Editor's note: This post uses pseudonyms to protect the identities of minors.
My family lives in a very conservative area, and we aren't exactly walking into open arms in our community when we go trick-or-treating. This is the second year our son has worn a dress on Halloween. Last year he went as Minnie Mouse:
Twirl as Minnie Mouse, Firecracker as a dragon and Tornado as an octopus
When Twirl declared that he wanted to be Minnie Mouse for Halloween, it wasn't a surprise. He had been obsessed with her for a while. We ordered the costume, and I wish I had been filming when that sucker came in the mail: I'm not sure whether I'd ever seen a happier boy. I admit I was nervous. I hadn't really thought about it when we ordered it, but when we left our house to go trick-or-treating, my stomach was uneasy. We told Twirl that some people might just think he was a girl and that that was OK, and that he could correct them if he wanted to -- or not. I wanted to go into an hour-long speech on how wonderful and perfect he is and how he should not pay attention to anything hurtful anyone may say, but I am also careful to not overdo it or make it a big deal. I think maybe two or three people thought he was a girl, and he did correct them, and it was no big deal. We got some weird side looks, but thankfully no one said anything to him or to us in a negative tone. I will point out that Firecracker was dressed as a dragon, but there was no worry about her being in a more boy-typical costume, and no one said a word. That is our society.
Fast-forward to this year. Twirl said he wanted to be a fairy. His favorite is the Disney fairy Rosetta; she wears pink, after all. We went to look at the costumes, and when we held up the Rosetta costume... well, the skirt was really short! Twirl was on the tall end of the size, and I found myself saying something I would have said were it my daughter Firecracker: "That skirt is just too short. We need to find something longer." This still makes me laugh, but seriously, it was really short. So he decided on Silvermist, the blue fairy who has a longer, blue dress with a little purple in it. I knew he didn't have any shoes to wear with it, and his pink Converses weren't exactly going to complement that outfit, so we went to the shoe section, and he picked some glittery, purple Mary Janes. He was so excited to try them on, and they are without a doubt his favorite part of the costume.
It was colder on Halloween this year, so as we started to get ready, I told Twirl that he would need to wear some of Firecracker's tights and leggings. "I don't want to!" he replied. "People will laugh at me for wearing girl tights." I was thrown a bit by this, because I am not sure why he thought they would notice the tights before they noticed the fairy dress that he didn't seem hesitant to wear. I told him that just like any other time, people may ask questions and may laugh, but they're wrong, not him. I asked him if he would be happier going as something else or if he would rather take his chances. He smiled and grabbed the tights.
We set out, and everything was going great. I found myself a lot less nervous this year. One kid who was handing out candy told each of our kids that he liked their costumes. I loved that they were all treated the same. About 12 houses in, an older man answered the door, started handing out candy and said to me and my husband Cory, laughing, "I'm not even going to ask about that." Twirl had already received his candy and was walking past me by the time the words were out of the man's mouth. I was instantly angry. Cory and I just looked at each other and carried on; Twirl and Firecracker were on a mission, and were already near the next house. The rest of the night went smoothly; the kids had a great time, and so did we. We saw a few people we knew, and they remarked on how cute all the kids' costumes were. Later that night I asked Cory what he thought about that man's comment, and he remarked that although it was not a good way to put things, he was likely just pointing out the uniqueness of the situation. This might be true, or it might not be true. He may be a jerk, or maybe he isn't. But I do like Cory's way of not blowing up the situation. My instinct is to pounce, and I am learning that that is not always necessary. I don't really care what that man thinks; I just wanted to have a good Halloween night. And thanks to cooler heads, that's exactly what we had.
All in all, our Halloween experiences have been great. I know that as Twirl gets older, it might become a bit more challenging, but I will worry about that when the time comes. My biggest worry is the same as C.J.'s mom, who so eloquently wrote, "I don't want my boy to want a boy costume." I don't want my son to want a boy costume just because he is afraid to be himself. If he truly wants the boy costume, no big deal, but if he is doing it our of fear or shame, then that will be a problem.
I Knew I Was Gay When...
Dennis, Age 3, St. Louis, Mo. (1974) (01 of15)
I vaguely remember this picture being taken, but I believe the Olan Mills "photographer" was taking a long time, and I was trying to stand still while doing the pee-pee dance. Or? I was naturally inclined to be an "Actor, Dancer, Model!"I actually didn't know anyone else who was gay when I was growing up, and I wasn't really sure I understood what it meant. So it took me till 19-years-old to figure it out. And then, the childhood pictures all made sense.Today, I live in Long Beach, Calif. -- and I just opened my own hair salon called Haven Hair Salon. And imagine that -- a gay hairstylist. Weird, huh? (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Ashley, Age 10, Spring, Tex. (2000) (02 of15)
I remember secretly watching Showtime on a school night. I don't remember what was said, but I remember exactly how I felt when "Alice" winked at the girl across from her on The L Word. I totally died from that small interaction. Died.I can remember as far back as third grade when the feelings arose.I was always a tomboy, and I loathed any attempt to try to mask that fact with dresses and frills. "Awkward" would be the one word to sum it up. And I have many women in my family who have perpetuated that awkwardness.When I took this picture, I was comfortable and unaware, before the realization that manly was what I looked like sometimes, when I was comfortable.Then the realization did come, and the second I laid eyes on it, my stomach fell. I knew what I saw and didn't like it.But a cute girl in my class did like it, which made me feel a bit better. My mom did, too, which eased that feeling even more. My grandmother, however, tossed those positive reinforcements out the window, cocked her head to the side and said, "You look like one of those 'What's Up' girls.""What?!" I said, even though I totally knew. "Gay" she said. And now my stomach had left the building. I went to my room and stared off in silence, with that wrenching feeling like she insulted my entire being. I was never ashamed of being gay on the inside, just afraid that it had the power to show on the outside. I was aware that it was taboo. And I was aware that I didn't want to be taboo in anyone's eyes. Every picture of me after that until high school was an awkward roller coaster. How should I sit? Oh, God, did I do that smirk? Is my Adam's apple the only thing you can see?I sometimes carry that particular self-consciousness today, partly because I also operate very femme, things have changed, and I'm not as rough as I used to be.But looking back on things now, I would tell today's youth not to disconnect from any of it, but to embrace it all -- and just smile for your picture."We need your voice. Your voice is important. Without your voice, part of me gets lost. Because each person we lose is a loss for everyone."--In the Life, TV (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Jay, Age 6, Sterling, Va. (1984) (03 of15)
Childhood was a great time and a rough time for me. My parents allowed me to be who I was. But the world wasn't always so great with the concept.I don't think of my story as all that special, but it floors most people who hear it for the first time.If Disney made a movie about me, it may be closest to Pinocchio -- but without the weird kids-taking-that-donkey-acid-trip scene.Simply put (and here's the big reveal), I dreamed every night of waking up as a real boy. But I was not born a wooden puppet.I was born a little girl.I was a very loved child, but I was also wildly misunderstood by many, myself included. It took about 23 years for me to figure it all out.I had unbelievable support from my family and the friends I kept close. And especially from my spouse, sister, mom and dad. But I kept a lot of people at a distance along the way. I still struggle with finding the right way to tell people.Being who I am means being a dad, a husband, a brother and a son. But it's tough to figure out why or how to divulge this layer of my past without it consuming perceptions and shifting realities.But the truth is, kids out there are going through the same things I went through. And they -- or their friends and family -- are reading this blog.So for those young ones going through the things I went through, know this:Your night-time wish can be your future, too. And your mom and dad may one day call you their son with the same pride they had back then. Maybe even more now, since you've given them grandkids. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Marco, Age 5, Chianciano Terme, Italy (1961) (04 of15)
This photo was taken during summer, at a café table in a spa town in Italy.My mom, dad, and my brother and I all sat in these very modern, 1960s chrome chairs. However, I was the only one who crossed my legs -- and, I must admit, in a very flirtatious way! When I was a child, I loved all the female singers that were popular in my country, but with the secret desire to be like them!I am certain that nobody "becomes homosexual," and many of our childhood behaviors, events and choices are revealing.Except to our parents, who almost always do not capture the true meaning of it all.Rather, they document it precisely with the opposite intention: to normalize what would otherwise be seen as embarrassing.Many of us understood very well what was going on, even if we didn't have the tools to express it.As children, we almost never censor ourselves, putting forth those features which, when older, we would be ashamed of. I knew it all from very early on, and even if I thought it was wrong, I couldn't be any other way. So I spent a lot of thoughts and energy that could have been better spent otherwise. If only my feelings didn't have obstacles back then.Seeing this picture now, I think: Wasn't it so obvious that I was gay from the beginning?! My mother knew and would ask me occasionally during my 20s, but I didn't actually admit it and come out to her until age 45. To my surprise, she was very happy and said, "Didn't you think you could have told me before?"So I'm happy I got to tell her, before she died.So, my message to all young gay people now is:Tell it without fear -- because your photos will tell it anyway... (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Sarah, Age 4, Tuscon, Ariz. (1979) (05 of15)
For this kindergarten photo, I told the photographer I wanted a "serious picture." But the more he tried to make me smile, the more serious I got. And I do not like this dress. I wanted to wear my fireman's hat, which I was usually allowed to do, as my parents weren't really invested in any particular gender expression.I love this picture because of its emotional honesty: I'm not smiling because I don't feel like smiling. And no one was going to push me into feeling or doing something I don't want.While this is harder to accomplish as an adult, it's always my goal.At this age, I knew I was a little different, and had a nascent crush on my kindergarten teacher. But I didn't yet have the words for it.I went on to be viciously bullied in middle school, and I hope those kids are all in jail now.Today, I have a loving partner and a diverse group of friends, and I became a writer and a teacher.Bigoted speech -- especially the phrase "that's so gay" -- is forbidden in my classroom. Consequences are swift and severe, if I hear it. My message to LGBTQ youth is:Respect yourself! And do not "ignore" the bullying, because it doesn't work. It only makes you more vulnerable, more victimized. Bullies can tell when you're "ignoring" them, and it makes them want to do whatever they can to make you crack. The onus for stopping bullying is not on you -- it's on the bully, as well as the adults in charge.You must keep talking, keep complaining and keep demanding that something be done -- until something is done. Look your principal in the eye, and be sure to mention Jamie Nabozny -- who won a huge federal lawsuit against his school administrators for failing to stop anti-gay harassment.Lastly, keep saving your money...There are buses leaving every day for other cities, and you can be on them! (credit:Born This Way Blog)
André, Age 4, Baton Rouge, La. (1972) (06 of15)
I recently came across this photo as I was scanning old slides for my parents.I remember it was Easter of 1972. I'm holding a tiny purse my grandma made from an old margarine container, combined with delicate crocheting. When I shared this photo with mom, she remarked at how cute my little sister was. When I pointed out that the photo was not of her daughter but rather her proud, 4-year old son, she silently turned the page.Growing up, my sexuality was the proverbial elephant in the room: always present, but never discussed. I've heard we can only see the world with the light we've been given. When it came to my being gay, my parents never had the light they both needed to understand. In my 12 years of Catholic schooling, just about every report card included the comment, "André is a sensitive boy." That was Catholic school code for "gay as a daisy." It was tough growing up "sensitive," and the journey was never easy. It was worth it, though. I can now say I love who I am, and I love the life I've built for myself. I love that I've learned to honor and protect that sensitive, little boy with the pink Easter purse and black galoshes.As an adult, I have a terrific job as a writer. I have a wonderful partner and a cozy home with three cats. It's exactly the kind of life that I was told would never be an option for me, a life filled with friends, family and an occasional pink purse. I live openly and proudly, and try to inspire others to do the same.And I try to be that light for those who live in darkness.That's how things get better. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Christopher, Age 12, Albuquerque, N.M. (1974) (07 of15)
I hated Little League. When this baseball pic was taken, I was being bullied by an older teammate for being a sissy and a fag. In hindsight, I wonder if he had a crush on me. The second picture is something I wrote in my diary in February of 1974, before I knew I was gay. In it, I say:
You know, sometimes I get worried, because I think that sex and religion kind of don't mix. I love God, but I love, I think, Becky, too. I guess it's because sometimes sex is evil, but right now, as far as I've gone, I don't think Jesus minds. In fact, I think he's pleased, I hope.Have I grown any since I started?Wait! Wizard of Oz started! I've got to go!!--ChrisI'd been called a "f*g" my whole life, but I didn't know what the word meant. It never occurred to me that I would do anything but meet a girl, fall in love and get married, and that God would be pleased with me. It's obvious, reading the diary now, that subconsciously I sensed there was something else going on. And perhaps God would not be pleased with me at all. And that to some, "sex is evil."I wrote the diary entry a year before the life-changing moment in eighth grade when I was staring at my friend Tim in the class row in front of me. I had an erection, and I was thinking, Why do I have an erection looking at him? It doesn't make any sense! Two penises don't fit together!Then I made the horrible realization that would poison the rest of my teenage years: Oh, my God. That's what a F*G is.I became surly and quiet, watching my own every move for any mannerism that might betray my homosexuality. For years, my cheeks would burn with embarrassment if I ever looked back on these journal pages. I hated this gay boy. His girly script. His passion for Judy Garland and The Wizard of Oz. And his unabashed enthusiasm, which I came to see as effeminate.But now, I love this boy so, so much.If I had a time machine, I'd go back and hold him tight and tell him he was wonderful and good and brave -- and not listen to anyone telling him otherwise. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Katy, Age 1, Des Moines, Iowa (1957) (08 of15)
This photo shows me on my first birthday. My Great Aunt Dee was trying to indoctrinate me into the joys of being a girl. Even back then, I was dubious.I knew I was different from others at a very early age. By the time I was 3, I was obsessed with gender. I would puzzle out who was a boy and who was a girl, and try to figure out where I fit in.In the 1950s, gender roles were very clearly defined, and I didn't feel comfortable wearing dresses and doing girly things. But I didn't really want to be a boy, either. I figured there must be a third gender that was half-boy and half-girl, and that's what I was.I was always looking for others like me -- and I found them. I was fascinated by a woman I once saw who smoked a pipe. She was one of us. I adored Mary Martin in the role of Peter Pan. She was one of us, too. But I found my true kindred spirit in a children's book my mother used to read to me. It was the character Christopher Robin in A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh series. In my 3-year-old mind, he was the quintessential third gender.Plus he had two names: Christopher was a boy's name, and Robin was a girl's name. The illustrations showed him with long, curly hair and dressed in what looked to me like girl's clothes. He also wore Mary Jane shoes, just like the ones I wore to Sunday school. And yet in the book, Christopher Robin was always referred to as "he."Whenever my mother read one of the books to me, I'd ask, "Is Christopher Robin a boy or a girl?""A boy," she'd respond."Then why does he look like a girl?" I'd ask.I was hoping that this time she'd tell me he was both boy and girl. But she never said that. She always had the same reply: "Because he's from England."It wasn't quite the answer I had wanted. But it at least gave me hope, that somewhere there was a place where I could find people that were like me. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Michael, Age 4, Fargo, N.D. (1971) (09 of15)
Here I am, with my dolls Judy and Dapper Dan. I don't mean to dismiss Dapper Dan's importance to my development as a gay man, but at the time he was just a passing fancy in my life. He was an "educational toy" that my mom got for me, because my pre-school teacher had told her I needed some help with my fine motor skills. I do remember finding the whole process of unbuttoning and unzipping this little doll-man's clothing oddly fascinating. Hmm... The real story here, though, is of me and Judy. Her "birth name" was Drowsy. I wish I could remember if I'd asked for her or was indulged by a mother who, after having three sons and no daughters, spotted an opportunity. Or, were we simply hooked up by either my mom or a knowing relative?All I know is that from the moment I laid eyes on her, she was my Judy. You can guess where the name came from...When I pulled her string, she would demand, in the bitchiest diva voice I'd ever heard, "I wanna drinka water!!!"I couldn't get enough of it. Judy said other things, too, but if you pulled the string four times, you could skip through the rotation to get to the good one. I eventually wore her voice out pulling the string, but by that point, I'd already learned how to mimic her quite well.Much to my parents' chagrin, I would bitchily call out from my bed in the middle of the night, "I wanna drinka water!!!" To which my mom would always come scurrying in, with a Dixie cup full of water.And thus, a diva was born -- all thanks to a doll named Judy!Sadly, about a year after this photo was taken, Judy drowned in a tragic swimming pool accident on a family vacation in California. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Tricia, Age 10, Winnetka, Ill. (1974) (10 of15)
This is a pic of me with my three younger brothers, two of whom are also gay like me. My 7-year-old fraternal twin brothers are to my right, and my 8-year-old brother David, is to my left.I'm gay, David is gay, and one of the twins, Graham (next to me on my right) is gay! So hey, three out of four ain't bad! We fondly call our brother Andrew (far left, arms folded) the black sheep, since he's the only straight sibling.Back then, I was always a tomboy. I wanted to be Tarzan, or a cowboy, or Superman when I grew up. I always wore short hair and boy's clothes. I would be so proud when a stranger commented on my mom's four boys.I had a huge crush on my third-grade teacher, which is when I knew I was different. I had fantasies of saving her from a burning house. My mother was always trying to feminize me, but I would play hooky if she forced me to wear a dress to school.I fell in love with my roommate at an all-girls boarding school when I was 16. I didn't come out until after college, though. Today I have a loving partner of 20 years, and two beautiful children, both of whom are definitely straight. And now, my daughter tries to feminize me! (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Chad, Age 6, San Diego, Calif. (1972) (11 of15)
Childhood was not a happy time, and it's shown in my face here. I was raised by a fundamentalist Christian preacher and his wife, in a home filled with abuse.It was a home where every emotion and desire was suppressed and beaten down.I was constantly bombarded with messages that homosexuals were the blight of the Earth, faulted for every problem and natural disaster.I was shown mocking images of flamboyant gay men in drag and butch lesbians on motorcycles, as clear evidence that men and women had turned from their natural affections. I didn't really have indications that I was different, because I had no reference for comparison. But, I do recall being very young, and being very intrigued by the male nudes at the museum.In high school, I met another boy with a similar upbringing, and we became close. As we started sharing our deepest thoughts and intimate secrets, we revealed that we both enjoyed this forbidden pleasure. Of course, I never mentioned it to my parents. According to them, all sex was bad, and even remotely sexual thoughts would send a person straight to hell.Even then, I didn't realize those desires as gay. To me, homosexuals were the flamboyant (and ridiculed) queens in the Pride Parades, wearing shorts and leather hats. Yet secretly, I thought they were the hottest men I had ever seen! It wasn't until I left home that I came to terms with who I was. Once I got out of that bubble, I learned that gay men could share a life together, and there were places I would be accepted as I am. I also learned that love did not have to come with physical pain.I also learned that my parents were not a positive influence in my life. They continued to abuse me with their guilt, disappointment and shame long after I became an adult. Thus, I learned that I didn't have to keep my parents in my life, and we haven't spoken in years. I'm a much happier person for eliminating that negativity.More importantly, I learned that my feelings were not a cause for shame, but rather a reason to celebrate, and that I was allowed to actually have fun and do things that felt good and enjoyable.The young boy in this pic was introverted, shy, withdrawn, abused and hurting. The adult man that this child became is intensely happy, full of life and love and cannot wait for each new day!So I know that it really does get better, and being gay is not just a phase. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Eamonn, Age 4, Brighton, Mich. (1991) (12 of15)
It was an epic Christmas morning, and I had just turned 4 a few months prior. In 1989, the 50th-anniversary edition of The Wizard of Oz VHS came out, and I became obsessed with 1) being a friend of Dorothy, and 2) actually becoming her.Still in my yellow dress shirt from a Christmas Eve party at my grandparents', I eagerly transformed myself into a hybrid of Judy Garland and Glinda the Good Witch.Note the fabulous pink wand. And those ruby slippers stayed on my feet for at least a week!I honestly recall that I've always had a preference for men. To me, girls always made such fabulous friends that I couldn't conceive of being with them romantically!As a little boy, I wanted to be every Disney princess and had regular breakdowns over Leonardo DiCaprio after seeing Romeo + Juliet in third grade. I was about that age when I first learned what "gay" meant.By age 12, I decided that gay was the way I planned to live the rest of my life -- and with someone tall, dark, strong and handsome! Inspired by a trip to Toronto with my mother -- where we unknowingly reserved a room at a bed & breakfast hotel in Gay Village -- I came out to her on the train ride home.Thanks to amazing parenting, I continued to dress flamboyantly, play with Barbies and hold my torch for actors and boy bands. In a small town known for ousting businesses donning rainbow stickers, I certainly couldn't let my true identity be known. But I never attempted to conceal my personality in public.Even at my small Catholic school I found warm acceptance and many allies among my loving teachers. Regrets? Not sticking with those ballet lessons long enough to be a mouse in The Nutcracker! I lived to wear to those pink tights.Looking at this picture today gives me nothing but pride. I wish I could meet this little boy, just so we could sit on the floor with those ponies and Barbies and make some magic again. He was a happy little prince, full of wonder and love. And even if things might have been worse, they would soon get much better.Being who you are is one of the bravest and most rewarding experiences. So start immediately -- as you can't imagine how much fun you'll have until you do. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
John, Age 4, Pikeville, N.C. (1984) (13 of15)
I always felt different as a kid but never knew why. I was described as "sweet, caring, loving, empathetic, artistic" -- later realizing all those words were code for gay. I was the middle child of five, with two older sisters and two younger sisters. My childhood was spent playing dress-up and putting on impromptu fashion shows with my sisters. I always loved dolls and girly things but knew it was wrong and was something to hide. And growing up a devout Mormon didn't help the matter.When I was finally old enough to realize I was "a gay," I immediately turned to self-loathing and entered a deep depression.I prayed for God to change me, and tried to avoid thoughts of other guys. At 17, I realized I could not change who I am, nor could I "pray the gay away."Not knowing there was a world out there that could accept me for who I was, I tried to take my own life.I was admitted to the hospital and kept for two weeks in a mental ward. It was there that I came out to my first person. It was a therapist, who on the final day of my stay, came into my room and said she knew I was holding something back.I burst into tears and said, "I'm gay, and I think I'm going to hell."I was so hoping to hear from her what I felt in my heart, such as, "No, you are a good person, that's what counts. Your actions define who you are, not who you are attracted to." All I wanted was a little reassurance, some understanding and comfort. Instead she said, "Now is the time you should turn to God. Now is the time to pray." I smiled and nodded, but I knew she was wrong.At that moment, I realized that any God who would condemn me for something I could not control was no God of mine. I left the hospital renewed in my self-worth. I was weeks from my 18th birthday and finally felt like there was a chance for me to be happy. I came out to others, and each time regardless of their reaction, I came to accept myself a little more.Today I am a 31-year-old man with a bright life and a positive outlook. All my struggles have given me the character and strength to overcome obstacles that would easily derail others. I love myself and know that I am not defined by my sexual orientation. I am lucky enough to have a family who accepts me (now), and a sister who is also gay, and she's an inspiration to me.I hope anyone reading this can realize that they are special and worthy of love, no matter who they are. Our world is changing for the better, and each new day gives me renewed hope for the future. Life is good, and it is definitely worth living, even when things seem the bleakest. So hang in there! It gets better! (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Jackie Beat, Age 8, Scottsdale, Ariz. (1971) (14 of15)
I remember my mom dressing me up in these fabulous late-'60s/early-'70s outfits that were really only appropriate for an adult appearing in a production of The Boys in the Band. But I loved being fashionable! Especially as I got a little older and became a full-fledged teenager.If I had to choose one movie that completely changed my life, it would have to be Carrie, which came out in the summer of 1976 when I was (drum roll, please...) a tender 13 years old. Okay, I'll wait while you do the math. Yes, that's right -- I am older than dirt, people.Unless you've been living under a rock (or inside a bottle of Absolut), you must have heard about the recent rash of young people who have committed suicide due to severe "bullying." I hate that word. To me, that's like referring to rape as "severe flirting." These boys were tormented and tortured. Now, whether they were actually gay or not really doesn't matter. The mere fact that they were perceived as gay, and therefore "less than," does.And if this can happen in 2011 -- after Will & Grace and Ellen and Rosie and Elton and The Scissor Sisters and RuPaul's Drag Race and Adam Lambert and Jane Lynch and Neil Patrick Harris and Glee and Ugly Betty and Modern Family and all the mainstreaming of homosexuality? -- we're in big trouble.But back to Carrie -- it was a low-budget summer horror movie for teens, and it's an emotional roller coaster that featured valleys of sadness and peaks of triumph. The movie is scary and touching and funny and sexy and campy and stunning. But ultimately, sad. If I had to summarize Carrie and why I love it so much, in just one sentence it would have to be -- "Don't pick on the freak."You see, Carrie White has powers that no one knows about -- amazing powers that she has had to control and hide her entire life. Sound familiar? When she's pushed too far, she uses those powers to exact revenge on her tormenters.It's strange, but high school is the only place where the most boring, middle-of-the-road, lowest common denominator idiots rule the kingdom. Five minutes after graduation, the real people -- the so-called "freaks" -- take over, while Ken and Barbie go to work in a bank or sell insurance and start having babies and do exactly what is expected of them, which is very little.The "freaks" beautify the world, make people dance and, most importantly, make people laugh. I would rather die from a flesh-eating virus than attend one of my high school reunions.Why the hell would I want to catch up with a bunch of boring people I never liked who are on their third marriages and will probably try to sell me AmWay? They don't deserve me at their reunion. I wouldn't change places with the vapid prom queen or the brain-dead star quarterback for anything. Why the hell would you want to be Kate Gossellin when you can be Cate Blanchett? Screw 'em all.High school is like a box of rocks. It's so easy to get through it when you're just some plain brownish gray pebble lost among all the others. But imagine a big rock in there -- like 10 times the size of all the others. Or an iridescent opal with its ethereal rainbow always twinkling. Or a diamond.Of course those little pieces of gravel are going to try to chip away at that big rock in an attempt to make it as small and worthless as they are. Of course those plain, non-descript rocks are going to scratch at the opals and the diamonds and make them as dull and lackluster as they are.Any parent or teacher who is not telling young people who are gay -- or bisexual or transgendered or "special" in any way -- to shine like the gems they are has blood on their hands.You are the adults -- and you need to love your children more than some archaic book of outdated rules that was written thousands of years ago by a bunch of men -- not by God -- in an attempt to control the unwashed masses.Religion is notoriously anti-Nature, and being gay is Natural. And the inability to accept the fundamental biological reality of gay people is the ultimate ignorance and arrogance. And, ironically enough, it is also the ultimate insult to God! Any time you judge me, or any gay person -- or anyone at all, for that matter -- you are spitting in God's face.Creative, sensitive, young people who are killing themselves is the saddest thing imaginable because of all that lost potential. It's a wasted life.And you know what? So is the life that is lived following a set of arbitrary rules, sitting in judgment and making people feel less-than, as defective, or like they don't have a future. All in the name of an invisible man in the sky. Shame on you.So to the "freaks" who are struggling right now, I say this:Just hold on, because your day is coming.High school is not real. These people will mean less than nothing to you before you know it. And if you're one of the tormenters -- or an authority figure who feigns ignorance and looks the other way -- may God have mercy on your soul.I hope that at least one part of that aforementioned famous book of rules is real. Because, in my opinion, there is a very special place in Hell for you. (credit:Born This Way Blog)
Isaac, Age 7, Karratha, W. Australia (1995) (15 of15)
Here I am with my two brothers in the dustbowl mining town of Karratha, where the dirt is red and the people are predominantly white. Being one of the few ethnic people in town didn't bug me much, as I just assumed I was white like everyone else. Ah, the innocence of youth.At this point in my life I lived a blissfully unaware gay lifestyle: having all female friends, really, really liking Catwoman, and always trying on my friend's fake, plastic, high-heeled shoes when I went to their house.I actually didn't realize I was even close to being gay until my graduating year of high school. So this photo is one of those things I look at now and think to myself How did I NOT know?!Whenever I have a party at my house or friends come over, they all see this photo and piss themselves laughing. And I share a pretty similar sentiment.I mean, look at me: I can't tell whether I'm posing or trying to hold in a pee! (credit:Born This Way Blog)
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