True Colors

As a child of the mid-50’s and 60’s, my life was black and white—dad worked, mom stayed home, babies were either pink or blue, boys liked girls and girls liked boys, and anyone outside of the norm was an anomaly. Cross-dressers were buffoons for our entertainment on comedy shows, homosexuals were fags, and trans men and women, if we ever heard about them, were freaks. Even our everyday language—gay meant happy, queer meant odd, in the closet was where we hung our clothes—kept those living on the edges of society off our radar. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and my best friend came out to me as bisexual that I truly began to understand the complexities of gender and relationships.

After reeling from a nasty breakup with a boyfriend and moving to California, Shelley found comfort in the arms of a woman who became her lover. She came out to me in a letter to which I responded, rather bluntly and naively, with questions about her new sexuality, trying to understand the whys and hows (I think now about my clueless intrusion into her privacy and I am mortified!). In her letters she was patient, honest, and indulgent, satisfying my curiosity as any true friend would.  Her openness about her sexual proclivity was my first experience with nontraditional relationships, one which helped me develop a broader understanding of sexual orientation. Because of her and subsequent revelations which raised my awareness, it was easy to accept, without question or judgment, to live and let live.

Until my twenties, I didn’t know (or even suspect) that my mother’s best friend since adolescence was a lesbian. She was also my godmother. I called her Auntie Shirl, and the woman she lived with I called Aunt Claudia. I never once questioned why two women spent their lives together, (just as I didn’t question my two elderly Aunt Esthers on my father’s side cohabitating). Growing up, I assumed it was just as normal for two women to live together as it was for a husband and wife. In my family, it wasn’t talked about because it was no big deal.

In my parents’ world, alternative lifestyles weren’t discussed but protected. Private lives were respected, not questioned. So I grew up blithely unaware that my godmother, whom I loved and admired, had hidden her authentic identity out of the necessity for self-preservation. When I learned of her orientation after a casual comment my mother made, it was a momentary “ah ha” then life continued as usual. We didn’t need to discuss her lifestyle because it just wasn’t an issue. Life moved on.

Years later, at her memorial service, attended by several of her gay and lesbian friends, I learned that my father, an attorney, was one of the first in our city to defend gays against discrimination during a time when housing, jobs and medical benefits were denied based on sexual orientation. No other lawyer dared touch their cases for fear of their own reputations. I was beginning to understand and appreciate how my parents were ahead of their time, quietly supporting those who couldn’t yet advocate for themselves.

It was no surprise to me when my cousin, married to an alcoholic for years, finally divorced, and like my girlfriend, found solace in the arms of a woman. They were one of the first lesbian couples to marry in California, a sin her Catholic mother agonized over but finally accepted. I found it more surprising that others would judge them and the thousands of other same-sex couples around the country who were finally able to legalize their loving relationships. Their marriage reinforced for me what it means to love someone unconditionally, regardless of gender or orientation. There is no more curiosity, just acceptance of life as it should be—the ability to love freely without fear or discrimination.

As an educator I watched firsthand how students (and some teachers, counselors and coaches) transformed from being homophobic to embracing the LGBTQIA+ movement. In the mid-80’s it wasn’t uncommon for gender and orientation-questioning students to suffer from eating disorders, depression, bullying and suicide (and thankfully less common today). By the time I retired in 2015, students and staff were comfortable with the range of gender identities and sexual orientations once publicly limited to heterosexuals. My last year, one of our students (whose mother was a colleague) came out as trans, and we were heartened by the students’ support of their friend.

I am encouraged by how far we have come since the days of secrecy, shame and discrimination, but I realize, especially today, with far-right political agendas further dividing our country, that we still have much work to do to ensure everyone is treated compassionately and equitably.

I am currently challenged by a right-wing, evangelical son-in-law who spews anti-gay (and misogynistic) vitriol in the name of God on YouTube. COVID was a good excuse to avoid him (he refused to get vaxxed), but we haven’t seen our daughter or grandchildren either. In the event they do visit someday, rather than chancing a nasty confrontation and alienating our daughter, we will quietly and proudly make our statement of support for our friends and family in the LGBQTIA+ community—my husband will wear his rainbow suspenders, my hair will sparkle with rainbow tinsel, and posted by our front door will be the rainbow flag.

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Shirlee Jellum is a retired English teacher living in the Columbia Gorge. She has recently been published in Gleam, Flash Fiction, Honeyguide and Memoirist.