Tolerate Me

The following is a modification of, and inspiration from, a conversation that I had with one of the friends I’ve made since starting this little enterprise. To that friend (you know who you are) I say thank you for provoking my thoughts.

Intolerance. We’ve all seen it. There are those implacably intransigent souls who just can’t live and let live. They’re the ones that you think about while lying awake at night because you know they wouldn’t think of you the same way if they knew the real you. They’re the ones that for whom equality isn’t enough. Don’t worry, you’re not reading the ravings of an idealist. I’m a pragmatist, a product of my experiences. These days you’ll have a lot less to complain about if you only expect so much. Not to say that it necessarily should be that way, or always will be, but it is what it is. That’s why I’m a pragmatist and not a realist, because I’m not without hope, I just take it in smaller doses. This also applies to intolerance. You don’t even need to be happy about who I am, I just don’t want you to make me feel bad about it. You don’t have to give me a big hug and say how much you love me, you only have to tolerate me. That’s it. You do have a right to be disappointed (No, you’re never going to have a daughter in-law. No, you’re never going to have a sister in-law. No, I won’t go out and hit on girls with you. No, my heart was never actually in it. No, we never had a chance. Yes, I lied to you) but just don’t be disappointed IN ME. I am who I am, no more and no less. So if you can’t tolerate the real me then you can hit the bricks.

It was last semester that I had my first real run in with malevolent intolerance. After a late night I come back to find the roommate chatting with one of his friends. Before going on, there should be a caveat about my roommate. He is a nice enough guy, he’s not a bad person, I think he’s just equal parts naive and nescient. Anyway, they had obviously been smoking, and I don’t mean cigarettes. Doing my own thing I hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation until someone said, “faggot.” Long story short the roommate said that he would never have a gay son and if he did he would have to ‘beat it out of him’. Mortified. I almost didn’t even sleep that night. Incidents like that are what make me wonder if it’s a mistake coming out. It’s like those times that you’re in a crowded situation and you hear the word ‘faggot’ or a similar slur. All of the sudden you feel like you’re wearing that scarlet letter on your chest, you’re only inches tall, and everyone is looking at you like you’re the punchline of some sick joke. Intolerance. There’s the bullying that happens everyday in schools, these modern day witch hunts that beget hatred and fear. They have taken countless lives and threaten to take more. Intolerance. A few years ago in my high school years a particularly religious gentleman in my grade said in class that being gay was a disease and needed to be cured. We were nothing but polite and even partnered up for projects sometimes, but I know that if he knew, I would have been dead to him. Intolerance.

Why would come out to a world that’s not even ready for me? Because I have to. Those who know me well could tell you that I’m not the kind of guy that will take grief from anyone. The “straight” me would never put up with this, so why should the real me? The “straight” me would never let anyone treat him any less than he deserves, so why should I? I need to shrug off this un-empowered feeling and go ballistic. I have to do my part. This is where that pragmatism rather than realism comes in. I realize that I can’t be the single driving force against intolerance, but I’m sure I can change something. Some plans have been made, and I’ve already been taking strides. The two people I’ve come out to since starting all of this have been great and I think they’re a bit more open minded for it. It’s an uphill battle against intolerance and it’s going to take time. But I know I’m on the right team, and I’m ready to do my part. There’s a lesson I thankfully learned early on, though lately I seem to have forgotten it, and I wish more people knew. Don’t ever let other people tell you who you are, or especially who you aren’t. You are you. Wear your stripes proudly, my friends. The next time you think about changing your stripes for someone else remember, the stripes on a tiger are hard to change.