Originally presented on Saturday, May 17, at Rainbow Expansion Unit: Parts 1 and 2, our second event in THE ANGELS PROJECT, co-produced as part of Washington Ensemble Theatre’s Six Pack Series and Velocity Dance Center‘s Speakeasy Series.
My Two Closets
by Valerie Curtis-Newton
Before I get started. By show of hands, how many of you have ever seen that South Park episode in which Tom Cruise wonāt come out of the closet? I love that one. Hilarious, right? And something a lot of us can relate to. Closets. We all have them, right? I mean identity closets. Everybody has at least one and everyone claims to want out. There is even a website called āEmpty Closetsā coming out resources and a safe place to chat.
Like the closets we put our clothes in ā identity closets seem to me to fall into two categories. They are either super organized, California closets neatly arranged and color-coded or they are like the exploding closets in cartoons. Bursting at the seams in a total jumble. Think about every comedy youāve ever seen where the closet door gets opened and ton of crap comes crashing down on you. I think most of us hope that we can manage to get one of those California closets but end up standing in a ton of crap.
Me, Iāve done a lot of closet stuffing in my life. You know, how they say that when you finally figure out that youāre queer everything in your past makes a kind of sense. It was sort of like that for me. Not that all of the clues werenāt there in the open all the time. I know now that I have been bi-sexual since before I had words for it. I mean… I wore chukka boots and a skully hat for two years. Hell, I played softball for Christ sakes. But I also liked shopping and makeup and flirting with boys. (And pining over girls.) So, my closet stuffing started pretty early. When youāre a bi-sexual, Christian, you spend a lot time trying to figure out where is safe, where you fit in, where your tribe is.
I remember when I was 12 I had these overwhelming simultaneous crushes on a boy named Michael Patterson and a girl named Aleta Crews. Michael Patterson was 12 too and lived in the house three down from mine on McGuire Air Force base. He had cocoa colored skin and the most beautiful hazel eyes. He was quiet and played sports and had bowlegs which for some reason really turned me on.Ā All the kids in the neighborhood would gather at the park or on the quad to play. Usually, it was kickball or sometimes touch football. Mostly because the boys wanted to feel the girls up during the game. And I was the most athletic girl in the group. I could throw a ball with the best of them. But I digress.
Anyway, I was crazy for Michael Patterson and he didnāt know that I was even alive. (Which I found completely hard to believe. Cause if Iām honest, I stalked the poor boy. I staked out his locker. I stood near him at lunch. I would watch him and his dad playing catch in the front yard from behind the curtains of my bedroom window.) One day, I was sitting on my porch waiting for him to come home from baseball practice with his dad. Eyeing him as he passed. Hoping against hope that he would say āHiā. He just gave me the nod. You know the one. Who the hell ever invented the nod? Iād really like someone to explain it to me sometime. Anyway, on this one day, Michael Pattersonās dad, who always said āHelloā to me, stopped and said. āYou really like my son huh?ā I was completely embarrassed. Wishing the ground would swallow me up, I nodded.
Then he said, āWell, if you want him to like you, you need to stop throwing the ball so good.ā I told you the clues were there. But I was 12. I didnāt know that throwing the ball so well made me ineligible for Michael Pattersonās affections. And now I had a real dilemma. You see, I had to throw the ball well because my second crush, Aleta Crew playedā¦ you guessed it: Softball.
Now, Aleta Crews was the exact opposite of Michael Patterson. She was older, 15, and tall and blonde. Like Scandinavian blonde and she played shortstop and her double play move was a thing of beauty to behold. Iād watch her from the bench ā not in an āIād love to kiss youā kind of way, more in a ālooking at you makes me smileā kind of way. I kept hoping she would smile back. But it was a lost cause – Aleta Crews had a boyfriend.
I never told anyone about my feelings for Aleta Crews. It didnāt seem right. So at night when I got home from practice – now this is a huge stepping out of the closet for me ā I would sing show tunes ā yes, show tunes ā and put her name in them. My favorite was āMariaā from West Side Story. I would put the record on and sing at the top of my lungs āAleta, I just met a girl named Aletaā. You laugh. Ok, but I can tell it is a laugh of recognition. Youāre not fooling me. I know Iām not alone. Hey, I told you bi-sexual from the beginning.
As I got older the stuff in my bi-sexual closet changed. You see, I went from hiding my āI Like Girlsā stuff to hiding my āI Like Boysā stuff when I discovered that Lesbians donāt like bisexuals. Some donāt even believe we exist ā weāre apparently on the continuum on the path to lesbianism, or we are posers unwilling to give up heterosexual privilege. Promiscuous. Indecisive. Blah blah blah.
So as I moved into the Lesbian community I added the āI Like Boysā stuff to the āI Like Girlsā stuff already in my cluttered identity closet. If there was a woman I wanted to date, it was sometimes easier not to mention the āI Like Boysā stuff too early. Always before sex but not usually on the first couple of dates.
How am I still in the bi-sexual closet? I think itās because my wife and I have been together for 17 years, so folks make assumptions. I am with a woman in a monogamous relationship – that makes me a lesbian, right? No, actually it makes me faithful. Even my beloved struggled with this early on. When we first decided to be monogamous, she declared me a Lesbian ā with more than a little relief. (If I were a lesbian, she wouldnāt have to break her pledge never to get involved with the dangerous, will-leave-you-for-a-man-one-day bisexual.) Anyway, when she clapped the L Word on me I said, ānope, still biā. She said, āBut youāre in a lesbian relationship so that makes you a lesbian.ā So then, I had to break it down for her.
āBabe, I am a bi-sexual in a lesbian relationship. I live largely with in the lesbian community but Iām still bi-sexual.ā The quizzical look on her face was kind of precious so I went onā¦. āYou were in an interracial relationship for 4 years, right? Did that make you interracial? No, you were a black woman in an interracial relationship. Make sense.ā She got it. Though Iām out to my wife and now all of you, most of time I just roll with the assumption that Iām a lesbian. After all there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian. I mean there are way worst things to be than a Lesbianā¦. like a Christian, for example.
DAMN, more stuff for the closet. Living in a time when the word Christian offends so people, this may be the toughest closet to navigate. A religious practice is supposed to bring you closer to god and the people, As an organized religion, Christianity is often strident and judgmental and flat-out mean. Itās no wonder that so many queer folks of faith are closeted. Church may just be the largest walk-in closet of them all. From pastors to deacons to choir directors to Sunday school teachers, church is full of queers.
Itās true of all churches to some degree but black church has it own special flair. Not just those men in yellow suits with matching shoes and hair fried died and laid the side. Or all those single women church secretaries with their ā āroommatesā ā who sit together in the same pews next to each other for decades. I mean, come on, the gays are all up in the church. And why not, people go to church looking for their tribe. And many of us find it there. Often itās no more dysfunctional than our families.
You know, before moving here to Seattle – 20 years ago, I contemplated going to seminary. Iām really not supposed to come out like this butā¦Itās true. I diligently went to bible study, prayed, fasted, preached, spoke in tongues and holy danced in the aisles. Yep, all of that. Youāre not supposed to do or say any of that if youāre a woman or queer. After all, religion these days reeks of patriarchy and misogyny and homophobia, right?
In the churchās closet, āDonāt Ask, Donāt Tellā is in full effect. The telling comes at a very high price. When I got involved with my wife and moved out of the closet at church, I lost a lot of friends from the āfaith communityā, folks who āloved the sinnerā but hated the sin. Who could no longer come to our house or have us at theirs. It was tough.
The other shoe is that when I say that Iām a Christian in the gay community, my queer family sometimes moves away just as fast. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Then again whatās the point of running. Iām not a literalist or a fundamentalist. Yes, I believe in God. I believe in Christianity as a philosophy. I live in its contradictions and find comfort and wisdom and peace in it. In itās mysticism, itās rituals, itās optimism, and itās community. I believe in its call to be our highest, best selves. I believe in faith and kindness. But the fear of rejection in the church and in the world makes it too easy to stay silent. Overstuffing the closet.
A couple of years ago, I wrote a not great screenplay about a woman who leaves her husband for a woman and has a spiritual battle with her preacher father and in the penultimate scene on the script, as she is being driven out of church by her fatherās preaching, sheās rescued by that āgay guyā in the yellow suit ā the one brave out person in every church. He tells her, that God is with her; that he sent her to that place for a reason. He says, āIn this moment, right now. You might feel lonely and beaten. But God is here for you. He brought us here to this place for a reason. Our being here means change can happen.ā Change can happen. She finds the courage and peace to hold her place in the church as an out person.
So, thatās what Iām doing, trying to be brave enough to push open my closet doors. Out in the open is where all the good stuff is: all the laughter and the sharing, all the responsibility and the expectations, all the intimacy and the community. In the open is where all the love is. So, you know, maybe itās not so awful when our closet doors burst open and the crap comes crashing downā¦ And as crazy as it can look sometimes, here I am standing on my pile of crap: bisexual, Christian, and most importantly out.
Photo Credit: Joanne DeGeneres