PRIDE, PART II

please watch this first...




Today is October 11. This day is very important to me for a couple of reasons. First, is known, in the LGBT community, as National Coming Out Day. It is the day we have decided to embrace everyone in our community, and make our voices heard, our presence known, and our hearts open. Why October 11? It is the anniversary of the March On Washington for Gay Rights, on Oct. 11, 1987, where almost a million people marched on the Washington Mall for recognition of gay rights, including marriage, military service, and other issues.

Well, it's been 24 years, and we've done...okay, so far. Marriage is legal in six states now, including my dream home of New York City, and if I so chose, tomorrow I could go to a recruiting office, sign up, and serve my country.

This is important to me because I recognize that there is no ONE person who can make a difference...not without a ton of help. We are called a COMMUNITY because we share common things. Traits, sure. Politics? Sometimes. Desires? Well...not always. And goals? Depends on who you ask.

So what is that we share? An identity? Not necessarily that, either. Plenty of people who are attracted to the same sex don't call themselves gay, lesbian, or what have you, and that is perfectly within their right.

What most people don't understand about labels is that it is not what OTHERS call me in how I define myself. It is what I CALL MYSELF.

And what I CALL MYSELF is not just gay, not just an actor, or a writer, or a lover of musicals, or GLEE.

I CALL MYSELF...MICHAEL.

That is my name, and I like my name. In fact, I have the greatest name in the world. Besides being the most popular name in America for a VERY long time (I believe I read somewhere it was 45 years running at one point...), it means, in Hebrew, "He Who Is Like God."

Yeah, I know. Ego trip, right?

But more than that, it is the name I was given by the people who brought me into this world.

I also have a middle name. Roy. I don't always tell people my middle name, not because I'm embarrassed, but because it's kind of hard to talk about sometimes. My middle name is from my paternal grandfather, Roy Wayne Stratton, who died long before I was born. I never met him. I wish I had. I've heard stories over the years, stories which have made me proud, but I really wish I'd gotten a chance to meet him and get to know him myself.

So, there's that.



But...I said this day is important for a couple of reasons. It is the second reason which touches me deeper, and more emotionally, than anything ever has, or ever will. My last post was about 9/11, and how that affected me, and that is still such a great tragedy, and I would never poke fun or make light of it.

But to me, personally, the greater tragedy than thousands of lives taken...is the one taken, targeted, by hate.

I am referring to Matthew Shepard, the gay University of Wyoming student who was beaten, tied to a fence, and left for dead. He never woke from his coma, and he died in the early morning hours of October 11, 1998.

I was not even 16 yet, a Sophomore in high school, not much younger than Matt himself. And certainly not completely out. Only a handful of people knew, including my best (and oldest) friend, a couple other schoolmates (not exactly friends, anymore, anyway), and my parents, who knew in their hearts, even though they'd had the decency to go along with my "God told me not to be gay, so I'm not" phase. (Thanks, mom and dad, btw...)

I remember reading the paper (as I did every morning. I'm STILL a news junkie...) about how he'd been found, never regained conciousness, and how his mother and father stayed by his bedside every moment till after he was gone. I thought, if I could do ONE THING, other than going back in time and making it never happen, it would be to reach out to Matthew's mother, and give her the biggest hug I could muster.

Alas, I was unable to.

This haunted me for weeks, until finally, I broke down, and I confessed, again, to my parents, the truth. That I was gay, and there was nothing that could change it. I was pretty surly, if I remember correctly, and I'm pretty sure my attitude was something like "if you don't like it, then fuck you."

Fortunately, my parents were (and ARE) totally awesome, and they told me they loved me. And THIS TIME, I didn't take it back. ;O

Five years later, I'm a sophomore in college. I'm a theatre major, and I have the brilliant fortune to be cast in a production of The Laramie Project, a play that was written directly in response to Matthew's murder, and which to this day, evokes a gut wrenching sob every time I read it or think too hard and long about it.

I couldn't believe my luck. I wanted to tell this story more than anything, especially in the face of protesters with their disgusting signs of GOD HATES FAGS and MATT IN HELL and THANK GOD FOR AIDS.

Oh, what I wouldn't have given to knock some sense into those bastards...

Luckily, my brethren at Bruce Hall did it for me, all without violence, and with quite a bit of humor and charm.

But the best was yet to come.

A mere week after we finished our production, there was a very special guest speaker on campus. A woman by the name of Judy Shepard. Matthew's mother, who still travels to tell her story, and to fight homophobia all over the country.

After her speech, the audience (of which our entire cast had been invited to), was asked for questions. Being me, I sprang up out of my seat, and had the honor of asking the first question. After thanking her for taking the time to come to our little campus, I asked her what she thought her son would think of the protesters, and how he would react to them. I also asked what she would want to tell him if he were alive, and what she thought he would want to tell us.

She seemed to smile (as best as I could tell. I was at least thirty yards away while she was onstage).

She told me she'd tell him she loved him, and that he would probably ignore the protesters, or make a joke, and go about his business, because he was a peaceful person.

I was happy enough to be in the same room with this incredible woman, nevertheless get an answer from a question I had asked.

But the best was yet to come.

Thanks to a dear friend of mine (David Warner, I'm talking about you!) our cast was invited to lunch with Judy, through the campus group GLAD (Gay and Lesbian Association of Denton).

It is there I met her in person, shook her hand, told her how inspiring she was, and I finally, after five years, got to do what I'd promised I would. I gave her the biggest hug I could muster.

Tears were in my eyes, and I don't know if she cried, too, but she seemed grateful, and for that, so am I.

I left that lunch that day with a renewed sense of purpose, and a renewed energy towards fighting for equality, and fighting for what I believe in.


October 11 is a very special day in my life, and I will always remember what it means to me, and to others.



Thank you, Matthew.

Thank you, Judy Shepard.

Thank you, Mom and Dad.

And thank you to all the people out there who have fought for equality.

And to all those who struggle with their identity, and struggle to be who they are, and more than anything, to be honest with themselves, and their loved ones...IT GETS BETTER.

It might suck now. It might suck for a while. BUT IT GETS BETTER.

YOU. ARE. LOVED.

GOD LOVES YOU, AND GOD BLESSES YOU.