Adjusting

A conversation this weekend has helped me to think through some of the priorities in my life. As regular Auto-Gratification readers have no doubt noticed, my posts lately have been severely lacking.

This has been unavoidable, as my life lately has been rather crazy, particularly with my job in a company that is in a tailspin it is unlikely to recover from. Consequently, I am trying to balance the demands of a very full-time job with the fairly-urgent need to find a new job in a more stable situation.

As a smart friend reminded me this weekend, I need to make sure I am dedicating the maximum amount of effort possible to my occupation situation and not allow myself to use other things (such as blogging) to be used as an escape from the stress I have been under for far too long. For, when I spend my time on things less important, I ultimately only will increase my stress and delay its resolve.

So, today Auto-Gratification is going on an indefinite hiatus. Although I have every intent to return to blogging at some point, I cannot today tell you at what point that will be. I will keep the blog up, and perhaps I will be able to give an update along the way. But at this point, I don't plan to post again until my job situation has settled down and I am comfortably-settled into whatever new opportunity awaits.

Thanks to all who have been so kind in your comments and visits. I do hope that I will be back here again soon....keep checking!

Hope You've Enjoyed the Conversation Thus Far

One year ago today, on Friday, February 24, 2006, I began Auto-Gratification with a post titled "Talking To Myself." This was my third or fourth attempt at maintaining a blog (each of the others dying after a few short posts). But this one seems to be sticking. I have found that the reality of life keeps me from daily postings as I might like, but looking at my stats shows an average of slightly more than 3 posts per week, so I suppose that is adequate.

As is fairly common for new bloggers, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to do with the blog, so some of my early posts are rather boring. But, if the response from friends and acquaintances is any indicator, eventually things improved, and I hope I will continue to entertain or inform or slightly amuse you as the weeks go on.

For those who may not have been here the whole time, here's a few of my personal favorite posts that you might want to check out...

• Mardi Gras Origins (February 27, 2006) - My account of the year I attended the Mardi Gras celebration in the village of Binche, Belgium, where many of the traditions of the day originated.
• French Sex (April 30, 2006) - As I mention in my blog header, I am half-bilingual, so back in April, I decided to produce a brief guide de terminologie sexuelle française. Even if you don't speak any French, it is a fascinating (and sometimes amusing) look at the way Francophones express themselves in the bedroom.
• How to Help a Friend Who is Dealing with the Suicide of a Loved One (May 8, 2006) - Because of the tragedy that I have experienced and survived, I have posted a number of times over the past year on the topic of suicide. This post I wrote in the hopes of giving some practical advice in the event someone finds themselves trying to comfort a friend who is grieving the suicide of a loved one.
• Sometimes It Rains (June 28, 2006) - I occasionally write poetry in my journal, but I almost always use poetry to express things that are deeply personal, so only twice have I ever shared something I wrote in that realm publicly. This poem was written as a reminder of the value of friendship when the storms come.
• The Pink Letter (July 2, 2006) - I had probably more fun writing this post than nearly any other I have done. Being a fan of classic literature, I often am humored as I run across terms whose meanings have changed over time, a wonderful example being the word "queer." This post illustrates a number of classic literature passages in which they\ author employed that word, never realizing the new, humorous meanings their words would have decades later.
• Rice Queen, Part 1 and Part 2 (July 6-9, 2006) - Some thoughts on interracial romance in the gay community.
• My Coming-Out Story (October 11-December 10, 2006) - This ended up being a five-part series on my own personal coming-out story. I still intend to write an epilogue as I promised several I would do...perhaps that will be the post to start off my second blogging year.
• Choosing Our Battles Wisely (February 21, 2007) - My most recent post prior to this one, but something I feel very strongly about. I lived in Africa for a while and love the people there, so it saddens me to see so many critical of people who are sacrificially giving of their lives to help people they do not even know in lands far away.

Well, thanks to all who have read, commented, complimented, and even criticized me over the past year. I hope you will continue to visit my blog (and link to it!). I will try to make your visits worth the time you give to me. Cheers!

Choosing Our Battles Wisely

Recently, an anonymous commenter (ah, the joys of anonymity....headstrong statements with no personal consequence) criticized my promotion of the (PRODUCT)^RED campaign a couple months ago.

This commenter said:

You might want to note that the Red Campaign, while a great idea, is quite sexist in the distribution of its funds. As stated on the website: the donations go to women and children. Therefore, presumably, gay men will not in any way benefit from the work. Considering how indiscriminate the disease, it is unfortunate that money must be distributed in a discriminatory manner.

Since this comment was just made recently, it is unlikely that my response will be noticed by too many people, but Mr. or Ms. Anonymous kinda provoked my ire a bit, so I wanted to include my thoughts on a separate post here for your consideration. With slight modification, this is what I said in my response:

I think that perhaps you are being unnecessarily harsh on the campaign. The fact that they are raising funds only for women and children is not ipso facto sexist. The thrust of this particular fundraising drive is to raise money to provide the medicine that will keep a mother from passing HIV on to her unborn child, a goal that all of us would applaud. Just because this particular organization does not focus on every single person infected with HIV/AIDS is simply not sexist.

To focus on addressing one part of a complex problem in no way negates or lessens the work of others addressing a different part.It is no different than the Children's Memorial Hospital here in my hometown of Chicago. Is it sexist (or "ageist") when someone raises funds for the cancer unit of that hospital? After all, cancer indiscriminately affects adults as well as children. In fact, probably adults are even more at risk than children in many cases. So should those raising funds for that unit be criticized and rejected? Certainly not! The focus on fighting a problem in one area in no way negates or lessens the work of others fighting it in another area. Both are legitimate, both are essential, and both should receive support rather than criticism for their efforts.

Not only is it not sexist for the (PRODUCT)^RED campaign to operate as they do, it also is very likely more practical and efficient than a less-focused effort, for it gives very specific guidance and direction to those using the funding. Rather than arbitrary decisions concerning fund distribution, those involved know exactly what the money is to be used for and can simply focus on getting the medicine out as quickly as possible.

Additionally, if you look into Bono's efforts in Africa, you will find that the (PRODUCT)^RED campaign is only one aspect of his involvement with the needs of that continent. He has been instrumental in addressing many issues related to poverty and HIV/AIDS, and nobody who claims he is sexist in his efforts is even remotely fair to him.

And finally, it is a very selfish thing to assume that gay men will not benefit from the work of (PRODUCT)^RED. Do gay men not have nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, whose lives could be saved through the medicine provided by this campaign? Are we not members of a society and world community in which each of us is affected by the well-being, health, and prosperity of others? Are we gay men so selfish that we have to get the medicine for ourselves before we can be excited and enthusiastic about lives being saved? I certainly hope not!

And I hope that each of us will be more determined today and every day of our lives to figure out where the real enemies are and stop shooting at our friends.

(Note: For more information on (PRODUCT)^RED, click on the logo on the top portion of this blog's right-screen sidebar).

I Might Take Some Heat For This...

OK, so I feel like stirring up a bit of trouble this morning. I predict, with confidence, that in the (hopefully) not-too-distant future, the idea of an anthropogenic global warming crisis will be seen to be grossly overstated, if not outright false and foolish. Whether or not this happens before an Oscar and Nobel Prize are wasted on Al Gore may be debatable, but I look forward to seeing the entertainment as the lemmings begin to back-pedal and try to save face when the politico-science of anthropogenic global warming gives way to fact.

As US President John Adams wrote in 1770, in the days when he was a lawyer in Boston, "Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence."



Now, I'm sure that my statements here have angered many, so feel free to fire away at me in the comments if you feel the urge. Don't worry; I can take it. Just do me a favor and bookmark this page or my e-mail address so that you can remember where to send your apology note when you realize I am correct.

Retread: Hopeless Romantic

A Happy Valentine's Day to each of you. In honor of this holiday, I want to re-post links to the "Hopeless Romantic" series of posts that I wrote last year. I think Valentine's day has the potential to be a wonderful holiday, although cynicism and commercialism are constantly attempting to creep in. But I still see a world in which people fall in love and find passion in producing joy in the life of a partner. So, how is it that we identify the true romantics? Check these out for a starter's guide to romance:

• Hopeless Romantic, Part 1
• Hopeless Romantic, Part 2
• Hopeless Romantic, Part 3
  

The Brown Dragon

On September 10, 2004, I got my first tattoo. It speaks of the lessons I learned from my "coming out" experience. I wrote about the first tattoo previously on this blog, and you can read about it here if you like.

Now, if you read that post, you will see that I planned out the tattoo's timing and meaning to the extreme. It was a very important reminder to me of a milestone in my life that continues to shape me to this day. After I got the first tattoo, I did not necessarily intend to get another one. For one thing, I did not foresee another event that would be as life-changing as my “coming out," so it seemed that any new tattoo would be somewhat trivial in comparison to the meaning behind the first. Little did I know how wrong I was.

As I have mentioned on this blog before, I lost my boyfriend to suicide on October 13, 2005. And, compounding the loss of my boyfriend was the trauma of being the one to find him hanging from a rope in his bedroom. This sent my life into a turmoil that could have easily become a tailspin. However, through the aggressive love and constant support of amazing friends and family, I survived even through pain deeper than I had ever known.

We are approaching one year since we buried Alfred. Due to circumstances surrounding government regulations and transporting remains out of the country (part of his remains buried in his home town in the Philippines and part at his adopted home here in Chicago), we did not have the burial service here until February 15, about 4 months after his death. As I was thinking about this today, I decided I would share the story of my second tattoo. I have told it to a few close friends, but I think it would be good to share here in hopes that perhaps it can be an encouragement to someone else going through a dark time in his or her life.

I think it is natural, upon the loss of a loved one, to desire to do something to keep his memory alive, perhaps to convince oneself that the person is not forgotten. Even as I was slowly beginning to face the reality that Alfred was gone from my life forever, I knew that I wanted to do something that would remind me of him and the wonderful memories we shared during our all-too-brief time together. I’m not certain exactly at what point the idea of getting another tattoo entered my mind, but certainly by early December 2005 I was seriously considering it. And, the more I contemplated, the more I realized how meaningful a tattoo could be in this situation. So, on December 29, 2005, I received my second tattoo. Here, as concisely as possible, is the meaning and significance of the tattoo:

The design of the tattoo was much easier to decide upon than the first one I got. I knew I wanted something that would be a good memory for me of Alfred, yet I was level-headed enough to know I wasn’t going to inscribe his name on my arm or anything like that. Also, on the slightly more shallow side of things, I kinda wanted a tattoo that would be a little more “exciting” than my first. The idea that quickly came to mind was Alfred’s nickname which I often used, “Brown Dragon.” I am not certain where he got that nickname, but it was one that I thought would be a great memorial idea. A brown dragon would be meaningful to me, yet it would avoid potential awkwardness in future relationships both because the significance would be muted apart from my explicit explanation and because it would just look like a nice tattoo (so I hoped and so I believe).

I intentionally chose to have the size of the tattoo be much larger than my first, symbolizing that this was an experience that overshadows even the most difficult moments of my life to this point. The pain I have gone through is beyond anything I have ever imagined, or imagined being able to endure. And it is this pain and its results that add the most meaning to the tattoo.

The process of getting the tattoo applied took about 2 hours. During the application, it feels as if the artist is taking a knife and cutting you open. It struck me that, out of this rather intense pain came a thing of beauty. If I had not gone through the pain, I could not have seen the beauty of the artwork. As with the tattoo (though on a completely different scale), Alfred’s death has brought intense pain into my life. And yet, I have seen beauty emerge even from that pain. I believe the experience has made me a better friend, son, brother. Where I have had a lifelong tendency to be somewhat self-absorbed (perhaps not actively selfish, but just so much in my own little world that I don’t notice the needs of others), I have found myself more actively looking for ways to show kindness, friendship, and love to those in my life. Relationships that had been strained I have sought to restore. I have written letters to my family for no other reason than to remind them that I love them and am thankful to be in their lives. The experience has helped me to re-evaluate my life, and goals that had faded have come into sharper focus. I have determined to make major changes in my career, aiming to return to school to enter a profession that will help people and make a difference in a way that marketing and advertising never could. And, I remember daily the preciousness of each moment I have in this life and attempt to make the most of the time I have been given. None of these beautiful things would have happened had I not gone through the pain.

When I look into the mirror of my life, it will not be the pain I see; it will be the beauty that has resulted from the pain.A tattoo is permanent. It becomes part of who I am. In a sense, it changes me. If I bleached my hair or had a nose job, I would in some way be a different person. The tattoo is similar. For the rest of my life, when I remove my shirt, people will see something different that was not there before. It will become an element that, combined with the rest of my body, defines me. In this case, the size of the tattoo causes it to be a quickly-noticeable element of who I am. However, its location (on my lower torso) makes it so that it will only be seen when my shirt is removed. I will go through much of my life with nobody seeing it. When I am dressed up and the “real” me is covered by colorful clothing, those around me will not see the tattoo. But, when the shirt is removed and I am at my most “real”, unhidden moments, it will be clearly seen. The parallels to my recent experiences are easy to see. I am a different person because of Alfred’s suicide. That is permanent. This trial has been so deeply imprinted upon my soul that I have been forever changed. Sure, in much of my life, I will go about my business without those around me noticing the change. But, in those “real” moments of life, when I have the opportunity to help a hurting friend, when I can reach out to someone who has lost hope, when I express to my future lover how much he means to me and how much I value every moment with him, the impact this has had upon me will be as clear as the tattoo on my body.

The first several days after the tattoo is applied, that area of skin is very tender. Just slight pressure would bring back the pain of the application. For a week or two, it is even ugly, as the area scabs over while the body heals itself. For the first month or so, the tattoo is thought of often, both because of its novelty and because of the pain that is felt. But, as time passes, the skin heals, the pain fades, and the novelty wears off. Active thoughts of the tattoo diminish. Yet, although I will think less and less often and long about the tattoo over the months and years to come, it will still be a part of me. As with my first tattoo, the subconscious reminders will continue long after the novelty wears off. Again, the comparison should be clear. The initial days and weeks of dealing with Alfred’s suicide were extremely painful. It took almost no pressure for me to feel the pain and fall into tears. There have even been some very “ugly” moments, where I have made decisions that were hurtful to myself and others, allowing the scabs to obscure the beauty that would eventually emerge. But, every day, as I learned to stand the loss, the pain lessened, and even became bearable. Now, my thoughts are less and less consumed by the heartache, but the reminders will always be there, and they will come to mind on occasion for the rest of my life.

But, as time passes, when I look into the mirror of my life, it will not be the pain and scabs I see; it will be the beauty that has resulted from it. Certainly I will never be thrilled about the pain I went through, but I will grow to be grateful for the beauty that it produced.

For my friends and family, I trust it will be the same. The reality of my losing a love to suicide is a permanent part of my life and who I am. Alfred, my love for him, and the loss I have felt will have an influence upon the rest of my life. But this does not have to be a “scab” that repulses or holds people at arm’s length. Instead, I hope they will see the beauty that has resulted.

I hope they will understand that, when I express my concern over their pain, heartache, and struggles, it is no longer the casual, flippant words that we so often toss about with our acquaintances. Rather, I really want to know how I can be an encouragement, and my concern over my own convenience has lessened dramatically.

When I ask “How are you?”, I actually want to know. I don’t ever again want someone I care for to think he is alone, or to be without hope and in despair. I want others to know that, if nobody else is there, I will be a true friend.

This is not any sort of self-aggrandizing Messiah complex. Rather, it is just a perspective change resulting from a deep, dark trial that I am determined to see ultimately result in beauty.

Bottoms Up Day

"I'm going to be your bottom, Kenneth, and I want you to ride me as hard as you can."

-Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin) to Kenneth (Jack McBrayer, pictured) in Thursday's episode of NBC's 30 Rock.

I submit this post for one purpose alone, and that is to say, if you are not watching NBC's Thursday night comedy 30 Rock on a regular basis, you are missing one of the best shows on TV today. Tina Fey (the star and executive producer of the show) is brilliant, and Alec Baldwin (richly deserving of his recent Golden Globe Award), if possible, outshines even Fey's amazing talent. Smart, funny, edgy, and engaging: 30 Rock is everything a TV comedy series should be. Watch it!

Re-post: A Desire to Travel

Today, we in America celebrate the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So many blogs today are writing eloquently about the importance of this day, and I could not hope to add to what has been said in any significant way. So I thought a good way to note the day is to rerun a post I wrote in May 2006 concerning some of the important formative events of my life in regard to understanding prejudice that can so easily creep into our thinking without our even realizing it. And I hope that I can, in whatever small ways from day to day, be a part of the solution rather than the problem: by cultivating respect and dignity for all people, whether they are close and familiar to me or distant and perplexing; by recognizing that different is not inferior, but that beauty is found in all cultures and peoples; and by humbly realizing that I can learn from every person I meet if I will take the time to look past the shallowness of externals, cross the line of cultural discomfort, and celebrate rather than denigrate those things which make each of us unique.

From May 24, 2006:

Tonight I got my photos taken for my new passport. My first passport expires on June 4. It's hard to believe that just 10 years ago I was preparing for my first trip ever out of the country, but now I have traveled extensively through nearly 20 countries on 3 continents. That even increased my desire to travel in my own country, and I have been to 43 of the US States, 40 of those within the past 10 years.

I hope I can cultivate respect and dignity for all people, recognize that different is not inferior, and realize that I can learn from every person by looking past externals, crossing the line of cultural discomfort, and celebrating those things which make each of us unique.If you were to ask me what have been the most significant forces in my life in a positive sense to make me who I am today, there are a couple things that would quickly come to mind. First would be parents and a grandmother who showed me by example what it means to learn and change and not assume I know everything, to live by a strong moral code of unselfishness and giving to others, to not be afraid to admit I am wrong, and who, in spite of differences and disagreements (sometimes very sharp) have always loved me unfailingly. But outside of the direct influence of my family, perhaps no other force in my life has so radically affected my outlook on life than my international traveling.

For travel is not just about getting the snapshot from the top of the Eiffel Tower (spent weeks in Paris and never did that....the Arc de Triomphe view is far better). It's not about bringing back t-shirts and key chains and making family members sit through hours of slides of your trip to Thailand on New Year's Even when they would rather be just about anywhere else besides listening to you drone on and on about the....oh, sorry, I think some bitterness against my uncle just came out there.

Traveling internationally will give you a perspective on life and culture and politics and belonging that you cannot get any other way, I am convinced. This is something that starts from the moment you leave the airport of your home. There's a big difference from a Los Angeles-Chicago flight than a Chicago-Accra, Ghana flight. It took me 24 hours of travel with a layover in Europe to get to Africa, and suddenly, I started to comprehend how big the planet is and how small my little world had been to that point.

I saw my thinking transform from that scourge of Midwestern Mentality and American superiority to understanding how much I could learn from other cultures and peoples. I began to understand the subtle undercurrent of prejudice that ran through my beliefs and opinions. During the six months I lived in Africa (in the country of Togo), I experienced something that very few American-born white guys have the privilege of experiencing, and that is to get a glimpse of what it is like truly to live as a minority. For there were times in Africa when I would go days without seeing another person with white skin. Admittedly, the Togolese people are very kind and welcoming to the "yovos" (white-skinned people), but just the feeling of being on the "outside" has never left me. And I think (and hope) it has helped me to be more sensitive and understanding since I have been back in the States.

One of the coolest things I have noticed which shows me that perhaps something fundamental changed in my mind from traveling is this: 10 years ago, without exception, every one of my close friends was a white American of western-European descent. Today, however, through no conscious choice or intention to make it this way, I have been blessed to have one of the most international group of friends of anyone I know. And stop chuckling, they are not all from Asia!

So, I am thankful for several things tonight. First, I am thankful for the privilege I have had to travel--simply for the amazing places I have seen and things I have experienced...

• from the historic grandeur of the Coliseum in Rome
  
• to the happily-endured heartburn from the little greasy fajita stand in Mexico
  
• to the silent awe at the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher in Ireland (where I did the most insane thing I have ever done in my entire life)
  
• to the ingenuity, beauty, and hospitality shown to us at the mud castles of the Tam Berma people in Togo.
  

Second, I am thankful for the way traveling has changed my perspective on the world, trusting it has made me into a better person. And finally, I'm so thankful that it's time for me to get a new passport so I can get rid of that picture with those huge glasses. What was I thinking?

A Flattering Way to End the Year

Well, I have certainly been out of the loop with the holidays, because I just noticed today that on December 22, Best Gay Blogs, the best directory on the internet for gay blogging, wrote a long and very kind review of Auto-Gratification. Now, although I tend to be somewhat skeptical about internet accolades (any geek with a copy of Photoshop can make an internet "award"), it is gratifying to read such a kind review, since it reflects a real effort to read through my blog and "get" what I'm writing about. Plus, being featured on the premiere gay blog directory is slightly more significant than winning "Billy Bob's Sites That Give Me a Boner" award. So thanks, to Best Gay Blogs, and best wishes to all in 2007! I hope that, as I continue to pleasure myself with this blog, each of you will get turned on as I shoot a little bit your direction as well!

No Big Surprise

Klein Sexual Orientation Grid

I scored an average of 5.19

0

1

2

3

4

5

6

Heterosexual

Bisexual

Homosexual

Meaning

This result can also be related to the Kinsey Scale:


0 = exclusively heterosexual
1 = predominantly heterosexual, incidentally homosexual
2 = predominantly heterosexual, but more
than incidentally homosexual
3 = equally heterosexual and homosexual
4 = predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally
heterosexual
5 = predominantly homosexual, incidentally heterosexual
6 = exclusively homosexual

Summary

The idea of this excercise is to understand exactly how dynamic a person's sexual orientation can be, as well as how fluid it can be over a person's lifespan. While a person's number of actual homo/heterosexual encounters may be easy to categorize, their actual orientation may be completely different. Simple labels like "homosexual", "heterosexual", and "bisexual" need not be the only three options available to us.

Take the quiz

My Coming-Out Story, Part Five

Note: If you have not already done so, be sure to read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4 of my coming-out story so this part will make sense a bit more.

My Coming-Out Story, Part Five: Not Exactly as Planned (Conclusion)

I had a plan. Perhaps it wasn't perfect, but it certainly seemed workable.I had a plan. Perhaps it wasn't perfect, but it certainly seemed workable. I was returning to the city of my childhood--Los Angeles, California. My cousin was to be married, and I was the piano player for the wedding. So, my parents (who had recently moved to Kentucky) and I would have the opportunity on the Monday after the wedding to sit down and talk. I knew they wouldn't be happy about my coming out, and I was prepared for the questions and emotion that would come, or so I thought. At the very least, I anticipated that we would have a profitable discussion, where I could explain to them that I wasn't going to start dressing in drag and having public sex, but rather I was just going to be honest about who I am.

We all gathered in southern California around mid-week. Friday night was the wedding rehearsal and Saturday the wedding. My parents and brother joined me on Thursday for a day at Universal Studios, and we had a great time together. According to my plan, we would have the wedding events on Friday and Saturday, a nice day to relax on Sunday, then on Monday I would have "the talk" with my parents. Then, even if it was difficult, I would fly back to Illinois on Tuesday morning, and life would be good.

But it was not to be so. Friday evening, we had the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Our entire extended family on my dad's side gathered in the church building to walk through the events of the next day. I sat up on the stage playing the romantic piano melodies I had prepared, trying not to be too obvious as I looked at the hot friend of the groom who was in the wedding party. Eventually, they came to the point where they were going to discuss the vows and charge to the couple, and all the other non-musical items of the service. So, I decided to step off the stage for a bit and sit next to my mother, who was just watching off to the side.

As we sat there and chatted a bit, my mom asked how things were going at church. Now, if you have read the previous sections of this story, you know that church is a big deal to my family. My parents' primary reason for moving to the place they now live was the church they attend. And they had visited my church in Illinois on a couple occasions and loved it. However, they had no idea that I had been kicked out of the church for being gay and that the pastor had treated me shamefully. So, it was not an unusual question for my mom to ask, but it certainly was undesirable timing.

I tried to delay the answer at first, telling her that that was something I was planning to talk to my dad and her about after the wedding events were completed, and that it was a discussion that would take too long to begin right then. Rather than calming her, though, she became concerned and started pressing me further. So I said that I would explain everything on Monday, but I wasn't planning to attend that church any longer, and I planned to move to Chicago the next month. But I said I didn't think that my cousin's wedding rehearsal was the best time to discuss this.

Now, what happened next is the strongest example I have ever seen of a mother's intuition. Keep in mind that my parents, to this point, did not know of my strong attraction to guys. Even when I was forced to return from Europe (see part 3 of this story), they thought it was because I had violated the missionary agency's pornography policy. But sitting there in that church, my mother turned to me and said, "Are you gay?"

If there is one thing I cannot do well, and which I hate to do in the first place, it is to lie to my mother. When I was in elementary school, I lied to my mother once and said I ate the apple she gave me at lunch when I had actually thrown it away. It bothered me so much that I couldn't sleep that night, and I woke her up in the middle of the night to confess and apologize. I have said many times that, if it were not for her opposition to my sexual orientation, I would have the perfect mother.

So, I said, "Yes, I am gay."

Oops.

I knew that coming out would likely be an emotional experience. I anticipated my parents being upset, but I envisioned it happening in a hotel room where we would have privacy and a discussion about it. I planned on both parents being there, because they do a good job of keeping each other calm in strained situations. But I never planned for this.

For a moment, my mother went silent. Her jaw was very tight, a look I had seen before when she was very upset. Her eyes started to appear moist. Then, attracting a lot of attention from our entire family standing around the church sanctuary, she stood up quickly and left the room. Hoping to calm her down, I followed her outside and tried to talk to her.

What happened next was a couple hours of pure emotion coming from my mother. She was crying almost the whole time, trying to convince me I wasn't gay, that I shouldn't move to Chicago, that I was going to ruin my life. She was so upset that, within a few minutes of each other, she made both of the following statements:

• "You will die of AIDS before you are 30."
• "You will grow up to be a lonely old man."

The two of us missed the remainder of the wedding rehearsal and the entire dinner. And even worse, we were in the corridor between the church building and the dining hall where the dinner was held, so all of our family members walked past us seeing my mother crying and our intense discussion.

The following couple months were pretty rough between me and my parents. I moved to Chicgao in October, by which time I was often not answering their calls because I couldn't handle the crying (of both parents) and pressure all the time. Finally, in the early part of November, my mom asked me if I was going to be with them for Thanksgiving. I told her that, if the trip was just going to be four days of them trying to convince me not to be gay, I could not handle that. A couple days later, my dad called, and I saw the first very small step my parents took toward calming down. My dad told me that he knew they had made it very clear what they thought about my sexuality, and their opinion had not changed. However, he said that, more importantly, I am their son whom they love, and they would not bring up the subject again.

Thanksgiving was very tense and uncomfortable, but they kept their word. Then Christmas was slightly better, and each visit afterward has improved. Three years later, I have seen my parents make amazing steps that I never would have imagined. They still hold to their belief that gay sex is sinful, but they are much less dogmatic about so many other things. They no longer believe I "chose" to be gay or that I am gay because they were bad parents. They realize that I'm not out on the weekends participating in S&M drag gangbang orgies. They don't make my "sin" to be somehow a big sin worse than all others. They have met a number of my gay friends and are thoughtful in their comments about issues that we discuss. And they have kept their word and have not gotten on my case about it ever since.

After moving to Chicago, I did not attend church for nearly a year, but then I found a church that seemed to have a good balance. As time has progressed, I have found it to be a very welcoming church and actually look forward to services there. I know I'm in the minority when it comes to gay guys and religion, and I must say I find it very hard to be critical of gay guys who want nothing to do with religion, because it seems most religions don't want anything to do with us. But for myself, I have found it to be a source of encouragement and stability, and hopefully people can see in me someone who is working on a balance in faith and sexuality, someone who takes my faith seriously but doesn't take myself too seriously. And most of all, that I will be a person of faith but never of judgment. I think that church should be a place where people go because we realize we are not perfect, not because we think we are. My attending church is a statement that I know I have things to improve on, not a statement that others are worse than me. Perhaps if more church people understood that, we would have less antipathy between the gay and religious communities.

As for me, I'm probably still a little messed up in the head. My friends could vouch for that. But coming out was the first of many important steps that I have taken to be real and who I need to be. It's still a process, for sure, but I am at a point where I can honestly say I hold no anger toward those who have wronged me in the past, nor do their opinions and judgments hold me back from being myself. Hopefully, I will continue to live in a way that will show the critics that stereotypes are distortions of reality, and a gay man can indeed be someone who is kind, self-disciplined, and someone worth calling a friend.

Harry Potter Experiment

This has been around for a long time, but I ran across it today and was humored by it once again (not original with me):

Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word "wand" with "wang" in the first Harry Potter Book

Let's see the results...

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.
"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wang in half an' everything

A magic wang... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

"Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work."
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. "

Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!"

The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wang had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding.... Any second now, he might hear his mother again... but he shouldn't think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn't want to... or did he?

Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang.

Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

'Get - off - me!' Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.

World AIDS Day

Today is World AIDS Day, and many others have spoken or will speak of it far more eloquently than I ever could. I do think it is wonderful that, each year, the tragedy that this disease has caused worldwide becomes more and more understood and responded to. Slowly, we see foolish assumptions and myths about HIV/AIDS fading away, as politicians, physicians, and the general public are realizing the importance of addressing the issue with compassion and honesty. I love how celebrities like Bono are choosing to leverage their popularity to accomplish great things in this realm. And a day like today is excellent for helping to increase public awareness, education, and compassion for those who live with HIV/AIDS.

But I also think today is important for a reason that those of us in the gay community are probably aware of more than most; that is, for those of us who are HIV-negative to remind our friends and family members who are living with HIV/AIDS of our love and support and total acceptance of them. I have known many people in my life with HIV/AIDS, having lived in West Africa where it was very prevalent, as well as knowing numerous HIV-positive friends and acquaintances here in the States. But it hit home more directly than ever this year, when within three months of each other, two people very close to me tested positive. Suddenly, it wasn't just acquaintances that I would see occasionally at a club or party; it was people who I would interact with regularly, people who I loved and looked to for help when I faced difficulties in life.



And, as my loved ones have progressed on their journies through this new challenge, I have been so happy to see them both moving from a very low place to paths of hope and happiness--anticipation of lives that will be full and satisfying, perhaps even more so than before, since they have faced a challenge that gives them an appreciation for life and health and love. And, I think that is a wonderful message for World AIDS Day... HIV/AIDS does not have the power to crush the human spirit or to fracture hope or to restrain love. It cannot suffocate laughter or silence creativity or shatter true friendship or stifle compassion.



Have you ever had a really bad day? One in which you just feel like your are overwhlemed by your circumstances? Where you are on the verge of tears or just want to hit a wall or scream into your pillow? But then, a friend or loved one comes into the room and, with a clever comment or well-timed joke totally diffuses the tension. I don't mean a careless joke that indicates your problems are not real nor important. But a gentle humor that communicates they love you and that they know you are going to make it through this trial. When this happens, at first you don't want to laugh, or even smile, because in a perverse way, we sometimes jealously hold on to anger or frustration. But when the laughter overcomes us, and we are forced to release the anger (since anger will not co-exist with laughter), we physically and emotionally feel that knot in our stomach begin to loosen and the load on our heart to lighten. It doesn't eliminate the problems we are facing, but it gives us the perspective to know we can make it through the valleys in life because we are loved.

Today's Holidays:

• World AIDS Day
  
• Day Without Art Day
• Bifocals at the Monitor Liberation Day (I don't know what it is, either)
  

My Coming-Out Story, Part Four

Note: If you have not already done so, be sure to read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of my coming-out story so this part will make sense a bit more.

My Coming-Out Story, Part Four: Personal Exposure

When I returned to the States from my abbreviated time in Europe (see earlier posts for context), I bounced around aimlessly for a bit before finally landing in northwestern Illinois in May 2003. It was that month when I would finally begin to make choices that would help me to move in a new direction away from the cycle of frustration I had been in for so many years. I would indeed begin a new life. But, as with any new life, there is inevitably some birthing pain.

When I moved into my new Midwestern apartment, I did two things almost immediately. First, I found a new church to attend. Call it force of habit or whatever you will, but I had attended church my entire life, and the thought still had not occurred to me that not attending church could ever be an option. Instead of being an active participant in a pastoral role, however, I took much more of a spectator's position in the new church, not really wanting to attract any more attention to myself. And second, I decided I really needed to figure out this whole "gay thing" through some method other than by going to church people for advice or by just ignoring it and hoping it would go away.

The problem was, I had no idea how to meet gay people. I was two months away from my 28th birthday, and I was still one of the most sheltered people you would ever meet. I had never knowingly associated with another gay person. I had never entered a bar of any kind (much less a gay one) except once in Wisconsin to call for assistance when my car broke down in a blizzard. I had never danced. I had never tasted alcohol, smoked a cigarette, or done drugs. And yes, I was a virgin (to all sex, straight or gay-- I never even had a romantic kiss!).

Fortunately, technology was advancing quite nicely by this point, and I remembered something I had observed when checking my e-mail on Yahoo. I saw this fascinating site called Yahoo Personals, in which you could say whether you were a "Man seeking a Woman" or a "Woman seeking a Man." But, amazingly enough, you could actually change the option to be "Man seeking a Man." Simultaneously terrified and aroused, I went to the site and, for the first time ever, saw personal ads for gay men.

I looked at the ads and pictures for a week or so, and finally, I worked up the courage to reply to one. Looking back, I am amazed at my good fortune in that first tentative contact. Any of us who have been on an online dating site know that, when you are contacted by someone with no picture posted (which was the case with me, as I was terrified someone I knew would find out I was on a gay site), more often than not, the person is ignored. But the guy that I e-mailed actually responded. He was a handsome college student, just a couple years younger than me, and he was at a university about 45 minutes from where I was living. And, to show you how blessed I was to meet this particular guy, a quick fast-forward to today, November 2006, finds that that same guy is one of my dearest friends and lives just a few doors down the street from me here in Chicago, nearly two hours from where I was living when I first e-mailed him!

When my friend responded to my e-mail greeting, I explained to him a bit of my situation, that I was completely new to all of this and absolutely terrified (I think I worded it as "kinda nervous"). He kindly corresponded back and forth with me several times, but it being May, he was just finishing school and was, in fact, graduating. So, in early June, he moved two hours away to Chicago, before we ever had the chance to meet in person. But, by that point, we decided we did want to meet, and so one day we arraned to have dessert in one of the Chicago suburbs about half the distance between us. I had a great time and was amazed to find a normal, attractive, masculine gay guy who I got along well with! I was thinking that he must be the only one of his kind, and I just got lucky!

That first meeting was followed up only a couple weeks later by the night that would change everything for me. June 27, 2003. Friday night. Pride weekend in Chicago. Exactly one month before my 28th birthday. My new friend invited me to drive into the city and stay at his place. He would then give me a tour of gay Chicago. I had to leave Saturday afternoon for a business trip to Dallas, but I agreed to hang out with him on Friday night and see what it was all about.

Now, try to picture this in your mind. As we left his apartment to head out to the gay clubs of Chicago, I was braced for the most extreme situations I could imagine. Because my exposure to gay people was essentially what I saw on the cover of Focus on the Family magazines, I naturally assumed that my friend and I would be the only two gay guys there who were not dressed in women's clothing, and I was certain that these "gay clubs" would be full of men having sex together. I had never been in any bar or club, so I didn't even have straight clubs to use as a reference point in my mind.

So, when we walked into Spin and Roscoe's and I saw these places full of handsome guys, some of whom even smiled at me, I was completely overwhelmed. I experienced a range of emotions that night that I have felt very seldom to that intensity. It was that same night that I tasted alcohol for the first time, that I was knowingly around more than one gay guy at a time, that I danced for the first time, and that I stayed the night at another gay guy's house for the first time.

It was at some point when I was with my friend on the dance floor at Roscoe's, awkwardly attempting to dance but having no idea how, that I experienced something that probably all of us who have come out have felt at some point. Bonnie Tyler was singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart", a song I had never heard before but knew I instantly loved. And it hit me. For the first time in my life, I was real. This was me. I wasn't suppressing what I knew I felt. I wasn't trying to be what everyone else expected of me just to keep them happy. I was just being who I was. And it was the most freeing, most satisfying, most relieving feeling I had ever had. For a moment, I just closed my eyes, and soaked in the sound and atmosphere, and I knew nothing would ever be the same for me. To this day, when I hear "Total Eclipse of the Heart", I feel a little bit better and smile a bit more.

That weekend began a summer of exploring this new world that had opened up to me. With perhaps only one or two exceptions, I would drive two hours to Chicago every Friday night and go out with my friend, then drive home Saturday evening. I could not have asked for a kinder, more easy-going, more patient friend than he. We got along famously, and he would let me go out and explore on my own, always keeping his door open to me anytime I needed a place to go.

Oh, and I won't kiss and tell and say with whom or when or where, but by the end of the summer, I wasn't a virgin anymore. And I found out I am a big fan of kissing.

Summer began to wind down, and near the end of August, I concluded that I needed to be honest about who I was with the people in my life. The very first person that I came out to was my roommate, a very hot straight guy. If all my other conversations went as well as that, I would have been the luckiest guy ever. My roommate could not have been more supportive. I think he knew the difficult times that were going to be on my path soon, because he went out of his way to make me comfortable and to let me know I could be real around him. He knew that I thought he was hot, and I think he loved the attention. The first time I met his girlfriend was when I arrived home to find the two of them making out on the couch in the living room. My roommate introduced me to his girlfriend and then told her, "Eukolos wishes it was he who was on the couch making out with me!" He would walk around the house after a shower wearing only his towel and say, "Eukolos, I bet you wish this towel would fall off, don't you?"

The next situation, however, did not go as well. I knew that, if I was going to be real and stop faking, I would have to change churches, because the church I was attending took a very clear stance against homosexuality. However, I naively hoped that I could leave quietly, explaining to the pastor that I appreciated his kindness to me, but that I needed to move on. Well, after writing a very kind, non-judgmental letter to the pastor, he completely freaked out, and as I mentioned in part 3 of this story, he told me he was going to pray that God would kill me, then he kicked me out of the church.

That was the breaking point for me. In a short time, I had seen unconditional acceptance and kindness from my gay friend in Chicago (and a growing number of other gay guys I was meeting there), but then I had seen flat-out mean-spirited and angry responses from church people. I figured that, since every church experience when I was real about my sexuality had been so bad, I no longer wanted anything to do with church. So in September 2003, for the first time in my 28 years of life, I stopped attending church. And I decided to move to Chicago.

By the end of August, I knew the inevitable could not be postponed much longer. I needed to tell my family. And it happened that our entire family would be gathering in Los Angeles in mid-September for my cousin's wedding. So, since it was only a couple weeks out and my parents and brother and I were going to stay a few days after the wedding, I thought that would be an ideal opportunity to explain things to them.

Well, once again I am a bit long-winded. If I have not built up enough anticipation for this next part of the story yet, I don't know what will. But to do this justice, I will have to extend the story a bit further into another post, which I will attempt to write quickly.

However, if your patience will indulge me a bit further today, let me conclude this post by sharing something that has been foundational in my life ever since 2003.

On September 10, 2004, I got my first tattoo. For many years I had been fascinated with tattoos, and in recent years that fascination had grown into an interest in getting one myself. However, after having observed many tattoos, I determined that, were I ever to get one, it would have to be very meaningful and significant to me, something that I won’t mind having on my body when I’m in my 70's. As cool as I might think it would be to have the Tazmanian Devil on my forearm in my mid-20's, I knew he wasn’t going to make the cut.

As I explained in this post, major life experiences culminated in September 2003, resulting in my moving to Chicago, Illinois, and beginning a new chapter in my life. During the following year, a number of lessons started to gel in my head that would become guiding principles for me in the days to come. At their core, these lessons were about kindness. Beginning early in 2002 and continuing through the fall of 2003, as I grew in my determination to resolve the issues concerning my sexuality and my faith, I saw extremes both of kindness and unkindness. Sadly, much of the unkindness came from those with whom I often aligned in my faith, but gladly, I saw amazing kindness from those with whom I found common ground in my sexuality. While my pastor (whom I had previously considered to be a close friend) called around to “out” me to people he did not even know and told me he would pray for God to kill me, some of my new gay friends surrounded me with kindness and showed me unconditional acceptance at a time when I desperately needed friends. In particular, two or three of my friends in Chicago, all of whom are Asian incidentally (perhaps signs of an incipient rice queen tendency?), helped me make it through that very difficult time in my life.

So, in September of 2004, I decided to get a tattoo to represent and remind me of the lessons I had been learning and the principles to which I would hopefully adhere as I continued on my journey.



I wanted every aspect of the tattoo “experience” to be significant. First, the timing of getting the tattoo was almost exactly one year to the day from when I had come out to my immediate family. I selected a tattoo that included Chinese characters as a tribute to my Asian friends who had been such an amazing help to me. The characters are the word “kindness” which, translated literally (assuming I have been told correctly), is “good at heart.” In 2004, this became the goal to which I determined to be most dedicated--to be a kind person, someone who indeed strove to be good at heart. The tattoo was both a reminder to me of the hurt that can be caused by unkindness and of the help and hope that can be infused by a kind word or action.

In addition to the characters, I included a small rabbit. This was partially a continued tribute to my Asian friends, as I was born in the Chinese year of the rabbit. But also, the rabbit is a symbol of kindness in some Asian cultures, so it seemed to fit with the theme of the tattoo. The location of the tattoo is over my heart, to illustrate to others (and to remind myself) that kindness is something that I endeavor to keep close to my heart.

More than two years later now, I can say that the tattoo has accomplished a good purpose in my own life. Because of its location, I see it every day as I get dressed, and although it may not always be a conscious thought, it is at least a subconscious reminder to me that I should strive to be a kind person. And, although I know I fail more often than I care to admit, I have been encouraged to see that, many times, my natural reaction to a difficult situation (one in which many would tell me to react in anger or to write someone off), is an almost-instinctive urge to show kindness. I say this fully aware that I have far to go before I could consider myself to be a wholly-kind person. But I hope that someday, as I continue this journey, people will be able to look back at my life and see acts of kindness scattered along the way.

Well, stay tuned shortly for what will hopefully be the last part in this story that is beginning to make Tolstoy jealous for length.

Today's Holiday:

• Travelers with Disabilities Week (Nov 26 - Dec 3)
  

National Survivors of Suicide Day

As I have mentioned previously, on October 13, 2005, I was inducted into a rather exclusive club, one which I had no knowledge of before and which I had no desire to enter; yet membership was forced upon me. When I found my boyfriend dead by his own hand in our bedroom, I became a "suicide survivor."

This term has caused confusion at times, some people thinking a suicide survivor would be someone who made an unsuccessful attempt on his own life. But it actually refers to those who are left behind, the loved ones, relatives, friends who have to try to make sense of a supremely-senseless act.

Nearly a decade ago, thanks largely to the efforts of US Senator Harry Reid (D-Nevada), who lost his father to suicide, the Saturday before Thanksgiving each year has been designated by US Senate resolution as National Survivors of Suicide Day in the USA. It has become a powerful day of information, hope, and healing for people who have been thrust into an unimaginably-painful situation, one in which you find yourself grieving for the murderer of your loved one (I put it in such stark terms hopefully to illustrate the extremity of emotions a survivor must deal with, ranging from anger to grief to guilt to confusion).

I try to keep things from getting too heavy on this blog most of the time, but this is one area for which I am willing to dedicate time and space to discuss on occasion. For most of you, this has never struck close to home. But for many, it may touch someone you know, and I would encourage you to keep both this blog and other online resources in your mind, as you may be able to offer help and hope beyond what you can know to a future inductee into the "Suicide Survivors Club."

For further reading on this topic, see these previous Auto-Gratification posts.

Presidential Trivia Answers

On Sunday, I presented at random quiz on trivia about US Presidents. In case you missed that post, here is the quiz reprinted:

Easy:
1. Who is the shortest US president?
2. Which presidential child has a candy bar named after him/her?
3. Who is the only US president also to serve on the US Supreme Court?
4. Which US president vomited on the lap of the Japanese prime minister during a state dinner?
5. Who is the last US president to have facial hair while in office?

Tougher:
6. Who are the only 2 US presidents to hold all of the five following offices: state governor, US congressman, US senator, Vice-President, and President?
7. Which 3 US presidents won Nobel Peace Prizes?
8. Who is the only US president whose wife was not born in the United States?
9. Which is the longest-married presidential couple?
10. Who is the only person buried directly between two US presidents?

Painfully Difficult:
11. What common English word very likely originated with President Martin Van Buren?
12. Who are the only two police officers to become president?
13. What is the only book ever written by one ex-president about another one?
14. Which president is buried at the top of a staircase in which the number of stairs is equal to the number of that president in a chronological listing of presidents? (i.e. - if it were George W. Bush, which it obviously is not, it would be a staircase with 43 stairs since he is the 43rd president.)
15. Who is the only US president to be elected on his birthday?

Scroll down for answers.



Answers:

1. James Madison, at 5 feet, 4 inches tall.
2. Ruth Cleveland, daughter of President Grover Cleveland. She was the first presidential child to be born in the White House, and she caused quite a sensation in Washington. And, in her honor, a new candy bar of the time was designated the "Baby Ruth" candy bar.
3. Former President William Howard Taft was appointed to be and served as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
4. George H.W. Bush.
5. Willia Howard Taft (had a moustache).

6. John Tyler and Andrew Johnson
7. Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Jimmy Carter.
8. John Quincy Adams. His wife Louisa was born in England.
9. George H.W. and Barbara Bush (January 6, 2007, will be their 62nd wedding anniversary).
10. Abigail Adams. She is buried in the crypt beneath the United First Parish Church of Quincy, Massachusetts between President John Adams (her husband) and President John Quincy Adams (her son).

11. "Okay". Van Buren was from Kinderhook, New York, and he obtained the nickname "Old Kinderhook." During his campaign for presidnet, "Old Kinderhook Clubs" were established and known as "O.K. Clubs." As time progressed, the abbreviation came to mean "all right" and eventually nearly everyone forgot the word's origin.
12. Theodore Roosevelt and Grover Cleveland
13. Herbert Hoover's book The Ordeal of Woodrow Wilson.
14. Theodore Roosevelt (buried in Young's Memorial Cemetery in Oyster Bay, New York, at the top of a 26-step staircase).
15. Warren Harding, on his 55th birthday, November 2, 1920.

Today's Holidays:

• Loosen Up, Lighten Up Day
• National American Teddy Bear Day
• National Young Readers Day
  

Gerald Ford Becomes Longest-Living US President

For 175 years, John Adams, the second US President, held the distinction of being the longest-living US President (he lived 90 years, 247 days). Then, just five years ago, Ronald Reagan broke the long-standing record and, by the time of his death in 2004, had established a new benchmark of 93 years, 120 days.

However, Gerald Ford, the only US president not elected as president or vice-president, was born just two years after Reagan, and today, November 12, 2006, he passed Reagan's record, now having lived for 93 years, 121 days (and counting). Ford is one of the most athletic presidents ever to serve, having been a football star at the University of Michigan while in office. No doubt his good habits and active lifestyle have contributed to his longevity. The four other living US Presidents have a long way to go to reach Ford's record, as Presidents George H.W. Bush and Jimmy Carter are both 82 years old, and Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush are both 60 years old.

Gerald Ford is also the only surviving member of the Warren Commission, the 7-member panel that investigated the assassination of US President John F. Kennedy.

I'm a huge fan of US Presidential history, so just for the heck of it, here's a little presidential trivia quiz for you. I will post the answers on Tuesday.

Easy:
1. Who is the shortest US president?
2. Which presidential child has a candy bar named after him/her?
3. Who is the only US president also to serve on the US Supreme Court?
4. Which US president vomited on the lap of the Japanese prime minister during a state dinner?
5. Who is the last US president to have facial hair while in office?

Tougher:
6. Who are the only 2 US presidents to hold all of the five following offices: state governor, US congressman, US senator, Vice-President, and President?
7. Which 3 US presidents won Nobel Peace Prizes?
8. Who is the only US president whose wife was not born in the United States?
9. Which is the longest-married presidential couple?
10. Who is the only person buried directly between two US presidents?

Painfully Difficult:
11. What common English word very likely originated with President Martin Van Buren?
12. Who are the only two police officers to become president?
13. What is the only book ever written by one ex-president about another one?
14. Which president is buried at the top of a staircase in which the number of stairs is equal to the number of that president in a chronological listing of presidents? (i.e. - if it were George W. Bush, which it obviously is not, it would be a staircase with 43 stairs since he is the 43rd president.)
15. Who is the only US president to be elected on his birthday?


Today's Holiday:

• I Need a Patch For That Day
  

My Coming-Out Story, Part Three

Note: If you have not already done so, be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 of my coming-out story so this part will make sense a bit more.

My Coming-Out Story, Part Three: The 28-Year-Old Virgin

The fall of 1993 found me at a compound college campus in northern Wisconsin, about 30 minutes from Iron Mountain, Michigan (which had the closest McDonald's). I make the "compound" reference in good humor, because it was what many thought of the college I attended. What else would explain this large campus in the north woods in a town of about 1,000 people? You may wonder why I ended up at this school, so I shall give a bit of background.

My parents both attended Bob Jones University in Greenville, South Carolina. For those who may not be familiar with that school, it is the place where George W. Bush spoke during the 2000 election campaign which caused great controversy because of their policy prohibiting interracial dating (and what about someone who is from a multi-ethnic heritage? they had to state their preference for which ethnicity they wished to date upon arrival and stick with it through their schooling). It is also a campus that does not allow gay people to enter (with the exception of visiting their sacred art gallery, which is admittedly quite impressive).

When it came time for me to choose a college, my parents wanted me to attend BJU. I knew that there was no way I would attend that school, so I begged them for another option (since they were threatening to give me no support whatsoever if I went somewhere they did not approve). After much cajoling, I convinced them to allow me to attend the Baptist Bible College in northern Wisconsin. The president of the college and much of the faculty were Bob Jones graduates, but they seemed to have left some of the goofier extremes behind (i.e. - no interracial dating prohibition). Still, it was very very conservative and definitely not a place where a gay person would feel welcome.

This was not a problem for me, I thought. Because, as an idealistic college freshman, I was convinced that I would now be able to put these gay feelings behind me and live as the heterosexual I was supposed to be. With these grand intentions, I began to unpack my bags in my new room in the all-male dormitory with community showers.

Yes, it took about 2 minutes for me to realize this gay monster had followed me to college. I mean, you can say a lot about the Baptists, but they have some hot guys! Very quickly, I fell into the cycle of jerking off to thoughts of my dorm-mates and then feeling extremely guilty about it. By the time I reached my sophomore year, I was an emotional mess. Here I was with these intense emotions but terrified to tell anyone about them and convinced I was a horrible person for having them.

It was during my sophomore year that I began a journey that was incredibly difficult but, considering my background and years of mixed-up thinking, a very necessary journey. I will summarize this briefly, lest I make this far too long. On four separate occasions during my second through fourth years of college, I worked up the courage to ask someone for help with my "problem." Remember I was still thinking that I had done something wrong to have this attraction to other guys. I went to the Student Body Vice-President, my dormitory hall leader, the Dean of Men, and the Vice-President for Student Affairs, asking each of them for help. In each case, I was disappointed. The first one prayed a prayer for me and never spoke of it again. The second freaked out and told my boss, causing me to lose a campus job I loved. The third was kind but didn't really want to deal with it, so he quickly pronounced me "cured" and moved on. The last became so uncomfortable around me that he never spoke to me again my entire time at the school.

Now, perhaps here is where you will start to get irritated with me, and perhaps I should have caught on, but I graduated from college still trying to figure out what was wrong with me. In desperation, I decided to go to graduate school, and I earned a masters degree in theology. This was followed by my being ordained as a Baptist preacher and working as a missionary in Africa and Europe for nearly 3 years. I kept thinking that, if I did all the good things I could do, this one bad thing would eventually go away.

So I found myself working as a pastor in Europe, nine years after graduating from high school, never having touched a guy the entire time, but having these overwhelming urges and thoughts constantly. Finally, I hit bottom, or so I thought. I felt that, if I did not get this thing figured out, I could not go on any further. So, going to the head pastor of our church, I told him of my dark secret, hoping that perhaps he would show kindness where others had not. Instead, I was reported to the missionary agency through which I was working, fired that day, and told I would receive nothing further from them. So I was stuck in Europe with no job and no way to get home. With help from family, I finally made it home, where I was publicly rebuked in front of my entire home church. I moved to a new town and attended a new church, but when the pastor there found out I was attracted to men, he told me he would pray that God would kill me and had me kicked out of that church as well.

You might be surprised, after hearing all this, that I am not a church-hating, anti-religious gay man. At some point, I will write about my reasons why I do not hold a grudge against those who treated me wrongly and why I still consider myself to be a person of faith. But I will admit, by the point I was kicked out of that church, I had arrived at a place where I wanted nothing to do with church or anyone related to it.

However, during this turbulent time, something else was happening that turned out to be beautiful and life-saving for me. That, as well as my recounting of coming out to my family, will be in the next part of my ever-expanding, yet always-intriguing coming-out story.

Side Note of Interest: Baptists believe that it is God who ordains someone as a preacher (a calling that is for life) while the church merely recognizes that calling. Thus, I am technically still an ordained Baptist preacher, since, if they are consistent in their theology, those churches would have to admit they have no authority to revoke the ordination. So I can still perform marriage ceremonies and the like. Somehow I don't think I will be invited as a guest speaker at my college's chapel services anytime soon, though.

Today's Holidays:

• World Kindness Week (Nov 7-13)
  
• National Animal Shelter Appreciation Week (Nov 7-13, US)
• Pursuit of Happiness Week (Nov 8-14)
• Kristallnacht Memorial (9-10)
  
• Vietnam Veterans Memorial Day (US)
  
• Return Day
  

Enhancing my Geek Credentials

So I spent all weekend re-designing the look of my blog. I have to grudgingly admit that, in spite of their abysmal past performance, Blogger has done some very nice things in the beta version of their next blogging system release (which I am now using for this blog). I will probably continue to tweak things here and there, but I hope you like the new look. At least it will be pretty to look at if I spend all my time making cosmetic changes to the blog but am too lazy to add new content. (Note: Stay tuned shortly for part 3 of the ever-compelling saga of my coming-out story).

Today's Holidays:

• International Day for Preventing the Exploitation of the Environment in War and Armed Conflict
  

A Plea for Patience

Depending on when you look at this blog over the next few days, it will be either obvious or painfully obvious that I am doing some major work on the layout & design of the blog. I'm trying a few ambitious things that stretch my knowledge of HTML and CSS, and sometimes Blogger's helpful interface just ends up getting in the way. Anyway, my original template is saved safe and sound, so nothing is un-fixable, but just be patient with me as I work on this in my spare time. I am hopeful that the end result will be something very sharp-looking.

Today's Holidays:

• Cliché Day (Great, we need this holiday like we need a hole in the head)