https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Gay, straight or transgender, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than forward to. (Not so, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? ,We always need to think positively about that however hard gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart.) There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware,
Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”
My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher.
There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.
A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and am glad I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.
Gay or straight, much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know.
Yes,I try to encourage gay people to .come out, but we are all different and all caught up in different sets of circumstances, some of which make being openly gay impossible. (This is why I despise the practise of 'outing' people.)
Yes, there are far better ways of getting a life than in a closet, but it isn't only LGBT people who have inside knowledge of closets; who doesn't have a secret close to their heart for fear of the harm it might do themselves and/ or others were it to be discovered?
A life without love in it? No way. My friend, for example, loved his job, loved nature, loved travelling ... no disrespect to sex, but there is more to life (and love) than that.
THROUGH A (CLOSET) KEYHOLE
I grow old alone,
those who may have grieved me
gone into that unknown
some call Heaven,
Paradise or whatever, anything other
than Death
Death, a cruel word,
metaphor for a ghost, last spotted
peering over the shoulder
of one such as I
in a bedroom mirror, grown anxious
for sleep
Sleep, harbinger
of dreams, good, bad or too ugly
to ever contemplate
in the light of day
where alphabet lanterns spelling out
my darkness
Darkness, companion
to personal space if sure to keep
a (very) discreet distance
since it would not do
to discover even tenuous connections
in circulation
Secrets, running rings
around me, less able to send them
to those dusty archives
of mind-body-spirit
than younger personae less concerned
with repercussions
Repercussions, haunts
of bygone days, years of answering
to outward appearances,
inner self suffocating
in a closet I let few in, and among those,
nobody to love
Love, always so near
yet so far, on the tip of my tongue
but at the last minute
struck dumb
for centuries of homophobic propaganda
finding its mark
Ah, but what’s that I hear?
voices out of nowhere reminding me
of words said, soon forgot,
(and to whom)
thanking me for lending a guiding hand
to get a life
Alone, yes, but lonely no more
for invisible hands warmly shaking mine
re-awakening sensibilities
half-forgotten;
of despair for a life with little to show for it,
nothing to speak of
Through the keyhole, head high,
no need to make my peace with mortality,
having done my best
for an upbeat heart
in as free a spirit of peace, kindness and love
as I can speak of
Would that I could have spoken out
than let bigotry have its wicked way with me
through formative years
that all but provided
a rope to hang by, but though a time of strife,
I've had a life
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
Gay, straight or transgender, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than forward to. (Not so, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? ,We always need to think positively about that however hard gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart.) There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware,
Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”
My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher.
There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.
A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and am glad I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.
Gay or straight, much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know.
Yes,I try to encourage gay people to .come out, but we are all different and all caught up in different sets of circumstances, some of which make being openly gay impossible. (This is why I despise the practise of 'outing' people.)
Yes, there are far better ways of getting a life than in a closet, but it isn't only LGBT people who have inside knowledge of closets; who doesn't have a secret close to their heart for fear of the harm it might do themselves and/ or others were it to be discovered?
A life without love in it? No way. My friend, for example, loved his job, loved nature, loved travelling ... no disrespect to sex, but there is more to life (and love) than that.
THROUGH A (CLOSET) KEYHOLE
I grow old alone,
those who may have grieved me
gone into that unknown
some call Heaven,
Paradise or whatever, anything other
than Death
Death, a cruel word,
metaphor for a ghost, last spotted
peering over the shoulder
of one such as I
in a bedroom mirror, grown anxious
for sleep
Sleep, harbinger
of dreams, good, bad or too ugly
to ever contemplate
in the light of day
where alphabet lanterns spelling out
my darkness
Darkness, companion
to personal space if sure to keep
a (very) discreet distance
since it would not do
to discover even tenuous connections
in circulation
Secrets, running rings
around me, less able to send them
to those dusty archives
of mind-body-spirit
than younger personae less concerned
with repercussions
Repercussions, haunts
of bygone days, years of answering
to outward appearances,
inner self suffocating
in a closet I let few in, and among those,
nobody to love
Love, always so near
yet so far, on the tip of my tongue
but at the last minute
struck dumb
for centuries of homophobic propaganda
finding its mark
Ah, but what’s that I hear?
voices out of nowhere reminding me
of words said, soon forgot,
(and to whom)
thanking me for lending a guiding hand
to get a life
Alone, yes, but lonely no more
for invisible hands warmly shaking mine
re-awakening sensibilities
half-forgotten;
of despair for a life with little to show for it,
nothing to speak of
Through the keyhole, head high,
no need to make my peace with mortality,
having done my best
for an upbeat heart
in as free a spirit of peace, kindness and love
as I can speak of
Would that I could have spoken out
than let bigotry have its wicked way with me
through formative years
that all but provided
a rope to hang by, but though a time of strife,
I've had a life
Copyright R. N. Taber 2019
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