For the generations above us, after being decriminalised, being gay was still weird. Not always disapproved of, but certainly alternative, peculiar. How many people must have uttered the words, ‘I don’t mind gay people, I just wouldn’t want it in my family’. Though it’s not the same brazen homophobia we see elsewhere, it still sends a dangerous message to queer people - that our identity is abnormal.
We all know someone our mum or grandma described as an ‘unconfirmed bachelor’ or a ‘peculiar aunt or uncle’. Did anyone stop and wonder if the unconfirmed bachelor felt alone, isolated or depressed? If he felt ashamed or embarrassed? What about the single aunt? Was she comfortable being the topic of constant ridicule around her personal life? The truth is we're so used to shunning the alternative characters to the back, just out of sight enough, that we don’t have to think too much about their pain. I know I’m guilty of it. We see them once a year at a family gathering or social event, they make us laugh with their peculiar ways, ‘Oh isn’t he so funny’, and off they go until next year. Who knows what they’re doing in the months in between.
We all know what peculiar means. In some cases, they’re people who are shy, those who perhaps have issues with social skills but mostly they’re queer and ashamed of it. They’re labelled as strange because for their entire lives they've had to be secretive of their lifestyles and we all know that homophobia is the root cause. If only we’d created a society in which they’d felt comfortable introducing us to their other half... I feel guilty for being part of the problem, for talking about older people in that way. The 'confirmed bachelors' and 'single aunts' that I grew up being around (or seeing once a year). I wish I'd done more, I wish the people before me had done more. And I hope the people after me won't have to do more to feel accepted.
Nevertheless, because of the work queer generations above me have put in, and suffered for, I’m now at least able to date people freely. I’m perhaps less likely to be labelled the ‘peculiar uncle’ (well, not for being gay at least). But that doesn’t solve the problem of being the token single gay.
My quest to ensure that I don’t end up as the token single gay saw me on my millionth Tinder date of the year last week. It was pretty uneventful, he told me he worked in an ad agency for a Middle Eastern client whom he was not allowed to specify which I thought of as suspect. I told him I worked for Mossad; he didn’t think it was as funny as I did. I left wondering why I keep going on these mediocre dates; mediocre being a better outcome than most. Maybe I’m thinking too deeply as usual; most people my age are going on dates fairly often hoping to get lucky. And by that I mean find the one, obviously. But I often come away from them feeling pretty numb. Unchanged and sometimes a little bit worse than when I started.
When I talk about my dates with my work friends, as is often a conversation topic among us, I still cringe when they ask about ‘him’. It’s still there, that involuntary wince. I can’t control it. I say ‘person’ before I can stop myself and then get all flustered. Everyone knows I’m gay, so why do I still have a hard time saying ‘him’ and ‘he’ to people I feel very comfortable with?
In fact, I’m the most comfortable I’ve ever been. I’m doing things I’ve always wanted to do without the fear of ridicule or embarrassment. I’ve started taking dance classes, I got a daith piercing in my ear (admittedly not something I’d always wanted but still something I wouldn’t have ever done in the past for fear of seeming ‘gay’), I’m going to more gay events and I’m sharing all this on my stupid blog!
So, as usual, I have all the questions and no answers, but on we go; forward on this everlasting journey to self-acceptance.
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