When I was gathering stories, I met someone named Simone who is fierce, in a bus driver sort-of-way. Simone was just one of the cool people I met, and we bonded over the usual things - being called fag, what constitutes a "heels" day, and of course, blogging. I look forward to reading the busdriverfierce blog more than I read my own.
I also got to meet a lady named Dorothy. Dorothy is what I like to call a Golden Girl. Not because she's Bea Arthur, but because she is an older woman that is golden. As in, you can't touch Dorothy. I know I'm giving Dorothy a shout-out, but there were two other ladies, Blanche and Rose (just kidding!), named Leela and Susan who were also grandmothas. These were no ordinary grandmothers, though, because this trifecta of post-menopausal mamacitas were the leaders of PFLAG in Rocky Mount. For those of you who don't know, Rocky Mount has a population of maybe 2. There are no gay people there, just really big, really religious closets.
I asked the ladies, over dinner at the Highway Diner (where I dined on country fried steak, french fries and fried okra. Seriously. Fried cubed.) how they got involved with PFLAG. Susan and Leela were boring and said that it was because their beloved sons were gay.
Dorothy has a much more tragic story. Dorothy lost her son 6 years ago to a drug overdose. Dorothy is a staunchly religious (Baptist) woman, all her life, and raised her family in that manner. Part of this upbringing included regularly preaching the sins of homosexuality and that if, perhaps, you were gay, the only time you'd be straight was when you went straight to hell. Dorothy had a very difficult time speaking about this, and though 6 years have passed, she could barely could bring herself to mutter the word "gay."
Dorothy spoke at length about her son's story - how as he got older, he drifted farther from the family and began leading two lives. In reality, he was living one life, and the second life she is referring to was the few times they were able to see him after he had moved out. Her son became deeply troubled and got involved in drugs. Dorothy acknowledged that what led him to this path was very likely her family's suffocation of his true self. It's an issue that I could tell she still grapples with, though it's clear that her stance on homosexuality is now almost entirely accepting.
For four years, because of the environment she lived in and the walls of silence their family had built, none of them could speak to each other or anyone else about their loss. They couldn't talk to friends, because they'd have to admit he was gay. They couldn't talk to family for the same reason. They reside in Rocky Mount, and there was no such support group for people who went through the tragedy that they experienced. Dorothy finally had enough after those 4 years of grieving in total solitude when she approached her trusted pastor. After much hesitation, the beans were spilled and the pastor, as expected, confirmed the wrongness of homosexuality, but empathized with their ordeal. In a sea of tears, Dorothy watched her husband explain for the first time out loud, that they may have contributed to their son's deep pain and eventual death.
Several weeks later, Dorothy's husband found a recording of the same pastor, weeks later teaching Sunday school at their church. In his lesson, he felt the need to include that "gays should be lined up and shot - military style." He said this to a room full of children. In that room was likely another young person, internalizing their difference as something worthy of execution. Dorothy and her family left the church, disgusted by the utter insensitivity and hatred.
Dorothy still very much struggles with her son's death, and it's likely that she will for the rest of her life. The complicated, unfortunate series of events will never make sense to her and her family fully because they never gave him the opportunity to share himself, his pain, and his turmoil. They can only guess at how their inability to accept that part of him truly affected him, and if things would have been different if they had only had that one, scary conversation and, as Dorothy said let the issue "blow up and blow over."
To me, Dorothy is truly an inspiration. So often I hear the excuse "there's no use even talking to someone like that - they'll never understand. They're not even willing to listen." Dorothy used to be the 'someone like that,' but Dorothy did the impossible and outgrew the ingrained bigotry that she had become so accustomed to. She made the ultimate decision to change - one of almost incomprehensible strength - to walk away from the comforts of simple hatred to move toward the complexity of loving in the face of differences.
Though it's no consolation to her, and though she may never understand it, Dorothy continues to be a mother to her son by way of the millions of children and people in this world who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, or just plain different. She didn't become this mother by simply making the change in her head - she did so by acting on her new perspective and making a difference by joining PFLAG. She, along with Susan and Leela, have made themselves an invaluable resource to troubled children and parents everywhere - even in Rocky Mount, NC.
Not everyone has to experience the unimaginable tragedy that Dorothy did to be called to action. Not everyone needs to join PFLAG to be active. What everyone absolutely must do, if they carry that love in their hearts, is share that love in any way they can and let that love become a part of your life and the way that you treat and see other people. When you hear someone say "fag" in the halls of your school, you speak up because you carry that love. When you're uncomfortable seeing two men holding hands or kissing, you remember the love that you carry and let that uncomfortable feeling die. When you hear someone say a racist remark, remember that you made a choice - a choice of strength - to accept differences. When someone comes to you, desperate for acceptance or understanding, no matter what your pastor is preaching you, remember that love - not hate, is what saves people from desperation.
This post is dedicated to Dorothy and the memory of her son.
wow. ur a really good writer!
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