A few years ago I decided to write my memoir, a project that soon occupied most of my conscious thinking. I would write for hours, often till two or three o’clock the next morning. A friend who was writing a fictional account of her family invited me to join a writing group she liked and for a year or so I attended their twice-monthly meetings. What I learned from those meetings was that my writing was not very good; my writing had no depth and didn’t hold the readers attention. A memoir, I was told is probably the hardest form of writing because it can speak from only one voice, a singular perspective and in a case like mine, a very narrow view of the world.
I was asked to include the words of observers, the thoughts that friends had of our interactions to include the world we lived in from their perspective as well. But how could I, when this story was of a secret that only I knew and was too confused about to share with anyone, even my very best friend. I had no other perspective from which to write.
As I continued writing a catharsis settled in, I wrote about things I had long ago put behind me, but as I saw those words appear on the screen, I began to better understand decisions that resulted in missed opportunities, and prevented essential understanding of the world and my place in it. I wrote about someone who was more an observer than participant, a boy who had to watch and learn how to act; I learned to fake my way to get along, without exposing my confusion about much of what was happening around me.
I read about a small, safe, and risk free life. The world I devised was kept small because I had more control, I could better protect my environment and if I felt that my ignorance regarding what other boys were doing, saying or things they already knew that I didn’t know about would be exposed; I could find some excuse to leave.
Writing my story opened up many doors, giving me a second look at a life that once seemed to have no place for me, and no one else to connect with in a healthy way. I saw a lonely over protected ignorant boy, the older I got, the more naïve I was socially, the farther I fell behind the other boys the more I secluded myself.
Leaving High School was a great relief for me, I was able to start over, meet new people, men who were my dad’s age and my new role as their only apprentice gave me a secure position free of competition and an opportunity to express new skills and develop a realistic sense of self that I didn’t have while in school.
While learning a trade, or wearing the uniform of an airman, and surviving in the macho military environment, forced me grow in spite of a continuing ignorance of what I was supposed to be, and how I was to act. Somehow I found strength, a toughness that I had not known before, I learned that I did have a self after all, that I did have individuality. I created a person who could fit in, some of that new me was genuine; some was a copy of others who I admired.
I married and together we raised our family, two boys who are and always will be the grandest accomplishment of my life. Seeing both of our sons grown and finding their own passages in life. One raises his own family, while the other explores new knowledge with his research in far away London, each in his own way has given us great satisfaction.
I wrote a memoir that was much criticized and after many changes, rewrites and re-arranging I wound up with a jumbled up mess. I still have what is left in a large folder, standing in a corner of my closet. When the time is right, I may try to put it together again. Who knows; perhaps someday someone will dust it off and read it.
That written story has already succeeded in putting me at peace with myself. It helped me understand an uncommon life but hopefully it has been useful in educating some who never understood that Gender is not a nice neat binary package. There are many genders, a hundred different ways to express who we are, and different ways to couple and love one another.
I long ago departed from religion, but I did learn much from my exposure to it. Something I learned is how many people miss the meaning in a popular prayer. It is not just about receiving gifts from God, but a charge…. To first give love before expecting that gift to be given you. “Thy WILL” (my wish for you) will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. These are directions, not suggestions.
My own warning to the believers; what your build here, you will be building for your future experience… Willful ignorance? Discrimination? Bigotry? Build it here; know it there.
All of us; Gay, Lesbian, Trans, Bi or Questioning have a story; I wish we could all shine a bright light into the corners of fear and ignorance that still drives the beliefs of narrow minds. I hope that each story we tell will open at least one heart, one mind that had otherwise been closed to a much wider world.
Writing my story….I’m glad I did it.
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