I
was not a very confident child or young man. Put down by many because I had a
bad lisp and a hearing problem no one was prepared to acknowledge, my idea of
heaven was to be left alone on an island in the middle of nowhere with just
birds and beasts for company. In my imagination, I visited that island many, many
times.
As
a teenager getting my head around being gay, at first I felt even more isolated
from mainstream life than ever. Gay
people, I had been told all my young life, were among the lowest of the low.
Gradually,
as I explored various closet outlets for meeting other gay people, I felt less
alone and a whole new self-confidence began to take root. At the time, I felt
that family, friends and teachers had failed me. My outlook on life was
distorted by resentment. Slowly but surely, this resentment ebbed away.
(Playing the blame game is never a good idea.).
Where
I had been wary, even scared, I began to take strength from my sexuality. This
was something I could understand, take on and win through instead of being the
loser everyone seemed to take me for. Oh, it was hard, having to lie and be
secretive about my forays into gay life, but I was discovering a new self or,
rather, an old self that had been all but buried alive under layers of
conventional and family ‘values’. I was
rewriting my own history even as I was creating it.
It was a tough, but also
very exciting time for me. Even so, I hadn’t quite overcome my native
inhibitions and decided to visit my imaginary island for real, and
stay a while, get as far away from everything and everyone dragging on my new
found persona as possible. So I ‘migrated’ to Australia, which proved a
mini-disaster after a nightmare voyage by sea during which I had never felt so
lonely in my life before or since. Could this ne how I would feel on my island stripped of fantasy and engaging with the harsher realities of life?
Much as I loved Australia, I did not like the feeling of being at best an outsider, at worst alone, one bit. Yet, this encouraged me to crawl out of my
shell and take on not just my sexuality but also the world at large.
When
I returned to the UK, I found a job, took speech therapy lessons, won a college
place, ended up at university and was eventually accepted for a professional
course that resulted in my becoming a chartered librarian. True, I was in and
out of my gay closet like a Jack-in-the-box for a few more years before I came
out to stay, but I was on the right track to realizing more of my potential as
a human being than I had thought possible years earlier.
For
me, the cherry on the cake is being openly gay and confident enough about my
sexuality for fewer people to try and put me down for it. (There will always be
bigots in the world who can’t see people for blinkers on both outer and inner
eyes!)
I
have fought off most of my demons and won. It doesn’t matter where we are in
life so long as we find our way through its ups and downs and end up having
achieved a sense of identity with which we can feel comfortable if not proud.
It has precious little to do with fame or fortune, ethnicity or
sexuality; it has to do with making time for finding out about ourselves and
each other, and generally making the best rather than the worst of whatever
life dishes us, which is different for everyone so it is pointless and
misleading to compare ourselves with anyone else.
Pinocchio
learned to take his conscience for a guide and Dorothy did much the same on the
yellow brick road. Alternatively, a cat may well do nicely…
THE ALPHABET CAT
A
cat would sit on a mat
at
the nursery door;
I
found much comfort in that,
an
ally in its purr
It
would come with me
to
the school gate
whenever
I needed to explain
why
I was late
My
first day at the office,
and
its bright eyes
would
follow me as I made tea
and
loaded photocopiers
It
approved my first love,
one
magical holiday
of
sun, sea, sand, and (safe) sex
where
G-A-Y rules OK
Oh,
it’s always been there
on
the same old mat,
encouraging
(never judging) me,
going
in or coming out
If
it has a name, I’ve no idea,
but
of this I’m sure,
it
will be waiting for me on a mat
at
Earth Mother’s door
Copyright R. N.
Taber 2005; rev. 2012
[Note:
An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the
Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, 2005, rev. 2012.]
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