Andrew Carroll

“Mom, I'm gay”. It has been
over five years since I said
these words to my mother
one August evening, although
it feels like longer. The road
to this point was long; the
toad from it will be even
longer.

I've always felt different
from other kids. The suburbs,
especially Surrey, don’t offer
protection to those who don't
fit the white hetérosexual
definition of normal. I didn’t
quite fit in at elementary
school and life was made
more difficult because of my
learning disability. I knew I
was fascinated with the male
physique, while I had abso-
lutely no interest in females
except for friendships. As I
grew and reached the age of
puberty (11/12 years old),
my awareness of queer
sexuality far outweighed my
knowledge of what
heterosexuals do in bed. You
might think then it would be
easier for me then, right?

Well, not quite. Homo-
phobia stood in my way. As
soon as I self-labelled myself
as gay, the closet door
slammed in my face and
darkness surrounded me. I
cried when I first whispered
the words “I’m gay” to
myself.

From that point on, I
went into the closet and
denial set in. It would be
three years until I was finally
able to accept my sexual
orientation, yet I knew I
could not tell anyone. Life
during my teen years was not
good. To deal with keeping
this massive secret, I ate, and
ate, and ate some more. My
increasing weight problem
made me more of an outsider.
This problem was cyclical. All
the positive images of gay
men were healthy, muscular,
and attractive; I wasn’t or
that’s what I thought. My
physical appearance, I
thought, made me an out-
sider to the queer community
as well and the vicious cycle
continued.

I never once dated girls,
even when girls flirted with
me. I simply knew I was queer
and to try to be something
else would be destructive.
Sometime around 1992 I
discovered queer media
resources. My queer
politicisation had begun and
the breaking point was in
view. I could not stay alone
and silent; I needed my
community.

It was the summer of
1993 —the summer between
Junior High and Senior High.

 

Revolutions often
begin in summer
and mine was no
exception. Emotions
ran high inside of
me. I didn't know
what to do. I needed
to get downtown to
a youth group that
met Fridays, yet how
would I get out of
the house? I
couldn't lie to my
mother. My father
was working out of
town at the time, a
perfect opportunity
to drop the news to
my mother. My
mother was the least
homophobic person
in my family, or
that’s what I
thought. The time
had come after
dinner one night
when it was just my
mother and me. I sat
her down and said
the words.

My mother
freaked. It doesn't
help when you're
not prepared your-
self. My mother
forbade me to go to
the GLC (now The
Centre) because she
didn’t want me to
hang around “those
people.” The next
few days were
difficult. They were filled
with the typical questions
and comments. Did I make
you this way? How do you
know you're gay? and It’s just
a phase. The next morning my
mother phoned the doctor
and dragged me out of bed to
see her. The doctor told my
mother that there was
absolutely nothing wrong

with me and assured my
mother that 10% of parents
will go through the same
experience. The doctor's
answer, I believe, didn’t
satisfy my mother. She took

me to a counsellor who
worked with child molesters
and offered to “change me.”
Fortunately, I was smart and
strong enough to refuse the
offer.

She finally let me go to

the GLC youth group the next

Friday. However, I got lost

trying to find the centre and

gave up. School would begin
soon and it was another big
change in my life.

I don’t remember much
about my first day of Grade
11, but one student stuck out
in my mind. I remember

walking into my English class

and seeing an attractive

young man in my class. His

hair was bleached blond and

Queer Supplement
Andrew's coming out story

had a very queer looking
caesar cut. My “gaydar”
immediately went off. I paid
attention to names as we
introduced ourselves.

Ryan was the only semi-
out person I knew in high
school and it was a great
comfort to know that I was
not alone. I made an effort to

get to know Ryan as much as
possible but high school was

not good to him. He was
oppressed even more than I
was because of his queerness.
Ryan was an excellent writer
and he had so much intellec-
tual potential, but the system
wore him down. He dropped
out sometime in the spring of
that year; his goal (which was
the same as mine at the
time—to become a marine
biologist) was never to be
realised.

Summer came again and
I finally came out to one of
my dearest friends, Kathleen.
Kathleen, although a little
shocked, accepted me right
away. It was such a relief not
to spend my final year in
high school completely silent
to everyone. I could talk to
Kathleen about the homopho-
bia I encountered through
the day and she would talk to
me about the sexism and

 

difficulties which she faced.

The rest of high school
went by with day after day of
loneliness and pain. I was
still not a happy teen.
Homophobia and blatant
heterosexism were rampant in
my high school. It festered as
much as racism and sexism,
but with official encourage-
ment from teachers and
harassment policies which
ignored sexual orientation.
My first boyfriend also faced
discrimination, yet he had
internalised his oppression to
such a degree that he denied
he was bi. Drugs, like many
other queer youth, were his
tools for dealing with the
oppression.

College was a new space,
a new opportunity, it was
freedom. I was introduced to
the student newspaper by
another friend from high
school. The student newspa-
per (The Other Press) was at
that time a very conducive
environment for one to come
out. I decided to devote
more time to the OP in the
winter semester. It was the
perfect time for me to come
out. The Other Press was
about to publish its annual
Queer Issue and I was given
the assignment to write
about Little Sisters Bookstore

 

and their court case against
Canada Customs. I was also
assigned to write a story on
the LGB Collective.

After a couple of LGB
Collective meetings I came
out to the collective. It was a
relief. I was now out to/and
part of a group. My new queer
friends were tremendously
supportive. I slowly came out
to other friends and became
more involved as the year
progressed. College was
considerably better to me
than high school ever was
and the road became more
stable as the months pro-
gressed.

So here I am. A queer
activist, a young queer
historian and out to most
people in my life. Yet an
uneasy silence has fallen on
my family life lately. Al-
though, I haven't officially
told anyone in my family
besides my mother, they've
figured it out through all the
blatant hints I've dropped
along the way.

As for Ryan, he tragi-
cally died due to a brain
haemorrhage in December of
1997 just short of his twenty
second birthday. You see,
although his death was drug
induced, it was the oppres-
sion which killed him.

Calling Ae SUP PONSA PRE PASSA}, Issue.

   

Fe

ruary 17 1999