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 [Nonfiction]



[Now That I'm Out Cover]

From the Introduction to Now That I'm Out, What Do I Do?

By Brian McNaught



As I watched over a hundred thousand people carrying a multitude of messages march by during a recent New York City Gay Pride parade, I once again marveled at our community's incredible growth and diversity.

My own "coming out" parade was in Detroit in 1974 for which there were so few people that we had to stay on the sidewalks and wait for the "walk" sign before crossing each street. Back then, some people carried signs designating themselves as homophiles, and our chant was, "Two, four, six, eight./Gay is just as good as straight!"

Compare that to the 1993 March on Washington, where there were so many gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and heterosexual people assembled that the final contingent of marchers had to stand for hours waiting their turn to join in the parade. When they finally entered the rally site at the end of the day, their hilarious and good-natured chant was "We're tired, We're queer. And we've got attitude!" Snap.

A lot has changed in the gay community in the last twenty years. In fact, for many people it's no longer the gay community that gathers for the annual parade, but rather the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender communities. For some, it's simply the queer community. And if I think things have changed a lot from when I joined the gay civil rights struggle, pioneers from the 1950s such as Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, Harry Hay, and Jim Kepner, among others, have stories to tell about conditions surrounding their coming out that really underscore how far we've come.

Most of us would agree that, with the exception of the devastation wrought by AIDS, life today is immensely better for gay people as a result of our hard work, our courage, and our commitment to growth. Society as a whole is more sophisticated about sexual orientation than ever before. There are more protections of our civil rights, fewer legal restrictions on our sexual behaviors, and far more resources available to support us in the development of our identities. Obviously, we have a long, long way to go before the majority of people quit valuing heterosexuality as nature's sole intention and quit narrowly defining "acceptable" gender roles. But we're making progress, one day at a time.

One can only imagine what life will be like for gay people twenty years from now. Perhaps, by then, discrimination based upon sexual orientation will be prohibited at the federal level. Perhaps all state sodomy laws will be rescinded and all public schools will have support systems for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender youth. And perhaps not.

What hasn't changed and probably never will change is our very human desire to feel secure in ourselves and in society. As social creatures, we long for the happiness we associate with belonging in the family, among our friends, at work, and in our worshipping communities.

The letters I get today from gay people are not all that different from the ones I got back in 1974. Nor, I suspect, are they different from the ones that will be written in 2020. Gay people of all ages speak about their hunger for a safe, meaningful place for themselves in the world.

This book is about my personal search for such a place, the remarkable people I've met along the way, and the important lessons I've learned in the process. I feel much different about myself as a gay man and more integrated into the world today than I did twenty years ago, not so much because society has changed, but because I have changed. My observations about that change are offered here in the hope that they might comfort and encourage other hungry travelers.

In my attempt to be as readable and relevant as possible to as broad an audience as possible, I asked for help from a terrific group of friends with diverse perspectives. I've come to acknowledge that I am but a crude link in the evolutionary chain. I do my best to both accept and go beyond the limitations imposed by the historic, cultural context in which I find myself, but I need all the help I can get to do so.

Yet, even given our combined efforts to be inclusive, I know that some readers may still have trouble relating to some of my words describing the journey. They might wish, for instance, that I had used the word queer instead of the cumbersome "gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender." Some lesbian women, I suspect, will be disappointed that I use gay as a generic term for gay, lesbian, and bisexual. And one friend said if I wanted to appeal to certain gay men, I should eliminate all references to the Church.

But given all of these possible differences in communication style and perspective, I'm not discouraged, because I know that while all of those issues are important, what's most important to all of us is not so much the words but the music. As one friend reminds me, when we leave a musical or finish listening to a song on the radio, we often can't remember the words we've heard but we certainly remember the music and the powerful feelings it created within us.

The music of this book, I trust, is more timeless than the crude words I employ. It is about finding the truth of our lives from within ourselves and not from the outside. Our happiness as human beings is measured by how we feel about ourselves when we walk our journey and not by how many people walk with us, nor by what we call ourselves.

Copyright © l997, Brian McNaught.



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