

Living in the closet not only hid my natural sexual orientation, it also buried a lot of my interests and natural inclinations. Coming out is, at least in part, about rediscovering who one truly is and allowing oneself to express personal interests without fear of being suspected of being gay. I decorated our house at Christmas for 20+ years (as did my dad, actually). I kept waiting for the whispers around the ward to start about Brother Broom's penchant for decorating.

Challenges

About a year after I came out, I met a wonderful man who is now my husband. Mark has played a key role in my evolution as the closet gets further away in my rearview mirror. He has challenged me to do new things, things I never thought I could do. Such as becoming a cyclist who has now cycled thousands of miles in France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy and Corsica (not to mention in Utah, Colorado, California and Oregon) and picking up skiing after a 30-year hiatus.

During the last three years, I have also challenged myself to:

• join a men’s choir after not singing for over 30 years
• start several blogs, awakening a talent for writing that had been buried for over 30 years,
• become a different and better father, and
• live my life authentically.

Now, a new challenge: learning how to cook and to better appreciate food. Taking up this challenge requires me to analyze and reject (in some cases) previous perceptions of myself – both those created by me as well as those created by others. For many years, I told myself I couldn’t cook or didn’t like to cook. Others told me the same thing. Now, however, I am ready to reject labels applied by myself and others and to approach cooking and food in my own way, not someone else’s. 

The Creative Journey

So, I have issued myself a personal challenge. What about the blog? First, I love to write. Second, I needed the discipline that writing a blog provides in order to meet my challenge. And you know what?  I love feeling creative. It touches the part of me that was in the closet the longest.

I have no idea where this adventure will lead. But I’m certain it will be just that: an adventure. A creative one.

Dad and the Salt Lake Men's Choir

It came completely unanticipated, and I was surprised by the depth of emotion I felt.

I was singing last night with the Salt Lake Men's Choir at our annual Christmas concert. We were performing Charles Black's arrangement of Some Children See Him. The song is already beautiful and touching and easily evokes emotion. But about two-thirds of the way through the piece, I was overcome by a wave of emotion that came out of nowhere and pushed me over the edge.

Suddenly, hearing my voice singing, I heard my Dad's voice singing. For a split second, my voice sounded what I remember his voice sounding like when I was a child and he was the director of our church choir at St. Theresa's Catholic Church in Salem, Illinois.

St. Theresa's Church

Christmas Season 1965 - My dad, my brother Danny, my sister Karen, me and my cousin Veronica

But I didn't just hear his voice, I felt - in a sense - his presence. But it wasn't the presence of the father I knew later in life. It was Dad, but a father who was different: the man he was never allowed to be for various reasons. It was a man who had a passion for singing, a flame that unfortunately flickered out later in his life. It was a man whom I could tell was in touch with himself. And I shared that with him for a few measures of the beautiful hymn we were singing:

"The children in each different place will see the baby Jesus' face like theirs, so bright with heavenly grace and filled with holy light."

Dad passed away before I came out. He never knew the real me. But neither of us were in a position when he was alive to come out to each other. I regret that, but such was our lot in life. That's why those few moments were so incredibly precious to me. I was "surprised by joy," for I felt that we were communicating as our authentic selves ... and it became difficult to sing.

"O lay aside each earthly thing and with your heart as offering, come worship now the infant king. 'Tis love that's born tonight."

The interior of St. Theresa's at midnight mass in the mid-50's

Christmas seems to be ineffably connected to one's childhood. During those moments of connecting with my dad, I pictured myself in a pew in St. Theresa's at midnight mass. I know exactly where our family always sat. I knew my mother would scold me and tell me to turn around, but I looked back over my shoulder to the choir loft (from where the above picture was taken) as the choir sang in Latin. And there was my dad, conducting the choir. He was radiant. 

Merry Christmas, Dad.

Me, Christmas 1965

Of Coming Out, Anniversaries and Invictus Pilgrim

Four years ago this month, I began the process of coming out. Every year since that time, when October rolls around, I reflect on that process - a process that is still very much ongoing.

I have reminded myself recently of what my thoughts and feelings were in those initial scary months that followed a decision I made to at least come out to myself - to stop beating my head against a granite wall that had stood in front of me for 40 years. That reminder has come from reading the blog that I started shortly after making that decision. I chose to blog anonymously (for obvious reasons) under the pseudonym of "Invictus Pilgrim." Anonymity allowed me to frankly write about what I was experiencing and to protect myself as I did so.

I chose the name Invictus Pilgrim for several reasons.  First, I was very fond of the poem Invictus (which means “Unconquered” in Latin), written by 19th century poet and atheist William Ernest Henley. The words of this poem expressed the resolve I felt to become the master of my fate and the captain of my soul: 

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed ...

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

However, though determined to leave the closet forever, I realized I was very much a pilgrim on a journey. I didn't know what my destination would be. It was the journey that was important. 

Thus the persona of Invictus Pilgrim was born. When I first started my blog, I could not have foreseen where it would go and what it would mean, not only to me but to others as well.  I began writing as a means to free long-imprisoned thoughts, to express long-suppressed emotions and to explore long-forbidden lands in my psyche and soul.  I could not and did not foresee the extent to which my writing would not only prove therapeutic for me, but also expressive of others’ unexpressed thoughts and emotions.

As I have been re-reading my blog, I have found that I have been reminded of so many things that are still pertinent to me today, going on four years later. Then, it was fresh and raw. Much has transpired over the ensuing years, but I have found that those words I and others wrote have inspired me today to continue that journey of seeking authenticity, self-knowledge and self-love.

I closed Invictus Pilgrim some time ago for various personal reasons. I have been recently re-reading it because I have decided to write a book based on the blog. I had attempted this endeavor once before, but I wasn't ready to do so psychologically and emotionally. 

Now the time seems right. It is challenging for me to read some of what I wrote because of the pain associated with that period. But I have also frankly found it inspiring to me to read today what my fledgling out gay self was expressing and writing during the year following October 2010.

Yes, the time has come. Wish me luck.

My North Carolina Closet

I first visited my sister Martha and her husband Koen at their Durham, North Carolina home in April 2011. I had started the process of coming out six months earlier, in which Martha had been a huge support. I was blogging as Invictus Pilgrim and could not for various reasons reveal my identity at that time. So I have decided to come out of my "North Carolina Closet" by posting some pictures that were taken during that visit.

Martha and me in front of Duke Chapel on the campus of Duke University

These other pictures were taken on the campus of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where Martha was at that time teaching French course. She had not yet started working on his dissertation at that point.

It was during this trip that I had the opportunity to meet Jimmy Creech, a (straight) former United Methodist minister from Raleigh who been active in LGBT issues within his church as well as others - locally as well as nationally - for over two decades. He had just published a memoir about his journey entitled Adam's Gift (which included being "defrocked" by the UMC for performing a same-sex commitment ceremony.) Martha and I happened to decide to visit a bookstore in Durham one morning while I was there, and Jimmy was doing signing books.

I loved reading Jimmy's book. When I had finished, I wrote a post about it on my Invictus Pilgrim blog, which I plan to republish here in the near future. When the first Circling the Wagons Conference was being planned for the fall of 2011, I invited Jimmy to come speak at and participate in the conference. He graciously agreed to do so (with no honorarium), and his presence and words of hope and love added much to that memorable weekend. He is a gracious, humble, loving man.

In December of 2011, I made another trip to visit Martha and Koen, only this time I was with Mark. We had a great weekend during which we visited various historical sites in the area.

"Yesterday was a an eventful day," I wrote in my journal on 14 December 2011. "We went to several historical sites. The first was the Bennett House which was where General Johnston surrendered to General Sherman. I learned a lot - things I never knew about the Civil War. I found it interesting, too, to hear things presented from a southern perspective. We then went to the Duke homestead, followed by a visit to an old plantation [Stagville] which was one of the largest in in antebellum North Carolina."

"What was perhaps the most interesting aspect of the afternoon," I continued, "was how I felt while at these sites. Martha was trying to tell me that this - history - is my passion and that I should pursue it. Of course, I know this, but I have denied it and relegated it to the place of avocation rather than vocation my entire life. Now, I find myself approaching the end of middle age, wondering what I'm going to do the rest of my working life, wondering whether I've wasted my [profession] life."

Martha and Koen on the campus of Duke University, where Martha will be teaching this fall. Most of the pictures here were taken by Koen.

"Last night," I wrote, "I had a bit of a crying breakdown. I felt so very lost. I have felt this way from time to time since coming out - disoriented, unsure of myself. My relationship with my children is so different. In many ways, it's better. But it's different. My professional life is in upheaval. My one constant that I cling to is my relationship with Mark ... So at times like this, like last night, I open up the chambers of hidden sorrow and pain in the dark recesses of my soul and I let it out. I cry. Mark was so sweet ... I love him. That is my one constant."

This photograph was taken by Koen, my brother-in-law. At first, I just thought it was a really cool picture. But since Mark's diagnosis, the clairvoyance of the image has become increasingly haunting.

Mixed-Orientation Marriages: Responses to Dave (1)

Yesterday, I published a post about "Dave," a middle-aged gay Mormon man attempting to navigate issues of faith, marriage and sexuality. In the original post, I asked readers to provide comments in response to three questions:

- Will being honest about his sexuality with himself and others lead to happiness?

- Is it possible to live in a heterosexual marriage if one is gay or bisexual and be happy?

- If you were in his situation, what would you do (keeping in mind that there are obviously dozens of factors of which we are unaware and that each and every mixed-orientation marriage has its own unique dynamics)?

Thirty comments were left to the post. Below are responses from Trev, Don, Keith, Joe Conflict, Beck, MoHoHawaii and Trey Adams. Additional comments will be presented in a subsequent post.

Trev 

I'm not in a MoM [mixed-orientation marriage], but I relate to the dilemma because I feel like I'm facing the same questions just at a different stage of life. I'm not married. I always wanted to be married to a woman but was terrified of ever letting myself be romantically involved with anyone of either gender because I'm afraid of "discovering" that I am, in fact, totally gay and there's no hope for what I thought was my dream. Being back from a mission for a couple years and finally realizing that I *cannot* accept a life of celibacy, I'm realizing I have to at least open my mind to the possibility of what were, in the past, "alternate paths," and so I feel I face the same questions as this dear contributor, but the stakes are what I might lose in the future rather than in his case what he's worried he might lose that he already has.

- Will being honest about his sexuality with himself and others lead to happiness?

Not necessarily. Happiness is contingent on more than "openness." However, it may be a necessary step to happiness. It sounds like he may not be happy now (though only he can say for sure), which would indicate to me that it being more open is probably a necessary precondition for future *opportunities* for happiness (though I stress it won't automatically lead to it).

- Is it possible to live in a heterosexual marriage if one is gay or bisexual and be happy?

Yes. Everyone is so different. This question seems to want to take accountability and put it elsewhere (which is definitely what I do on my "journey", too, of which I think my voracious reading of Moho blogs is a symptom). Will it be possible for him? Only he and his wife can say.

- If you were in his situation, what would you do (keeping in mind that there are obviously dozens of factors of which we are unaware and that each and every mixed-orientation marriage has its own unique dynamics)?

I feel like I am in his situation; it’s just from a different vantage point. Should I pursue my own MoM, or should I give up now before trying? Thus, reflecting exactly where I am in my parallel journey (with different stakes and at a different life stage), if I were him I would do what I am trying to do now: in that I’ve discovered my current approach has not brought happiness, I have to consider other possibilities. Only by being honest with myself can I even recognize the path(s) that will allow me to be happy. 

I would be very frank with my wife about exactly what I’m thinking and how I feel about things so that she can be aware and go along [the journey] with me, rather than one day suddenly be shocked. I’ve recently realized that I am putting strain on my relationship with my parents just by not talking to them about homosexuality more because they assume they know what I’m feeling, and I assume they know, and then I’ll come out with some idea or choice that will throw them into crisis mode. I imagine for a spouse it’s even more important to maintain constant openness otherwise you really will not feel close when such a big part of your person can’t be shared. If I or my spouse could not handle that, then I don’t think happiness would be possible in that situation.

Don

I've seen many gay men leave their religion and marriages and find happiness but I've never seen gay men find real peace and happiness in a MoM or in a religion that doesn't fully support their natural state of being. Religion and fear seem to be the drug of choice and those who give advice to continue on that path are enablers. Misery loves company. The real truth is all of this can just go away. It happens every day. Men choose to step out of their old way of life that was never really working and into a new life of self-acceptance. To think that the best thing for your wife and kids is an unhappy, unauthentic father is delusional. When the plane is going down put on your own oxygen mask first and then help others. You are of no use to those around you if you are suffocating. There's lots of air available, all you have to do is breath.

Keith

I have to admit, being honest about my sexuality has made me really happy. I am currently single, though, so I don't have all the complication of a marriage that you have. But, when I came out on Facebook I felt free, in a way. I no longer have to hide who I am from myself or anyone else. It's like I can finally invite people into my life and let them get to know me--the real me. 

I plan to find a man that I can be with, share my life with, and commit to. (Obviously I'll have to leave the Church, since I don't imagine that we'd be happy together without being intimate.) I just had my recommend taken away, even though I feel like it was unjust because all I've done so far is make out, and that [losing my recommend] wasn't as devastating as I thought it would be. 

Whether coming out will make you personally happy, I could not say, but I would recommend it. Clearly, it seems as though starting along that path will eventually lead to you leaving your wife and finding a man. But, maybe not. There are several others in your situation that are still committed to staying with their wife [and she with him]. The only advice I would give is to start feeling emotions again, and then to be true to yourself. If you feel that staying with your wife is being true to yourself, then do it.

Joe Conflict

I was in a MOM for 13 years. The minute she found out I was gay it was over. Just took another 15 months to wrap up. Trev has to remember what this does to the other half. If they don't know about the gayness they are being deceived. If they do know, it is self-deception. Likelihood of success is low. I will never do it again. I have met so many guys like me who bet their lives on it. Most of the time they lose the bet.

Beck

I believe it is possible to find a balance and a real sense of happiness in a MoM. It takes a lot of work, and some serious sacrifice on both parts, but it is possible. Communication is the key. I'm slow at learning that lesson, but it is amazing to see now, as I come out to two of my kids, that my wife's solidarity with me, and not against me, is coming through and paying off.

Is there that deep passion that dreams are made of? Maybe not, probably not, but there is commitment, companionship, and a deep relationship that is centered on love. 

Some days I wonder if I will ever know that passion of dreams, but what I do have is still worth it.

MoHoHawaii

“[My therapist] suggested that being honest about my sexuality with myself and others is a first step. But will that lead to happiness? ... Will accepting my sexuality and being honest with myself and others be enough to fill the gaping hole in my chest?”

Coming out to yourself and those closest to you is only a first step. By itself, it may not make you feel better, but it can be the beginning of a longer process that may result in significant life improvements.

As you mentioned, coming out is scary. It has ramifications. It may introduce changes in some significant relationships in your life, including your marriage. If you're ready to start this journey, give it a go. If you need more time, then wait.

- Do you think it's possible to live in a heterosexual marriage if one is gay or bisexual and be happy?

It depends on "how gay" you are. A minority of gay people appears to be capable of relating romantically with a person of their non-preferred sex. These folks are capable of maintaining acceptable opposite-sex marriages and making the necessary compromises. For the rest of us, an acceptable level of satisfaction in a mixed-orientation marriage is just not possible. 

However, the statistics no matter how dismal aren't really relevant to any individual case. The relevant question here is where you fall on the Kinsey scale, from super straight to super gay. The fact that you are 14 years into a relationship and still feel a severe inability to achieve a passionate emotional connection with your spouse could be seen as evidence that you're more on the gay side of this continuum.

People on the outside can't really advise you here. You need to look into your own heart and decide if you can continue along your current path, or if real change is needed. 

- I know this is different for everyone, but if you were in this situation, do you think you would choose to stay?

I do think you might be happier if you entertained the possibility in your mind that you might end your marriage. What this thought experiment does is help reduce any feelings that you are trapped in your situation. It's one thing to choose to stay in a marriage because of various practical reasons; it's another thing to feel trapped and hopeless in such a situation. Staying married should be something that you actively choose, not something that's forced on you.

If you seriously gave yourself permission to get divorced and considered it as a real possibility, you might still choose to stay married. I think the fear of divorce causes a lot of stress that can be alleviated by simply admitting that it's one of the real possibilities and then starting to work systematically on the underlying issues.

“One big question in my mind is whether I'll be any happier if I leave and seek a male mate? Will the possibility of finding happiness be worth leaving my wife and kids behind?”

You could also ask the question of whether your wife might be happier if she had the opportunity to find a heterosexual partner in the future? Would your kids benefit if you could relate to them from a place of happiness instead of despair? These kinds of situations involve the needs of lots of people. I'm guessing that the unhappiness in your household is not limited just to you.

Not to plug the institution of divorce, but just because you have a bad marriage doesn't mean you can't have a good divorce that includes respect, affection and a significant improvement in the outcomes of everyone involved.

Talking with others who are or have been in similar situations can help. I'm glad you reached out on Invictus's blog. Maybe you can meet some of these folks in person and continue the discussion.

Trey Adams

I would like to throw in a couple of cents.

1. Will being honest about his sexuality with himself and others lead to happiness?

I say: perhaps. I believe Abe Lincoln was mostly right when he said something to the effect that a person will be about as happy as he makes up his mind to be. You may not be “happy” in the sense that you will feel elation, etc, but if your experience is anything like mine, you may experience a very satisfying feeling of peace and rest from inner turmoil. I also believe you may experience a rewarding sense of well-being that you long for but haven’t felt.

2. Is it possible to live in a heterosexual marriage if one is gay or bisexual and be happy?

Of course it is possible but possibly very difficult depending on your marriage relationship, your nature, your priorities and needs, and what you value.

3. If you were in his situation, what would you do (keeping in mind that there are obviously dozens of factors of which we are unaware and that each and every mixed-orientation marriage has its own unique dynamics)?

I would search within and decide what is most important in life, realizing that my decision (either way) may not lead to happiness, per se. In my case, to remain was to die – literally. I would have simply become a martyr and would have been of no value to my family.

Am I happy now? I am at peace; I love life again; I am no longer afraid; I have a wonderful man to share life with and to love, one who also loves me. If that is happiness, then yes, I am happy.

Prayers for Bobby: An Open Letter to Mormon Parents

“He must have seen the large tractor trailer approaching from under the Couch Street overpass and timed the jump. Bobby executed a sudden and effortless back flip and disappeared over the railing. The driver tried to swerve, but there was no time … Robert Warren Griffith, age twenty years and two months, had died instantly of massive internal injuries.” 

~ Prayers for Bobby

I have written about Prayers for Bobby before, some time ago. It is both a nonfiction book written by Leroy Aaron and a movie by the same name. For some reason, I have felt impressed to write about it again; it's message bears repeating.

Mary Griffith, Bobby’s mother, wanted the best for her children – not material things, per se, but a good home environment that was centered on faith and trust in God and living according to the teachings of the Bible. She loved her children and wanted no empty chairs for her family in the life hereafter.

Bobby was a near contemporary of mine, but unlike me, he came out to his parents in his senior year in high school. He was a kind, bright, sensitive young man who had been a devoted member of his parents’ church. Yet, he came to sense that there was something different about him. Something awful. Something he didn’t want, but couldn’t deny: he was attracted to men.

When he came out, his mother undertook an unrelenting campaign to “change” her son. His self-confessed homosexuality ran counter to everything she believed in. She could not accept this in her child. She felt that if she just tried hard enough, prayed hard enough, God would cure her son and everything would be as it was supposed to be. She quoted scripture, assured Bobby that he could change if he really tried, bolstered by the teachings of her church and her understanding of the Bible.  Bobby tried, but came to hate himself more than ever. Eventually, the seemingly irreconcilable conflict within him drove him to suicide. He simply couldn’t live with himself anymore.

"If only we had known ..."

It was only after her son’s death, as she agonized over whether or not Bobby’s suicide had consigned him to hell, that Mary Griffith's grief drove her to deeply examine not only her conscience but the religious teachings that had driven her zealous campaign to “save” her son. She eventually came, after an intense period of self-examination, prayer and study, to the horrifying conclusion that her son had been sacrificed on the altar of her religious fanaticism.

“Looking back,” she wrote, “I realize how depraved it was to instill false guilt in an innocent child’s conscience, causing a distorted image of life, God and self, leaving little if any feeling of personal worth … What a travesty of God’s love, for children to grow up believing themselves to be evil, with only a slight inclination toward goodness, convinced that they will remain undeserving of God’s love from birth to death.”

In a letter to Bobby three years after his death, Mary wrote:

“We were not aware (at first) of the conflict that was slowly breaking your spirit … You were the apple of God’s eye just as you were. If we had only known. Out of the many discussions we had, the one phrase that comes back to me is the age-old chant, ‘You can change if you want to.’ How that must have angered and hurt you. You began to feel like you did not fit into your family anymore. You wanted to believe that you were not the person the Bible had interpreted you to be. You were at the mercy, as we all are, of the false interpretations of the Bible concerning homosexuality …”

A turning point for Mary came as she spoke at a local city council meeting about something as innocuous as approving a resolution calling for a “Gay Freedom Day.” In a scene brilliantly acted by Sigourney Weaver in the movie based on the book (see clip below), Mary made an impassioned plea to the council members and her community:

“Because of my own lack of knowledge, I became dependent upon people in the clergy.  When the clergy condemns a homosexual person to hell and eternal damnation, we the congregation echo, ‘Amen.’ I deeply regret my lack of knowledge concerning gay and lesbian people.  Had I allowed myself to investigate what I now see as Bible bigotry and diabolical dehumanizing slander against our fellow human beings, I would not be looking back with regret for having relinquished my ability to think and reason with other people …  

“God did not heal or cure Bobby as he, our family, and clergy belived he should.  It is obvious to us now why he did not.  God has never been encumbered by his child’s genetically determined sexuality.  God is pleased that bobby had a kind and loving heart.  In God’s eyes, kindess and love are what life is all about.  I did not know that each time I echoed ‘Amen’ to external damnation, each time I referred to Bobby as sick, perverted and a danger to our children, his self-esteem and personal worth were being destroyed.  Finally, his spirit broke beyond repair.  He could no longer rise above the injustice of it all …

“It was not God’s will that bobby jumped over the side of a freeway overpass into the path of an eighteen-wheel truck which killed him instantly.  Bobby’s death was the direct result of his parents’ ignorance and fear of the word gay … There are no words to express the pain and emptiness remaining in our hearts.  We miss Bobby’s kind and gentle ways, his fun-loving spirit, his laughter.  Bobby’s hopes and dreams should not have been taken from him, but they were.  We can’t have Bobby back. 

“There are children like Bobby sitting in your congregations.  Unknown to you, they will be listening to your ‘Amens’ as they silently cry out to God in their hearts.  Their cries will go unnoticed for they cannot be heard above your ‘Amens.”  Your fear and ignorance … will soon silence their cries.  Before you echo ‘Amen’ in your home and place of worship, think and remember.  A child is listening.” 

Returning again to the letter Mary wrote to her son three years after his suicide, Mary lamented: “I believed I was doing right the name of Christ. I did now know my soul; my conscience was in bondage to the people and ministers who stand in God’s stead. I went along in blind allegiance, unwittingly persecuting, oppressing gay and lesbian people – my own son. The scales of ignorance and fear that kept my soul in darkness have [now] fallen from the eyes of my soul, my conscience.  I have been set free to have faith in, trust the dictates of my conscience.”

Mary then wrote these words that never cease to move me, no matter how many times I read them:  

“I would rather be branded a heretic while helping a child of God out of the gutters of this world, where the church and I have thrown them, than to pass by on the other side muttering under our breath, ‘The wages of sin are death.’  Rather this that to look away from the pain and humiliation of a child lying helpless. The heart that hungers and thirsts for God’s love will find it in the Bible. It has been said the eyes are the mirror of one’s soul. When we look into God’s mirror [the Bible] will we see God’s reflection of love gazing back? Or will we see an evil reflection of man’s inhumanity?”

The Empty Chair

I was a member of the LDS Church for almost 30 years of my adult life. I am a parent. I myself was once as Saul, driven by my deep self-hatred, my homophobia, to embrace the teachings of the Church concerning homosexuality. I had bought into them myself and was, to my shame, guilty of bigotry.  Fortunately, the only person I hurt through such acts was myself. Yet, I have experienced, in other situations, the intense pain and regret that has come through putting the Church and its teachings ahead of the welfare of my children. I have repented of such actions and vowed never again to let anything stand between me and my children.   

There is much that could be written on and about this subject; but for now, I would simply implore Mormon parents who know or suspect that they have a son or daughter who is gay (or, if you prefer, struggling with feelings of same-sex attraction) to read Prayers for Bobby and/or watch the movie by the same name and then to open your hearts and minds to its message.  

You may not realize how close your child is, or may have been, to resolving the conflict in their hearts and minds the way in which Bobby Griffith did. You may not fully appreciate the pain in your child’s heart. You may not have ever allowed yourself to question the religious teachings that may have caused a separation between you and your son or your daughter. Please do it now, before it becomes too late and you lose your precious child, either through death or alienation, and you mourn not the empty chair in heaven but the empty chair in your own house where he or she could have been sitting, smiling back at you.

The Toll: Inside a Mormon Mixed-Orientation Marriage

“Losing you [when you joined the church] was like a guillotine blade that beheaded the loving richness I had in my life.  [After you joined the church] I saw you withdraw from life. The relationship between your withdrawal from life and your involvement in the church appeared to be proportionally related: the more you became fervent about the church, the more withdrawn and less talkative and sadder you became. 

“It was surely due to the instinct for survival that you beheaded your true self, or tucked him away under the folds of your memory and heart. In order to survive and achieve a happy life that the church promised to be yours after so much trauma, guilt, shame and lack of love [in my childhood and youth], you had to get rid of your Self. As you couldn't actually kill that self, you had to pretend that it never existed.”

This post was originally published in the spring of 2011. I am re-publishing it now as the first of a series of posts about mixed-orientation marriages - posts that were originally made on my Invictus Pilgrim blog, which is now closed.

The above passage was written by my younger sister in the fall of 2010, shortly after I had begun the process of coming out. Her very astute perceptions about what happened to me when I converted to Mormonism as a young adult validated very strongly what I already knew. I sensed this even while on my mission, which I served after joining the LDS Church. But this realization was locked away a long time ago and frankly took a back seat to the consequences that flowed from my decision to reject my gayness and abandon much of my old self when I got married. 

I use the term “reject” deliberately. Paradoxically, it was on my mission that, for the first time in my life, I came the closest to truly accepting my gay identity and choosing to live life as a gay man. I also felt that, toward the end of my mission, I was starting to recover some of who I was before I joined the Church.

Then I came home and embarked upon an extremely tumultuous “courtship” with the woman who became my wife, whom I had met before leaving on my mission. One of the reasons for the tumult was my struggle over what to do with my life: gay or straight; active Mormon or leave the church; married or not married;; marry this woman or someone else?

Ultimately, I made my choice: heterosexual; married; this woman; Mormon. I knew I was gay; my wife knew (before our wedding) of my “struggles” involving “attraction to men.” However, in getting married (and buying into everything that went along with that) I felt that I was making the “righteous” choice, i.e., the choice sanctioned by God and his church. I would get married because it was the “right thing to do”; and, similarly, I felt I could reject my gayness and repress any homosexual inclinations because that, too, was the “right” thing to do. I had decided that I wanted to, and could be able to, function as a righteous heterosexual priesthood holder should.

I did not then realize the toll that this choice would exact upon me and – ultimately – upon my former wife as well as my children.

I use the word “toll” deliberately, in the sense of one of its definitions:  “a grievous or ruinous price.” Only after coming out, in hindsight and after finally accepting who I am, did I begin to understand the nature and extent of this price – the price I paid to deny and betray my true sexual identity, and the price I paid upon abandoning many aspects of my identity. 

In turning away from my true sexual identity, I think – subconsciously – that my gay self felt that it had been betrayed. It had emerged to some degree on my mission, but now it was to be repressed and discarded, not only temporarily, but forever.  But one cannot deny the essence of who one is and remain healthy, mentally, emotionally and even physically. Perhaps for a time; but not, I have learned, in the long run.

Though consciously I felt like I was willingly making this choice, it was only after coming out that I started to realize how deeply that betrayal of my gay self affected me subconsciously. It created a tension in the very core of my being that gradually built up resentment and anger, continually being added to and hardening like the dome on a volcano. In retrospect, I now clearly see the presence of constant pressure, which made day-to-day life a challenge, difficult, frustrating, void of happiness, full of stress. This pressure would also build up and erupt from time to time, expressing itself in anger that, combined with the after-effects of child abuse, made for a toxic mix.

The situation might have been different if I had not been on the “priesthood path” – if there had not this constant pressure to be a model husband, a model father, a model provider, and a model priesthood leader, i.e., if I had had just a little more freedom to be me. But I was determined to do everything expected of me, everything asked of me, in order to prove (to myself, ironically) that I could overcome my “same sex attraction” and be a “faithful” “worthy” priesthood holder, a successful Mormon husband and father. 

I became my own worst enemy.

As it was, my rejection of my gayness was virtually complete and total as I steered clear of any “distractions” (i.e., any situation that would in the remotest degree entice or tempt me to indulge to the slightest extent my gay self). Meanwhile, the subconscious pressure created by the truly existential bind I had put myself in manifested itself in migraine headaches, irritability and a general sense of deep unhappiness.

However, in addition to this “existential bind” resulting from a betrayal of my gay self, I now see that I also abandoned many other aspects of my identity at the time of my marriage. Because I felt the need to commit myself heart and soul to the marriage, I felt that I not only needed to repress the gay me, but I also had to abandon many other aspects of what had been my identity. 

Why? Because the old me – the one who loved music, drama, art, literature, history – was tainted with homosexuality. The presence of the old me would only have been an embarrassment; he would have been a third wheel in our marriage, out of place in the “new order of things.”

How a third wheel? Well, letting go of my old identity, I embraced a new one. My wife and I really had very few things in common; our interests are quite different, even divergent. The one thing we had in common when we got married was a belief that we were “supposed” to get married to each other, along with a belief that as long as we remained faithful in the church, everything would work out. 

The situation might have been different had my wife been interested in the same things I was, but she was not. If I had not been determined to do practically whatever it took to make my marriage a success (partly because of my parents’ failed marriage, but also to “overcome” the “gay factor”), if I had not had the specter of my homosexuality always in the background, then I never would have subjected myself to this abandonment of my old self.

I now realize the toll that this abandonment exacted. Subconsciously, it created another huge conflict that only added to the conflict I felt after betraying my gay self. 

Looking back on it, I can see how much I subconsciously raged against this abandonment. I had abandoned my “core,” but yet I raged against feeling that I had to adopt someone else’s core as my own. I raged against feeling like I had to be a certain way in order to be accepted, to be true to the path I had chosen. Yet I had to be accepted in order to fulfill the path I had chosen. It was a hopeless conflict that played itself out day after day, month after month, year after year, adding to my sense of unhappiness, alienation and lack of fulfillment, exacting a terrible toll.

Let me state plainly that I am not blaming my former wife for any of this. No. This was my problem, my fault. And I am not prepared to say that getting married was a mistake, nor am I saying that my marriage was all bad; far from it. And I certainly don't regret having my children. But, in terms of my identity, my psyche and, as a result, the mental and emotional health of me and my family and children – in terms of all this, my decision to get married took a dreadful toll.

So, where did I go upon coming to these realizations? Well, I began. I began by deciding to affirm my sexual identity instead of continuing to try to repress and deny it. 

I then began the process of trying to recover my identity – the person I was before my marriage, then the person I was before I joined the church, and – ultimately - the person I was or might have been, but for the abuse I suffered as a child. Next came the process of mourning and healing:  mourning lost opportunities, mourning unintended consequences of living a lie, mourning pain inflicted on others as well as self.  Then, hopefully, healing - which I am very thankful to say did come and continues to come.