There is No Coming Out Story

Today, a kid in my school, who I'm kind of friends with, got kicked out of his house for being gay. He'd been outed by his brother to his parents, and they just aren't supportive. It reminded me a little bit of how I'd been outed to my parents. They never kicked me out but sometimes I wish they had.

I came to the conclusion that I was gay when I was twelve. I'd always known that I'd liked guys, and I knew that being gay meant you liked guys but I just never thought that I could be gay. Gay was a word that my friends and I used to describe things we didn't like, so in my little head I obviously couldn't be gay.

However, when I was twelve I put two and two together and came to the realization that I was gay. After a little while, I decided that I could tell my two best friends. I told them in school during one period. Well by the next period people were calling my gay and giving me strange looks. It turns out that one of my 'friends', Kyle, had taken the liberty of telling his whole class the next period.

Despite my attempt to fight the rumors, everybody knew anyway. Except for my family. Foolishly enough, I came out to my sister. Immediately she told my parents. Then I had to have a talk with them about how I couldn't be gay, and how it says in the bible that homosexuality isn't allowed. (My parents aren't religious. My mother is Jewish too. I don't know why they even brought it up). Then my brother over heard me talking to my then boyfriend a few weeks later and went and told my parents. And once again I had to have the same talk. After that my parents and I just fought for years and didn't get along. It was around these times that I began to with that they would just kick me out, or even hit me so that I could call Child Protective Services and get out of there. They were never, ever physically abusive and in their defense they didn't know how to deal with the situation, but the emotional toil they put me through was difficult, so much so that now I don't really have very many emotions today.

By the time I was fourteen I had come to terms with it, and by then I would tell most people that I was gay if I was comfortable enough, the exception being family members. However, around the time I started high school my family had become well enough acquainted with the idea. We don't talk about it, but instead of saying "when you get married to a girl," they say "when you get married to a person," which is progress I guess. My mother is the only one who's still rooting for team straight (she asks me if I get girls' numbers -__-). My brother is the only one who's outright said that I was gay, which I guess is pretty cool. And in terms of other people, everyone can figure that I'm gay. And if they can't I correct them.

When it comes down to it, I think my parents would rather I engage in multiple sex partners at once than be gay. I remember once, my friends Carla and Isabella were in my room with me, and my mother was coming in to ask Carla something. We heard whispering to my mother though, saying "Make sure you knock first, just in case."

Just in case what? Just in case I was having sex with both Carla and Isabella? So yeah, progress is a slow thing.

Anyway, the point of this was to say that I don't have a big coming out story. I know a lot of gay blogs have one, or are about guys in the closet or something of that sort; I don't have that to offer. There was never some great epiphanous moment where I told my parents and we hugged and they said they accept me blah, blah, blah. Maybe one day, but probably not.

In other, way, way, way terrible news Alexander McQueen died. He was a really esteemed and important British designer; one of my favorites. Here's a video of one of my favorite collections of all time:



R.I.P.

History.

I've always known I was adopted. From a very young age I could tell. My parents and my siblings are all in love with sports, I hate sports. I'm artistic, my family isn't. I can sign tolerably well, my family isn't allowed to sing 'Happy Birthday.' I'm also much smarter than my family.

Also, I'm black and they're white.

Well, actually, I'm half black and half white. What happened, is my parents had two children naturally, and then they wanted to adopt. That's where I came in:

My birth mother and birth father were having an adulterous affair, and then she got pregnant with me. She couldn't keep me because she already had four other sons (slut ;D), and he couldn't keep me because he didn't want his wife to know about the affair. So I was put on the market and I was adopted, and ever since one day old I've been living with the family I have now.

Perhaps it's possible that my status as an outsider stems from the fact that I've been different from my whole family at birth (obviously there are a few other things aside from the fact that I'm half black, and adopted that make me an outsider, but for now I'll stick to this topic).

My parents have no black friends, nor do my siblings. They're not obviously not against black people or anything, they just don't have any friends who aren't white. It's always amusing when I point this out to my parents, because they get really upset. I think that they try very hard to be socially acceptable.

I remember one time my mother was flipping through a magazine and she goes "Joshua, there are no black people in this magazine!" I hadn't noticed, but I guess there's some sort of buzzer in her head when the media doesn't represent the racial percentages of the country correctly. Who knows?

What's strange though, is that living my entire life around white people, I forget a lot of the time that I'm not white. For example, in my government class when I read about how different races vote and the different statistics, I always group myself with the white people, and have to go back and remind myself. It's not just me though, I've had whole conversations with people and then they stop and say "Oh! I just realized that you're black!"

In their defense I'm quite light skinned. People usually call me "mocha" or "cappuccino" or some other coffee flavor. I also don't act like the stereotypical black person; I'm kind of a grammar nazi and I don't do baggy clothes. Again, outsider.

Every now and then though, I wonder what it would be like to fit in, and be a normal guy... then I remember how perfect I am and make out with myself in the mirror. ;D

Firsties

So I just started winter break and I figured it might be nice to have somewhere to write things down about my life, or current events or whatever it is I may want to write about.

I'm 18 and I live in South Florida. I go to high school and live a pretty regular life. I'm gay, and I guess that's a pretty important part of who I am. Essentially, everybody knows (except for my parents, and not for a lack of me telling them). It was more of a big deal when I was younger, but now it's not so problematic. Kids can still be dicks about it, but it's much easier to deal with now.

I'm pretty interested in clothing and art and aesthetic stuff like that. I'm taking a lot of art classes this year and I'm really liking them. I want to do fashion when I'm older, but I want to do film also; I've yet to reach any consensus, but I still have time to decide. I guess it's good I at least know I want to do something artistic.

This seems like a good enough introduction for now, so I'll leave it at that.