"I pronounce you healed!!!"
"And I pronounce them heels, dumbass."
Benjamin Kissell
Is there anything in the world that will make a gay heart weep mascara tracks of confusion and angst like that age old debate: religion versus sexuality?
Well, there’s the whole carbs issue, but that’s an article of a different weight-class. And then there’s the White after Labor Day kerfuffle – but, I call myself Caucasian, so I think I’ve avoided the whole mess.
This particular gay heart weeps trenchant tears of misery in sympathy for those who get plunged into the fight: there are seldom any winners in these battles – more often, every one walks away hurt inside.
Of course, here’s where a casual observer might assume I’d push my own religious views. But, then the casual observer would be wrong. I mean, how would me preaching be fun/funny/entertaining?
Short answer: it wouldn’t be.
Long answer: a basic religious rule of mine is “MADONNA. She is/She was/She will be.”
"I treat Madonna like many folks treat Christ."
So, there you go.
No, the battle of religion versus sexuality [somewhere in Vegas there’s a Prize Fight with this name] has been waged for ages and within almost every religion around the world.
That being said, few can boast the “Ex-Gay Movement” quite like Christianity and its branches therein.
Normally, I wouldn’t riff on them for this – Hell, if the active continual need to flagellate themselves upon their religion to deny who they are is what gets them up in the morning? I say go for it. For themselves.
Do. Not. Push. This. On. Others.
Once you force this internal issue on someone else? Nuh-uh.
And when your repressed, self-hating ass pushes this esteem-killing bullshit on ME? Oh honey, no. Just. Plain. No.
The game? Is on.
……
Recently, I was shopping at the mall when I ran into two family acquaintances (not quite friends). For politeness' sake, I'll call them Punch and Judy. Both are active members of the Ex-Gay Movement.
Never one to be impolite to my elders - well, to start the impolite, anyways - I smiled, nodded and did my best to roll with their kind-hearted and (to them) well-meaning advice and the convoluted conversation about my family in the early 80s.
Punch is a scruffy-looking, sandy-haired, middle-aged woman [note that I didn't throw in the obvious wearing-of-flannel with a mullet, that's a cheap shot, even for me] and contrasts nicely with her friend, Judy.
Need I make the obvious statements about Judy being a sweet and soft-spoken, limp-wristed old man? I didn't think so - kinda implied there.
Having been approached in college by more Bible-thumping bigots than I can shake a stick at [and more than a few of them tried to shake said stick, if you read between the closeted lines] to "redeem myself" and "Pray the sins of gay away" my hackles rise whenever a conversation takes a turn for the denial-angle.
"I was gay in college, Ben," Judy's soft voice cut through the din as I zoned out of the conversation. "But, I found my way through our Lord, Jesus Christ. I know what it is to live with that Evil inside of you." Evil?
"No, honey - these shoes? Are evil. Positively Pilgrim: blech!"
"Causing you to have unnatural thoughts and desires. It's been a struggle - every day - but, I know with His strength, I persevere daily." Yes, because appealing to the gay Jew to find the strength in Christ to play it straight? Aces tactic.
Of course, he was batshit crazy to think I bought a single word of it.
Ready to lob a vitriol-fueled foul-mouthed retort right back at this, I made the mistake of looking directly in his withered and kindly face.
Shit.
All Judy wants is for his struggle to mean something; to know that the pain he inflicts on himself because of dogmatic bigotry is worth it. How could I hate someone who, daily, hates a part of himself?
I'm an asshole, but, I'm not that big of one.
Usually.
Deflated, I threw on my best crow-eating grin and said some of the toughest words that have ever come out of my mouth - "I'm really proud of you, Judy. I know that this is an amazing thing you do."
And it is; hating yourself so thoroughly and buying into such claptrap for so much of your life is amazing.
And still having a good heart? That is truly stupendous.
Of course, I'm still me - genuine Class A Jackass - and I tossed a smart aleck-y "I'll say a prayer for you at Temple with my boyfriend" over my shopping bag.
[I seldom go to Temple - twice in 6 years isn't bad, is it? - and been perennially single for the better part of 9 years of dating.]
......
"Why do I think I need a faboo pair of 7" heels to feel better?
Oh, wait, because it's WWMD - What Would Madonna Do."
Game on, indeed.
Ben's Mouth: 1 - Religious (well-meaning) Fanatics: 1 ... damn tie.
And the time my best friend's Grandmother tried to have one of those old-fashioned revivals where I would be "saved"? ...
Fanatics: 2