Sunday, June 26, 2011

What Have You Done Today to Make You Feel Proud?



The time is here once again to put on copious amounts of sunscreen and join the throng of the LGBT community and its heterosexual supporters for a weekend of celebrating what makes us proud. June is commonly referred to as “Gay Pride Month,” and cities across the United States and the world hold festivals full of overwhelming amounts of acceptance, tolerance, music, dancing and other activities rooted in debauchery.

I am deeply saddened by the fact that I am not able to attend my “local” Pridefest in New York City, which is taking place this weekend. Already, I have seen pictures and videos from friends on the front lines in various states of celebration. Although I may have to enjoy the festivities vicariously through them, I feel it necessary take some time to express what makes me “proud.”

First and foremost, I am proud to be part of a community so resilient against disparaging remarks and actions, and so resolute in the fight for equality. A large victory was just won in New York State on Friday, when a bill was passed granting the ability for LGBT couples to be legally married. The amount of people who added their voice, time and tears to this specific cause are innumerable, and this victory has proven that the power truly is in the people. I am proud to be a New Yorker.

A point of personal pride is how far I have come in truly believing that there is nothing wrong with me. As a child I knew I was different. I would see how the other boys were so happy to play games in which the outcome was almost always a form of pain, and I would not want any part of it. I found joy and happiness through creativity, be it drawing, singing, dancing, or putting on my parents’ clothes and pretending to be someone I hoped to be one day. These were not activities that boys were meant to engage in, especially in my small community in rural Ohio. I am eternally grateful that my parents never told me that I was wrong. In fact, they encouraged me to be creative, even when my creativity led to putting on my grandmother’s pumps, carrying her umbrella around and pretending to be Mary Poppins.

Once I graduated high school and moved out into the “real” world, as I felt back then, I was overwhelmed with how many other men and women I met that had felt the exact same way, or something resembling it, as child. Yet even with the confirmation that I was not alone after all, there was still something in my mind that told me a part of what made me me was wrong. I knew what it was, but I did not want to deal with it. It was an all-encompassing fear that God himself hated me and would be sending me to burn for all eternity when I died.

The community I grew up in was as deeply rooted in Christianity as it was in farming. God created the world and all things in it in seven days, sent his only son to live with a virgin and doting husband only to grow up and die for the sins of mankind. There were also all of the rules in the Bible about what was pleasing to God and what was pure evil and disappointing to God. I had always been told that being a homosexual was on the list of disappointments. In fact, it was not merely disappointing, it made God mad; mad enough to send all those found guilty of leading such a lifestyle to burn in a lake of fire. I did not even like taking hot showers, so I was certainly not looking forward to the fire part.

Luckily, through all of the rhetoric spewed at me by fearmongers, something else made it through. Love. I knew that a God who created things like music, art, dance, sunshine, flowers, laughter and ice cream could not be so heartless. I remember listening to sermons about how much God loved all of his creations, including me. I did not see room in my life for a God that loves me with such intensity to be so quick to allow me to burn in eternal damnation. No, no, I knew that God loved me and he would put people in my life that would illustrate that beautifully. Although it has not been until this year, some nine years later, that I have truly believed that.

Whoa, do you remember when this post began with a distinct topic? Okay, great. I am glad that one of us does.

I would like to summarize my ramblings thusly: in the end, love will always win.

My name is Joseph Michael Kuba and many things am I, but for today, above all things, I am proud.

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