Growing Pains OR Waking Up to Sexual Identity

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Acknowledging to ourselves that we are gay before we are quite mature enough to take it in our stride is never easy; it is even harder for those who are growing up in a gay-unfriendly home and/or or wider environment.

As for telling family and friends, that can be an even harder nut to crack, and depends on how close and understanding they prove to be; many young gay people are pleasantly surprised when they break the news. Even so, relatively few heterosexual adults have a clue what we go through. So today’s post is duplicated on both blogs since it is for parents as well as for young gay people and their peers everywhere. Not everyone will be happy for us, at ease with our sexual identity or even begin to recognize its integrity. We can but get on with our lives and remember that there are some rotten apples in every barrel.

Now, today’s poem has appeared on the blog before, but not for some time. I wrote it in 1990 after reflecting on my own troubled schooldays, but recently revised its appearance on the page.  In 1993 a youth, also still at school, contacted me anonymously about his desperation at realising he is gay and feeling unable to discuss it with anyone. I arranged with the editor of a poetry magazine, circulated in the area where the youth lived, to include the poem in the next edition although it would be years later before he contacted me to say he’d read it and felt reassured by it. 

On Tuesday evening, a young man phoned in a similar condition. He would not give his name, but we agreed I would call him Simon. I talked to him for a long time. He gradually calmed down and seemed less tearful. I said he could call me any time day or night, but urged him to find a gay support group either within or outside his area; I don’t know what part of the UK he lives, but thankfully there are plenty now, nationwide, all listed on the Internet.

Sadly, Simon would not even consider telling his family or even his best friend. It appears all are devout Christians. Well, if they are devout Christians, they should listen to what Jesus said and let love, not bigotry, lend its weight to their feelings; the first being as natural as a tree that grows where nature planted its seed while the second is a monstrosity created by human beings, and is anything but natural.

This was not the first time someone has called me to confide their struggle with an awakening sexuality it happens every now and then, especially during school holidays. I feel a profound sadness that it can still happen in the 21^st century.

The poem dedicated to young people everywhere who feel alone and scared because they have reason to believe they are gay. You are not alone and it’s nothing to be scared of, but you need to find someone you can really talk to and will listen; the sooner, the better. The best person is always someone to whom you feel close, will support you and whom you can trust to keep a confidence until you feel ready to tell others you're gay and if they have a problem with that, it's their problem, not yours; in addition, or even as a first resort of there is no one else to whom you can turn, counsellors at gay support groups do a great job and it is also an opportunity to meet others who know exactly what you are going through.

GROWING PAINS or WAKING UP TO SEXUAL IDENTITY

It was after Maths, and I had forgotten

a text book so you came back with me,

ostensibly to help me look, only minutes

to spare before Chemistry...

Suddenly, you were holding me

and your mouth missed mine

only because I panicked and ran,

shoving you aside. I remember

how you cried out, all that fear

and pain and love banging in my head

like passionate drums...

But there was no passion in me,

only feelings run riot and I don’t know

how I got through the next weeks,

avoiding you at every turn, demanding

of my anguished Youth other energies

to burn, sought in next-door Mary

other lessons to learn, and learned them well,

hurled into a hell of isolation, playing

at boyfriend, bike mate, regular son, unable

to relate to anyone, riding pillion

on Conversation in perfect rhythm without

much sense until, smashed and weary,

I let peel off all pretence, layer by layer,

sprawled on my bed, hypnotised

by a dippy moth making frantic wing

overhead...

I caught up with you after school

one day, felt foolish fumbling for things

to say, anxiously confided a pain

with geometry. You would not even

look at me…

At your house you turned the key

just as I found words to chance me,

and you (angrily) gave the door

a mighty kick, blinking back tears

that prick me even now, years on,

(no idea where he may have gone)

cherishing still our first nakedness,

who were born to thrill to a freedom

(finally) brought to bear in ritual ending

of our fear

Copyright R. N. Taber 1996;2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in August and Genet by R. N. Taber (Wire Poetry Booklet Series) aramb Publishing, 1996 and subsequently in Community of Poets, Winter 1999 prior to its inclusion in my first collection Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]