[Originally posted on the OUTMilitary Blog Magazine]
Last week, with
more excitement than I can put into words, I packed my overnight
bag with clothes, notebooks, my laptop, and few 'necessaries' and
prepared to attend my first training conference for the US Coast
Guard Auxiliary in Newport, Rhode Island. My soulmate and
partner, Danny, was my 'second brain,' going through a checklist of
items he was afraid I might forget in my excitement.
("Camera? Phone? Meds? Extra Socks? Laptop Cord?
Phone Charger?")
And so, after 32 years of waiting to have even one of the smallest,
tangental of formal roles in the services, we said our brief,
very temporary goodbyes as I headed off.
We hugged. We kissed passionately. We held each other so
damned close, clinging to each other, him knowing what this meant
to me, and me sorting through emotions: anticipation, fear,
excitement, doubt, insecurity. determination.
And as we engaged in that last, long passionate kiss before I left,
i was struck - suddenly and powerfully - by the poignancy of that
moment.
"How many men," I said to Danny,
"How many hundreds or thousands of men have been here and said
goodbye to their partners - most for periods of time longer than my
short trip, and most to far-flung places and in the line of fire -
and then had to carry this secret in their heart, never allowed to
speak of their love, their passion, their longing, once they
returned to duty?"
I burst into tears.
How heart-wrenching, how utterly gut-punching a thought that
was.
We are on the edge of a new world, where we can now love openly and
without most of the fears of the past. I have it relatively
easy. To those of you service members who lived through the bittersweet days
of loving another person and yet remaining silent - my heart, my
gratitude, my thanks, my support, my love - goes out to all
of you.
*****
Fast Forward to the training session.
I ran into a young (30 years old) guy at an after-hours gay event
in Providence, RI. He wasn't part of the Coast Guard AUX
training; rather, he was a Navy man. A Navy man who entered
the service during the days when he had to hide, and who was still
dealing with reflexive responses to inquiries about his
orientation.
Being at a gay event, he was nervous - very nervous. We
struck up a conversation, and he admitted how uncomfortable he
was. Apparently, his partner had simply 'dropped' him off at
the event against his will in an effort to help him 'open
up.' This poor guy was torn - surrounded by guys just like
him, and still terrified that someone might 'find out.'
As we talked, he told me how he had developed instinctive reactions
and responses to squelch any suggestion or inference that he might
be gay. And he found that even though "it was OK now," he
continued to move and operate in those reflexive patterns.
"And I hate it when I do that," he said.
"I want to be open, to be out, to be me. And every time I
have the chance to do it, I have this knee-jerk response to cover
up and protect myself."
We talked long into the evening. I was happy to see that he
finally relaxed and enjoyed himself, and others, and the event
itself.
But I was also struck by how hard some old habits die. And how
pervasive some fears can be. And how the need to support,
help, and 'walk our brothers and sisters through the process"
remains, despite legal changes in the wind.
.
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