TX-Beau
FEAR THE LIBERAL DETENTE!
My niece, who is queer – and insists I use that term – has been discussing queer issues with me since she told me at 14. She will be a senior in High school next year; so three years or thereabouts. It always surprises me that she doesn’t understand the caution I try to instill about coming out to whom and when, and all the rest of the general advice I try to provide. She doesn’t get it; even knowing that her parents will have several litters of kittens when they find out doesn’t faze her.
We had a disagreement over the term “queer.” She describes herself as a queer girl who is bi. She describes me as a queer man who is gay. Which kind of offended me in the beginning. I objected to the term “queer” I thought all those subdivisions she uses – all those silly letters that keep getting added on to LGBTQ – were unnecessary. I insisted I was a gay man, period.
I swear I’m not a crotchety old man just yet. In the course of these discussions, I realized that I was clinging to “gay” because that term means something to me that it never will to her. It represents the fight we had forced on us. Calling myself a gay man represents overcoming the hate, the scorn, the stigma. To me, that’s quite important; to her, it’s just an anachronism. Echoes of a past she never saw and hopefully never will. To her, “gay” will only ever mean a queer man who isn’t interested in women. I admit I was somewhat dismayed by that realization. My first instinct was to explain to her exactly why she was wrong and what that fight meant for me and for her, but in the end, I didn’t lecture. So why?
Because she convinced me.
These kids, they've taken gay, lesbian, bi, trans, and all the rest and made them just individual possibilities under the term "queer." They took "queer,” stripped it of its power to hurt, and made a big, diverse, and inclusive family that never knew the trauma that was foundational to that possibility. They keep adding new possibilities to that family; the only requirement is being who you are. She tells me even straight people can be queer.
So, I surrender; I am a queer man who is gay, aging, and, I suppose, a little crotchety after all. I embrace my letters.
She made me realize that was what we were fighting for all along. Maybe she’ll understand what my cleaving to the word “gay” meant someday, or maybe the best option of all is that she never will.
We had a disagreement over the term “queer.” She describes herself as a queer girl who is bi. She describes me as a queer man who is gay. Which kind of offended me in the beginning. I objected to the term “queer” I thought all those subdivisions she uses – all those silly letters that keep getting added on to LGBTQ – were unnecessary. I insisted I was a gay man, period.
I swear I’m not a crotchety old man just yet. In the course of these discussions, I realized that I was clinging to “gay” because that term means something to me that it never will to her. It represents the fight we had forced on us. Calling myself a gay man represents overcoming the hate, the scorn, the stigma. To me, that’s quite important; to her, it’s just an anachronism. Echoes of a past she never saw and hopefully never will. To her, “gay” will only ever mean a queer man who isn’t interested in women. I admit I was somewhat dismayed by that realization. My first instinct was to explain to her exactly why she was wrong and what that fight meant for me and for her, but in the end, I didn’t lecture. So why?
Because she convinced me.
These kids, they've taken gay, lesbian, bi, trans, and all the rest and made them just individual possibilities under the term "queer." They took "queer,” stripped it of its power to hurt, and made a big, diverse, and inclusive family that never knew the trauma that was foundational to that possibility. They keep adding new possibilities to that family; the only requirement is being who you are. She tells me even straight people can be queer.
So, I surrender; I am a queer man who is gay, aging, and, I suppose, a little crotchety after all. I embrace my letters.
She made me realize that was what we were fighting for all along. Maybe she’ll understand what my cleaving to the word “gay” meant someday, or maybe the best option of all is that she never will.


















