I
have been out longer than I have
been a practicing journalist. My “official” coming
out took place when I was a sophomore
in
high school.
I
don’t know why, but there was no
choice in the matter. “Faking the funk” just
was not an option anymore. I just
was not
like the “normal” guys my age, and I knew it.
With
the help of a few close friends,
I realized that there was nothing
wrong with
my homosexuality. I am a child
of God and
deserve to be happy. I just
could not afford
to hide any longer.
It
was VOX/Youth Communication, a
local teen organization in
Atlanta, that
helped me feel more comfortable
with who
I am. And it was through
journalism, as a
staff writer for VOX’s monthly teen news
magazine, that I ventured
out even further.
There I learned that I had
a voice that needed
to be heard. It was also
there that I realized
I was not the only person
going through this experience.
I
used my voice, and my self-appointed
position as a spokesperson,
to grow to love myself and
others like me.
Since
then, I have mostly been comfortable
with who I am,
and have been able to be
out. I have never been
the “honey-child,” “
yes ma’am,” flaming stereotype of gays
and lesbians. However,
my homosexuality is and
always has been a part
of me, so it
became a part of my everyday
life. I became a “take me or leave
me” type of guy; if you could not accept me, then
you were not
worth my time.
Every
now and then, I find myself a little
hesitant and nervous
in different instances.
But I think about how
far I have come
as a young, African-American
gay man, and I suppress
those feelings
long enough to realize
that I have nothing
to be worried
about. I remind myself
of the necessity of
diversity and how there
is nothing wrong with
being different.
I
can remember an incident last summer
at my internship at
the Island Packet
in
Bluffton, S.C. I had
a few pictures of
my then-fiancé on my desk. One of the
reporters walked by
and asked me who
he was, and I very freely
said, “Oh, that’s my
fiancé.” Her response was, “Oh, now
I see
why you are homesick,” and we both
laughed. That was one
of the moments
when I just knew it
was okay to be me.
There
have been other moments, too,
like last summer
during the National
Association of Black
Journalists national
convention in Milwaukee
where once again
I felt obligated
to be open, but
I was nervous
about the decision
the entire time.
At
the time, I was struggling with
whether I should
be at the convention
or at
home because my
fiancé was in the hospital
in need of an emergency
operation. Rather
than going home,
I wrote a very
personal
piece in “The Monitor,” the NABJ convention
newspaper, about
the experience.
In
the end, the response validated
my decision to be out.
Many people stopped
me; asked me
how I was doing,
and congratulated
me on my courage
and honesty.
I was surprised,
but
also relieved,
with how things
turned out.
When
it comes time for me
to take on the title
of professional,
I believe I
will walk
into that newsroom the
same way
I always
have. I will
be confident
in my abilities.
I have gotten past introducing
my homosexuality
immediately
when I meet
someone, but
that does not
mean that
I will climb back into that
closet.
