La Vida Loca

Recently, Ricky Martin of Living La Vida Loca fame, appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show. I didn't watch the entire show; I just saw some of it while in the barbershop. The fact that my barber had this on his 40" flat screen seemed strange to me, but that's beside the point. There were excerpts of different men who applauded Martin for "coming out". To them, he served as an inspiration and gave them enough strength to "come out" to their inner circle of family and friends.



Let me start by saying, I'm not gay. Even though my friend, Alexis, tells me that even the most heterosexual individual is bisexual to some degree, I can't ever recall having any attraction to another man. Yeah, I've seen a dude and thought, "That dude has a nice body." But it was more of a comparison to me; I was trying to see how my body stacked up and what I needed to do to get to his level. I didn't want to wake up to the scruffiness of his beard.



And I'm not homophobic, either. Growing up, I was. I think most people I knew had a negative feeling towards gays. Between my peers, most of my older male relatives, and the church, I lived with the idea that homosexuality was a sin and anyone involved in such actions were, in some way, subhuman.



Going through public school, there was always the little boy that preferred to stay with the girls during recess instead of playing football with the boys. You know, the same boy that smacked his lips when he talked and played with Barbies and Cabbage Patch dolls. Truthfully, I played with Barbie, too, but that was only to give my He-Man, Optimus Prime, or Hulk Hogan action figure a love interest. (G.I. Joe was too small for her.) As we got older, that same little boy became the teenager that tried out for the cheer leading squad. His clothes seemed to fit a lot tighter and the lip smack was now accompanied by a neck roll and finger snap.



You knew he was gay; you heard the rumors about him. And as a straight teenage boy, the last thing you wanted to be accused of being was gay. So, you stayed away from him. Snickered at him and joined in with the rude remarks. You might not have been the ringleader, but you were definitely in the circus. You had to be, or they might think you were like him.



That was me. I wasn't the one shouting "fag" as he walked by, but I was the one tapping my friend and pointing. I stayed that way until my freshman year of college. Halfway through my first semester at the University of Florida (GO GATORS!!!), a third person was thrown into our already cramped dorm room. His name was Scott. Scott was an ordinary white guy, a little more Brahms than bong, but normal, nonetheless. He didn't even seem to mind being thrust into the room with two black guys. We got along great. It didn't hurt that he worked at Red Lobster and would bring home bags upon bags of those Cheddar Bay biscuits.



One day, I came home from a weekend trip to find Scott alone in the room. He was talking on the phone. As I entered, he seemed startled and nervous; it was obvious he had been crying. "Mom, Darius is here. I'll call you later," he said as he watched me drop my duffel bag.



"What's up, man? You cool?" I asked, knowing that he wasn't. He paused for a while and just blurted it out.



"Darius, I'm gay!"



I sat there for a minute, confused. It was almost as if I didn't understand what he was saying. Then I comprehended it, but didn't quite know how to process it. He didn't remind me of any of the gay guys I knew. He didn't bring a set of dolls to litter his bed. He didn't paint his finger and toenails. His voice was deeper than mine. It didn't add up.



All I could say was, "Oh. Okay, cool."



He broke the awkwardness by saying, "Don't worry. I'm not attracted to you."



Just then, my ego kicked in and brought me back to that moment and out of my daze. He let me know that he'd never really been attracted to any black guys, but that he could see how someone would be attracted to me. I felt a little better.



I had questions, and I asked them. He was willing and relieved that I wanted to know so much.



He explained to me how hard his life had been. He told me about the feeling he had when he was as young as four years old. Feelings I could relate to because I was sneaking onto little girls' mats during nap time in nursery school. He told me of the guilt he felt for feelings he thought were wrong. The pain of trying to force himself to be with women, when that was far from who he inherently was. He told me of his spiritual conflict; his parents were ministers and often preached of the "abomination" that is homosexuality. We talked for hours that night and for hours on many more occasions.



Scott was my Ricky Martin. He opened my eyes. At that very moment, a veil of ignorance was lifted from my eyes. My perception completely changed. I was no longer that kid that didn't want to be seen with someone because of their preference, I was now that young man who would walk into the movies or the grocery store with my friend, no matter who he was attracted to.



There are still somethings that I really don't want see, and somethings that make me slightly uncomfortable.



Scott moved out shortly after "coming out" to me, but we remained relatively good friends throughout college.



Sitting in the barbershop, watching Oprah was a seminal moment for me. Sitting in the bastion of masculinity, I was transported back to high school. I wasn't the one calling names, but would I be the one to snicker and nod my head or would I say something? In the comments of Ricky Martin and the other guests, I could hear Scott. So, I said something. Not as much as I could have said, but I said a lot more than I would have at an earlier stage of my life.



Being a black man in America, I know a lot about prejudice and discrimination. People constantly categorize me just by looking at me. But I am extremely proud of who I am and can't imagine having to live a life denying myself simply because others don't think it's right.



Don't we all simply want to be able to be who we are? Black or White. Christian or Atheist. Straight or Gay. Not being able to do that...that's La Vida Loca.