One of My Worst Moments

In 1987 my family moved from New Jersey to Georgia, and I was in the 7th Grade. It was exciting. It was an adventure. Moving from the outskirts of New York City to a rural, cow-pastured exurb of Atlanta was an experience that would shape and haunt me well into my adulthood.

I had no idea that the South still fought the Civil War, such that in 7th Grade my southern peers all knew to call me “Yankee” and ridicule my accent. The playground was an anxiety-producing nightmare. One particular bully would sit on me, slap my face, and make me repeat words in my northern accent that made the other kids laugh. “Water” (me: “Wood-er”); “Dog” (me: “Dhuwg”) and, worst of all, “Cyndi Lauper” (me: “Cyndi Lawpah”). That Cyndi Lauper herself had a thick northern accent made this particularly hysterical, and I became known as “Lawwperr”, as the southern drawl pronounced it.

I lived in Georgia for five years, and I adopted the local style of dress, began to say my waters, dogs and Laupers like the southerners, and did whatever I could do to not stand out. I debased myself. I spoke derisively of Yankees, even though the vast majority of my family were still living in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. By the time I was in the Eleventh Grade in 1991, I had a wispy mustache, long hair in the back, wore overalls with black hightop Reeboks, and I spoke derisively of African-Americans, like all my white southern friends.

Atlanta had forced busing, and our rural high school had a lot of inner city kids attending alongside the rural cracker kids I considered my peers. Eventually, there were race riots in the school, and we were a featured story on CNN one night. I was one of the white kids fighting the black kids.

This was one of the worst moments of my life. In my desire to fit in, I adopted attitudes and ideas that today I find repugnant, and 16-year-old racist me haunted my life for a long time. My mother, seeing that I was developing into a person that she did not like, moved me out to Colorado with my stepfather to finish my senior year in high school (where I would then become ostracized as the stupid redneck hick kid with a mustache nobody wanted to talk to).

Our worst moments come back to haunt us on Wikipedia

Recently on Wikipedia there was one of those tragically unfair Requests for Adminship that I rail against, where a person’s worst moments are held up as a true indication of who they are.  Wikipedia is stressful.  The editors on the site *all* know people read what we write, and that we have a hand in shaping people’s opinions.  Unfortunately, that leads to an arrogance on the site; it also leads to a justifiable cautiousness–usually, not always–in how we operate.  This cautiousness is taken to extremes.  Case in point: a recent “Request for Adminship” for a stellar contributor who, years ago in 2006, made some anti-gay remarks during a fit of stress and anger.  It was a one day, one moment kind of thing.  Now, years later, it is the main reason why people will not approve this person to be an admin.  I’m gay, and I think it’s wrong.  I would like to share this editors heartfelt explanation and apology for that moment in 2006 that is causing so many people to be unforgiving:

I honestly don’t know what else to do but keep apologizing for how angry I was that stupid day in 2006. I wasn’t attacking these people for being gay, or gender transfers. Christ, I’d NEVER do that in that. Reread the comment–I was lashing out and saying “Did you forget in any way what its like to be ostracized?” aimed at all the people that at the time I thought were trying to drive me off in what seemed at the time utterly petty and vindictive ways.

I can absolutely, positively, totally guarantee you that I am not a bigot or even vaguely homophobic. Did you ever read Wikipedia Review? The massive wars I got into with the anti-gay bigots there sometimes? Read my reply to JayHenry— opposition #15. I marched against Proposition 8. I took photographs of the event for probably the most visible and vocal liberal alternative newspaper in the United States, The Stranger, and linked the article with my work. One of my best friends that I spend time with multiple times per week is gay. I have another three close homosexual friends.

My best friend that I grew up with, who I’ve known since we were both 11 years old, both 33 now, began the process to transfer from being a man to a woman when we were 25, and when his religious family threw her out, my wife and I took her in for nearly a year until she was ready to move to another state. I gave her a couple thousand dollars to help get her squared away, knowing full well I’d never see it again, and not expecting to see it again. I outed my name right there in the RFA with the link to that news article in a sign of incredible good faith, knowing full well I painted a massive target on my head for all manner of nutjobs in the future if my RFA passes, to prove who and what I am.

Humanity has a real problem with itself.  We harshly judge each other based upon our worst moments, as if that moment is the one that counts in a person’s arc of life and growth.  It’s hypocritical.  I learned from my interviews, photography and Wikipedia work that we all have things in our past that we haunt or embarrass us.  Look at Matt Sanchez, former gay porn star-turned-anti-gay right wing pundit.  We have all done something that some might consider despicable; said something others might find an indication of our bad characters; think thoughts others would find racist or prejudiced; or abused ourselves and others in ways we wish we never had.

When I see other people judging someone for one moment in their past, it raises my ire and sympathy for them, because I know how hypocritical are those people casting judgment.

I may not know what it is you harbor inside yourself that you hope nobody else ever knows, but I know you have it, and I know you would hate for other people to judge you for it.  That I know that about you, dear reader, is what allows me to reveal personal things about myself, such as my teenage racism.

Our worst moments haunt us

I recently wrote about Ted Haggard, who over years was taking drugs and having gay sex while he railed against homosexuality.  Even now, he won’t admit his philosophy is flawed, but that he is flawed.  Neither he, nor his former congregation at New Life Church, which he founded, will deal with the reality of his situation and what it says about how their attitudes treat gay people.  If you watched Haggard’s media blitz this week, you will see a man who victimized others and himself, and has shown next-to-no personal growth from his abhorrent behavior.

This example contrasts with a reader who called me after reading Sally’s story on my blog.   He related to Sally’s time on the streets as he had been a homeless teen himself years ago.  When I asked him how he survived that time, he danced around the question and then changed the subject.  I didn’t push.  Last night I received a message from him:

I was pretty vague with you and skirted the issue because I had to do a lot of pretty shitty things in order to survive on the streets and to this day I am ashamed and embarrassed by it.  I believed for the longest time that God punished me because, like Sally, I contracted cancer in my 50s.  I know better, because the God I believe in is an all forgiving God, but there are times when I go to that dark place, and still believe that I  am punished for how I lived as a teenager on the streets.

This reader lives in San Francisco, and I have never met him outside of phone calls and e-mails (he doesn’t comment on the blog), but I can tell you one thing:  he is no Ted Haggard.  He is an amazing individual, who I know has inspired many people out in San Francisco with his life story, and for that he will always live on in the hearts of those who know him for who he really is.

What we do or do not do when we are trying to survive in impossible situations is not what defines us; those are the moment that show us our humanity.  Many people are never confronted with as few options for survival, and what he proved is that he is a survivor.  And he will do what it takes.  He did what any of us would at least consider doing in his situation.

If you fear and worry about your unfinest moment, know that life throws all of us curve balls at which we swing our bats the best we know how; sometimes, on reflection, our best could have been better.  That’s life.  And if you can honestly say that you don’t have those moments in your life, then you’re missing out on what life is all about.  Even Mother Theresa felt like a fraud.

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