LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Student CAMP Parents: Another Dirty Word |
by Kristen Minor |
This month my college had a pre-frosh weekend. Basically, high school seniors who have been admitted but might have not sent in the check and letter of acceptance were invited for the weekend to hear the sales pitch and see if Dartmouth was the place for them, by golly. A highlight of the dog and pony show was the activities fair, where I had the fortune of being one of the people manning the tables for the Rainbow Alliance. As an enormous rainbow flag broadcast our presence between the Students for Choice and Intermural Sports, we prepared for the onslaught of high schoolers.
It was not an exercise in futility. We had several dozen people approach the table and grill us on queer life at Dartmouth. More amusing, however, were the looks that our table got. They ranged from utter disgust to longing. These often went hand in handor at least back to front, as the disgust was from parents who couldn't imagine why we were there. The longing was from their children a few steps behind who practically broke their necks looking but did not stop. By the count of the five of us sitting at the table, this happened at least 8 times. We spent lag time compiling a list of the most common looks we got. The highlights: If I look at the flag I must be gay. I'll walk by s-l-o-w-l-y. But I won't stop. I hate gay people. They're so wicked and... sensual. Evil. I meant evil. In the middle of writing our list, it struck me that none of the students who talked to us were with their parents. I don't know why I found this surprisingit's not every day that you see parents who will say, "Look, Sarah, it's the gay group! Go talk to them! Oh, she's cuteI wonder if she's single!" This weekend was another interesting one. Family weekend. Another glorious pony show, this time for the freshmen and their families. The Rainbow Alliance hosted a barbecue, figuring that activism and free food are a stellar combination. It was a huge success, but there were some profoundly awkward moments. One of my friends, a boy who is normally more flaming than an acetylene torch, was dressed in clothes I'd never seen him in and missing his trademark freedom rings. His parents flanked him, glaring at everyone within a 20-foot radius. When he first came out to them, they started him on conversion therapy. Were I in his place I would not have had the courage. There were a few other parents there who were less than thrilled, and I found myself wishing that my shirt wasn't as wrinkled and that there weren't so many kids who "looked gay" around. Something, anything, to convey to the parents that even though their kid went to college and came out, that it was okay and gay people weren't so bad. Gay people have complicated relationships with parents. One of my fondest memories of last year was the Vice Versa Awards Ceremony, where I was presented with an award for this column. My parents were in attendance. Tristan Taormino, editor of the lesbian porn magazine On Our Backs, was the keynote speaker. When the emcee noted that my parents were present, the table Tristan was at went into a long huddle. After her address, Tristan told me that she was trying to figure out if she should edit or change parts of her speech that contained references to sex so as not to offend my parents. I cannot get over the fact that the woman who wrote The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women was somehow worried about upsetting my mother and father. Considering that the defining characteristic of queerness is indeed whom one dates and what is subsequently done in bed, gay people spend an inordinate amount of time glossing over sex. At least we do to our parents. I don't know if this is reflective of the cultural squeamishness that surrounds parent/child sharing of embarrassing intimate details or something more complicated. I think it is perhaps the latter. I think that shame comes into play. I've been out to my parents for a long time. They are wonderful and incredibly supportive. All the same, I find myself putting away some of my "gay things" when they come to visit. The items are in and of themselves innocuous. It's just that they're emblazoned with rainbows or they have two girls kissing or they have something that I'm afraid would make my parents uncomfortable, even though I know that wouldn't happen. I think I'm afraid of the dreaded "flaunting it," which is defined as either being extremely gay or gay at all. Comfort and shame. Are these the driving forces between the interactions of many gay people and their parents? Don't bring the significant other to your sister's wedding because it is shameful and it would make everyone uncomfortable. Sleep in separate bedrooms when family visits even though you've lived together for five years and everyone knows. Apologize for saying "honey" to your significant other or listening to Melissa Ferrick or any of a million things that might bring up the fact that you are not straight. As long as it is not talked about, it is fine. Overachieve and go to a good school so they'll have something to be proud of. Above all, do not speak of sex. Sex is powerful, beautiful, and dangerous. It is not comfortable; it is shameful. This is the impression that I get when I speak to gay people about their families. I'm not saying that one should swap tales of sexual exploits over tea. This lack of honesty and avoidance of the issue, however, is doing no good. The queer movement is not comprised of castrates. We're not being discriminated against for having funny hair, wearing Birkenstocks, or liking show tunes. Sex and love between members of the same gender is not dirty, and we need to stop treating it as such. Kristen Minor is a member of the class of 2004 at Dartmouth College and can be reached at kristen@youth-guard.org. She would like to tell her parents that she thinks they handled her lesbianism wonderfully and that she loves them very much. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 4, May 4, 2001. |