Welcome to my blog, for the Hop Against Homophobia. I guess it would be all too easy to come out of the gate combative in the current political climate. I’ve seen and read enough to make my blood boil when it comes to the injustices and discrimination being deliberately handed down to the GLBT community. So to be completely contrary, I’m not going to do that.
My post is going to probably be fairly simple compared to some. It’s an apology. It’s for those who I know I’ve hurt without knowing I was even doing it. I’ve never been closed-minded–but I have been shocked, and I made rash decisions that I now regret.
When I was younger, some of the funnest nights I had were spent at the Paper Moon, a gay nightclub where there were some very talented drag queen performers. Not to mention unbelievably gorgeous! The dresses were stunning. I can still remember Monica. That was her stage name. The work she put into her Cher performances…just wow. I recently looked to see if the club even still existed, and couldn’t find it. Yeah, it was that long ago. I never felt out of place and had some very sweet friends there.
Fast forward too many decades to really want to admit to, and I’m still learning. Broadening my understanding, which in the last few years or so has brought to light certain things that I’m still learning about. One of them is a deeper understanding of the T in the acronym. It’s difficult being who we are, at any level. Peer pressure growing up, parental and societal expectations. Not being transgender, I have no idea the depth of conflict involved with this need to be true to ourselves when a person is locked into a form or identity they just can’t be comfortable in. I do understand it’s not my right or anyone else’s to lay that decision down for another person, though. I am a single person. A singular entity. A committee didn’t raise me. A court didn’t decide my life’s path. The belief that transgender people don’t understand their own needs is ludicrous.
So what’s the connection with the nightclub and the above? Some were gay, two were strictly perfomers in drag because the money, let’s face it–tips rocked for a good show! If I had it, I tipped. And I know there were transgender women, though I never asked. Honestly, it wasn’t important then, still isn’t now. But I’m still learning and reading, which helps me to understand the battles they face, the struggles, and it isn’t just with transgender, but across the GLBT community. Their community is our community, as humans, as people, which means they are our struggles, fights that were creating against ourselves for no one’s good. Everyone deserves respect and the freedom to be their own person.
This is just a very short page out of my growing up experiences. The point I guess I’m making is it doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter then who I was friends with, who I talked to, joked with. And it doesn’t matter now. Being a good person who doesn’t kill kitties is a plus. What genetalia you have, what underwear you wear, or whether you wear heels or combat boots, be yourself. The people who recognize your personal brand of perfection will love you.
For more about this Hop, HAH, other blogs participating and IDAHO, visit http://
For my portion, I have a couple things I’m going to do.
- For every related (meaningful) comment recieved, I will donate $1 to http://www.truecolorsfund.org/ (up to $50). Please feel free to include your own stories, if you’re so inclined (not required).
- I am also giving away my trio set of Beach books: Glitter, The Charlie Factor, and Doing Love Right to a commentor. Please leave an email in the comments section. Use spaces and (dot), (at), (dash), (underscore), etc as needed to avoid spiders picking them up.
The last day to comment is May 20th. If I have an email for the chosen winner (Random.org), I will attempt to contact that person. I will make a post with the winner’s name, so please feel free to check here after the weekend.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy your visits with the numerous authors and people who are supporting the fight against homophobia.