| kirk read |
2003-07-14 - 11:23 p.m.
There were epiphanies along the way, but it's not like I heard Judy Garland's voice and said, "Oh, yeah, I must be gay." There was no such watershed. Just when I thought I'd come out, I ended up doing it again and again. Coming-out is never finished.
Straight people always ask "when did you come out?" as if it happened in a single instant. There's no brief or simple answer to that question. Straight people ask such questions like eight-year-olds who want to know every detail about the birthday party to which they weren't invited. Maybe they envision a secret tribal ceremony that takes place in a faraway land. The forest is so thick that the light of the full moon barely penetrates the branches. Dozens of blindfolded inductees make their way down the forest path, all holding onto a fifty-foot rope with both hands. When the blindfolds are removed at midnight, the inductees open their eyes. Before them stand hundreds of villagers, each holding a candle. The flames dance across their naked bodies, throwing reflections onto the glitter paint smeared all over their skin. The villagers join in after only a few lines. It's a song of welcome in a language they all seem to know. When did you come out? When I saw the moon. - Excerpt from Kirk Read's How I Learned to Snap |
