White Like Me

In 1993, at age 38, I came out to myself as a gay man. I know, I know, a long time coming. From then, things moved pretty quick. Within weeks I came out to my wife. After a month of raw hurt and private decisions, I began coming out to others. Once you’ve told your heterosexual spouse that you’re gay, all subsequent divulges are a cakewalk. However, I learned important lessons during my season of disclosure. Lessons pertinent to this period in which white people scour our relationships to people of color, our police, and our history. As we strive to be anti-racist.

The first thing I learned about coming out to anyone was: the coming out discussion was about them, not me. I had done the hard work, ripped out the screws in the floorboard of the particular closet I’d inhabited and figured out who I was. A few people were unsurprised, which made me wonder how convincing I’d ever been as a straight man. Some folks were accepting, which made me hopeful this redirection would not jeopardize our friendship. Others were immediately uncomfortable, and I knew I’d never see them again. Regardless the response, I was delivering a different picture of myself, one that skewed their perspective. I needed to be available to them.

The other thing I learned was, not to let others’ reaction sway you from known truth. It’s misleading to say I was in the closet. I was totally clueless about being gay. My good little Catholic boy blinders simply had never allowed me to consider it. Thus, the floorboard analogy to my closet. Still, when evangelically inclined family members…