national coming out day
11 Oct 2008 11:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouWell, stories are being shared here & there on the net, so, hey, here's one as well. I've got plenty of memories from the bookstore, but this is one of my fondest.
Back then, I got used to having the various teenagers in town wander in and out. (Mostly, I suspect, because I didn't get on their case for 'loitering' so long as they told me what they were currently reading.)
One day, two boys -- who I'd guess were HS sophomores or so -- came by and sat on the sofa to chat with me for awhile. We covered the weather, the latest on main street, the last football game, the usual Southern pleasantries required before you can get down to business. Both boys looked rather nervous, though one far more than the other; the nervous one, I recall, had ended up with his baseball cap in his hands, twisting it around before straightening it, then twisting it again. His friend would kind of nudge him a little, and he'd do a strange torso-twist like he was saying no without actually saying so. I'm sure you've seen that odd move.
The obligatory pleasantries wound down, and eventually conversation came to a lull. Baseball-cap boy twisted his cap one more time, untwisted, then his fists clenched around it and he looked right at me and mumbled something, made a face, and said louder, "I'm gay."
I think I blinked at him, once or twice, before half-shrugging and saying, "that's cool."
Longer pause, and the boy seemed to register what I'd said. He got this scared-happy grin growing across his face, but his friend was already grinning like a loon -- and not at me, but at the other boy. It was the kind of thrilled expression a friend might have if you'd just knocked it out of the park, won the race, bested the record despite being convinced you couldn't and wouldn't, and were only trying because your friend knew with such certainty that you'd not just do fine, you'd nail it -- and then you did. That kind of thrilled, proud, glorious grin.
I gave the friend a curious look, not entirely certain what I was missing in the usual silent-language good friends can share. I didn't mean to imply that they were a couple, so much as just wondering if I had to brace for another announcement (and I do recall, even at the time wondering whether I should be saying something else, y'know, reacting in some more dramatic fashion equivalent to the boy's obvious expectations.)
But no... even with that rather pointed-curious look from me, the friend just laughed and said, "oh, not me, I like girls. I'm just here for support."
And then the two grinned at each other, really widely, and it was obvious they were best friends, and I knew exactly who'd been the first person that kid told. Regardless, I guess I was the practice round for the Coming Out To Adults Announcement, which will always remain a flattering memory, if you ask me.
Years later I remain impressed by the memory of that boy saying so casually -- without even an iota of tension I would've expected at all of maybe fifteen, sixteen? -- that he was there for support; that's a security you rarely see in a boy that age. But what I most cherish is the way the two grinned at each other so freely, so secure in friendship's greatest truth, and one too many of us take for granted: victory shared is joy doubled.
This world could use more friends like that.
Back then, I got used to having the various teenagers in town wander in and out. (Mostly, I suspect, because I didn't get on their case for 'loitering' so long as they told me what they were currently reading.)
One day, two boys -- who I'd guess were HS sophomores or so -- came by and sat on the sofa to chat with me for awhile. We covered the weather, the latest on main street, the last football game, the usual Southern pleasantries required before you can get down to business. Both boys looked rather nervous, though one far more than the other; the nervous one, I recall, had ended up with his baseball cap in his hands, twisting it around before straightening it, then twisting it again. His friend would kind of nudge him a little, and he'd do a strange torso-twist like he was saying no without actually saying so. I'm sure you've seen that odd move.
The obligatory pleasantries wound down, and eventually conversation came to a lull. Baseball-cap boy twisted his cap one more time, untwisted, then his fists clenched around it and he looked right at me and mumbled something, made a face, and said louder, "I'm gay."
I think I blinked at him, once or twice, before half-shrugging and saying, "that's cool."
Longer pause, and the boy seemed to register what I'd said. He got this scared-happy grin growing across his face, but his friend was already grinning like a loon -- and not at me, but at the other boy. It was the kind of thrilled expression a friend might have if you'd just knocked it out of the park, won the race, bested the record despite being convinced you couldn't and wouldn't, and were only trying because your friend knew with such certainty that you'd not just do fine, you'd nail it -- and then you did. That kind of thrilled, proud, glorious grin.
I gave the friend a curious look, not entirely certain what I was missing in the usual silent-language good friends can share. I didn't mean to imply that they were a couple, so much as just wondering if I had to brace for another announcement (and I do recall, even at the time wondering whether I should be saying something else, y'know, reacting in some more dramatic fashion equivalent to the boy's obvious expectations.)
But no... even with that rather pointed-curious look from me, the friend just laughed and said, "oh, not me, I like girls. I'm just here for support."
And then the two grinned at each other, really widely, and it was obvious they were best friends, and I knew exactly who'd been the first person that kid told. Regardless, I guess I was the practice round for the Coming Out To Adults Announcement, which will always remain a flattering memory, if you ask me.
Years later I remain impressed by the memory of that boy saying so casually -- without even an iota of tension I would've expected at all of maybe fifteen, sixteen? -- that he was there for support; that's a security you rarely see in a boy that age. But what I most cherish is the way the two grinned at each other so freely, so secure in friendship's greatest truth, and one too many of us take for granted: victory shared is joy doubled.
This world could use more friends like that.