AN OPEN LETTER TO MYSELF

31 October 2013

Dear Me,

There are some things I really want you to know.  Having spent more than forty years together, I find myself uniquely qualified to speak to you and give voice to what is going on inside your head.  Please read this with love, as that is my intention.  I write not to criticize you, but to point out what you, in your heart, already know.

You don’t always feel like it, but you are always in control.  You’re in control of your emotions, your fears, your hopes, and your dreams.  You can allow yourself to rise above your fears or be held captive by them.  You’re not a victim of your past, unless that is what you allow.  Certainly, there are days when you feel defeated.  I see that.  I feel that.  I know that.  You feel as though you have let so much of your life slip away.  You think, “Ok, here I am at 40 and what to I have to show for it?”  I’ll tell you what you have to show for it:  You have the richness of a network of friends who love you in spite of yourself.  You have a college degree—and while music is important to you and provides you much enjoyment and supplements your income—it’s not the degree that is important.  It is the dedication you put in (whether minimal or not) to achieve your degree; it is the people you met along the way who helped you discover “you”; it is the determination that you were going to finish the degree—it was never a question that you would achieve a bachelor’s degree.  Sometimes you are too incredibly hard on yourself.  You've already achieved more than many people, simply by not dropping out of college.  Cut yourself some slack.

You want to go back to school, but you are afraid.  You're afraid of the test to get in, you're afraid of the cost, you're afraid of the investment of time.  And, those are all valid concerns.  But, why should you allow those fears to paralyze you?  What if your dream is just out there...slightly beyond reach, and you go to capture it?  What if you catch it?  How long are you going to make excuses to yourself? Do you want to regret the things you never even tried when your time to transition out of this life comes, or do you want to be proud of the things you attempted? 

Who are you, and what do you really want? If you want to write, you should write.  If you want to be a concert pianist, you should become a concert pianist.  If you want to marry your love for any of the arts into a career to change lives, go ahead, quell the fears and become a teacher. The sky is the limit, baby.   If you can set that intention, you can and will go places.   This is true in every single aspect of your life—your career, your hobbies, friendships, relationships, and even your spiritual practices.  

Sometimes, often even, it can be overwhelming.  And you know what?  That’s ok.   You just pause, take a deep breath, and carry on.   Find a friend if you need to talk.  You have a support system.  You’re going to make it, kiddo.   Never underestimate yourself and always speak positive words over your life.  It’s the only option. 

Here’s my confession:  THIS was a difficult letter to write.  It was so difficult to write, that I have started to write it no less than five times over the last week alone…and have had it in my head for over a month, but the words were not ready to be born yet.   Tonight, they came to life in a very real and powerful way.   I must learn to get out of my own way so that I can become whatever it is that I want to be.  I need to learn to be more forgiving of myself, yet never tire of propelling myself onward.  Even on the days I feel I have nothing to offer, it seems that I am a messenger of something to someone.   Where will the future lead me?  I don’t know. But I know that I have to make a concerted effort to stay focused, positive and use my resources to the best of my abilities.   

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE STRANGER AT THE GYM

                                25 October 2013

Dear Stranger at the Gym,

I was doing my cardio Tuesday night on the elliptical machine overlooking the entrance to the gym and the pro shop.   It’s a great place to both work out and people watch. I saw you checking out the racks of the pro shop, looking at the shirts.   You didn’t necessarily strike me as being attractive, although you have clearly been working out and had substantially defined muscles.  If I’m being honest, I thought you are probably just another gym rat as you looked at the muscle shirts, probably looking for a new shirt to show off your ripped muscles.   Then you started to make your way out of the area where the pro shop is located and into the gym.

And then I saw it.  I saw your leg. I saw your prosthetic leg from your foot to your knee.   And, I was humbled. I was touched. I was challenged.  I was convicted. I was inspired.  My immediate thought was “If he can come to the gym, work out, get the body he has and he has a prosthetic, what in the HELL is my excuse?”   I don’t know your story.  I don’t know if you lost your leg in an accident, in the service of our country or any of an array of other reasons.  I don’t mean to belittle the cause, but honestly, it doesn’t even matter.  If you lost your leg serving our country, please accept my gratitude for all the freedoms I too easily and far too often take for granted. What is important to me is that you, at that moment showed up.   You taught me a necessary lesson, just by being there.

I’ll probably never know your name.   I don’t have any idea if our paths will ever cross again.   But I want to thank you.   I want to thank you for showing up in spite of your “disability” and showing people like me that it’s not an excuse to be lazy.  You could have just as easily been sitting at home on your sofa watching Wheel of Fortune or playing video games.   But, no, you make the conscious decision to be active, to live a healthy lifestyle, to work out, to build your muscles—for whatever reason—be it health or pure vanity.   Whatever your reason, your being at the gym on Tuesday night touched me.   You see, all too often, I look for excuses like being too tired or I’m just damn lazy.   But your presence, that day, I hope, will continue to remind me on days I’d rather be lazy, not to skip the gym on days I have scheduled to go.  

Here’s my confession:   I am, for the most part, a very healthy person, and, aside from a touch of depression and anxiety, there’s nothing wrong with me.   I am able to get out of bed every morning and be mobile and active.   I can do most anything I set my mind to do.  Yet, like my freedoms, I all too often take my mobility and healthy body for granted.   Seeing someone who has a true disability demonstrating that they have risen above their stumbling block inspires me.   Over the last year or so I have been practicing yoga.   Some days the yoga practice is easier than others, some days the body will respond better to some poses than others.   However, at the end of the practice, the instructor of the class will always say “be grateful for your healthy bodies which allow you to do this practice.” That phrase has always stuck with me, because I know how incredibly blessed I am.  My life, my mobility could turn on a dime.   To the gentleman, the stranger, who taught me this lesson so visibly Tuesday night at the gym, I say “thank you”.  I hope  that I can remember this lesson any time I am tempted to take my health, my body, or even my freedom for granted.  

AN OPEN LETTER FOR PARENTS, FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES OF A GAY PERSON

10 October 2013

Dear Friend or Family Member of a Gay Person,

While I am generally not one to try to bring attention to my sexual orientation, tomorrow is “National Coming Out Day”.   If you are reading this, you likely know me or know someone who knows me. So, let me go ahead and get this out of the way.  I am gay. 

When I began planning this “Open Letters” project a few weeks ago, I knew I would want to include a letter about sexual orientation.  It just so happens that National Coming Out Day coincided with the timing of my series.  And so, I thought “What can I write that might make a difference?”   And then it came to me.  Write a letter about what a gay person would want a friend, family member, co-worker, etc., would want you to know. I hope you will find this educational.  Please read this with an open heart and mind.  Try to banish your age-old, pre-conceived ideas and be open to new ideas, be ready for a challenge to your belief system, and learn what true unconditional love is all about.

1.      THERE ISN’T A CHOICE: This is been a hot-button item for as long as I can recall.  Why are people gay? I can only speak to this from personal experience.  Never did I ever wake up and think “Well, I think I’ll just be gay.”   It doesn’t work like that.   I knew I was gay long before I had a word for it. I generally pinpoint my knowledge around age eight.   I knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that I was attracted to the boys in my class and not the girls (and trust me, there were some really pretty girls!).   It wasn’t a choice. It’s just something that simply was.   As I went through life, those feelings became stronger.   I didn’t date in high school and only a time or two in college.  I have never been sexually active with a female. I’ve just never seen the point or need.  By that point, I had a name for what I was experiencing; I knew I was gay, although I didn’t yet have the courage to come out.

2.    WE ARE NOT “AS SEEN ON TV”: I think one of the biggest injustices to gay people is how we are portrayed in the media and on film. We aren’t all marching scantily clad in a PRIDE parade.  We don’t all dress in drag.  Not all of us are overtly effeminate. Not all of us have an impeccable sense of style and fashion.  We come in all shapes, sizes and varieties just like our heterosexual counterparts.   You might be surprised to find that your mechanic or plumber is gay, just as you may be surprised to find that your florist or hair stylist is heterosexual.   With that said, yes, there are some who fit or play into the stereotypes of the effeminate male.  However, it has been my experience that by and large most of us try to avoid being stereotypical.

3.      COMING OUT IS AN ACT OF LOVE:  When your loved one comes to you and has that much-dreaded conversation, they are coming to you because they love you, they respect you and they have wrestled with their “secret” so long that they can no longer live a lie anymore. Coming out is an act of love.   Granted, most want and expect your immediate love and assurance that you still love them, but they are prepared for the worst.   They are afraid that if they are financially dependent on you, that you’ll immediately throw them out and withdraw any financial support. If we are being realistic, we realize that we have wrestled with our sexual orientation for many years and are fairly secure when we come out.   The mistake we make is expecting our loved ones to accept it on the spot without allowing it to soak in first.   Some of us are fortunate to have families who provide acceptance from the moment they find out.  Some, however, never do.  The last thing a hurting person wants to hear at the moment of their coming out is “You weren’t raised like this”, “You’re going to Hell” or “Let’s not ever talk about this again”…or things along those lines.   Too often, our worst nightmare is confirmed:  “Unconditional Love” does, indeed, have conditions.  Word of caution:  You may have suspected your loved one is gay long before they are comfortable enough to tell you.   However, there may be cases where this news completely catches some people completely off guard.  Be prepared.  This news is likely to absolutely shock you to your core, and if you will listen—REALLY listen—banishing all your preconceived ideas, your religious dogmas and allow the hardness of your heart to soften,  you’ll be doing yourself and your loved one the greatest favor in the world, because together, you will experience freedom.   Also be cautioned that sometimes your gay child chooses not to come out to you because they don’t want you to bear the disappointment they think it will cause you.  They go to their grave or allow you to go to yours, never having opened up a dialogue, cheating both of you out of what is most often the most important part of their lives.   That, to me, is tragic.  I have friends in their late 30s and 40s who have never had that discussion with their families.  What they do is live a life of hiding and hoping that they never bump into you in a social situation.  Is that really fair to anyone?

4.       AVOID GENDER STEREOTYPES:  Many parents feel that if they raise their son to play sports, make sure there are no traditionally girly things or colors around, they are on the path to assuring a heterosexual son.  You want to know the truth?   Those rough-and-tumble boys you are raising can still be gay!  Allowing your son to do things that are artistic-visual or performing arts, is no more likely to make your child gay than making sure they are involved in every sport known to man is to assure their heterosexuality.   There are gay athletes just as there are heterosexual musicians, dancers and artists.    The notion that dressing your child in pink is going to make him gay is ludicrous.  If you don’t believe me, say it out loud and listen to how ridiculous it sounds:  “Dressing my son in pink will make him gay.”

5.       WE DON’T WANT SPECIAL TREATMENT:  Gay Marriage, Employment Non-Discrimination,  Adoption Rights…they are on every news website and television network every day, everywhere you turn.  It gets old, I know.   Even as an openly gay man, it gets old. “We’re Right!  You’re Wrong! End of story.” we hear from both sides of the issue.   Old traditions die a slow death.  Who wants to buck the status quo?  So, it seems that all these gays just want special treatment, special rights.  Do you really think that is the case?   Think again! All the gays really want is the same rights you already have.   They want to know that they can marry (and divorce) just like you.  They want to know that they can go to work and not be terminated simply because of their sexual orientation.   They want to be able to provide loving, nurturing homes to children who would otherwise be a part of “the system”.   It boils down to equality.   It boils down to love.   What’s so wrong with that?

Here’s my confession:  I understand that there are parts of the country where gay people have it much easier, based on community tradition. A person from a more rural community is likely to have a more difficult time than a person from a more metropolitan area.   The truth is that we are living in a different time and in a climate of change.   Don’t be afraid to educate yourself.  Don’t be afraid to love. Don’t regret turning away someone just because they are different from you.   I can assure you, without any hesitation, that gay people are in every single community, every profession, and every religious denomination.  You may not even know it.   They bring you the news, they provide the music you love, they work on your car, they educate your children, they work in the factory that produces the food you’ll put on your table tonight.   They are your children, grandchildren, family, and friends. What does that person want from you? Love.  That’s it.   Love.   

Please know that when someone comes out to you, they are stepping out on tremendous faith.  You, as a parent, sibling, or friend may be thinking "What will the rest of the family think?"  "Oh, this will be such a shame for the family." I propose to you that your loved one living a lie and not being allowed to be their authetic self is the real shame. What others think about you is really none of your business.  Caring for a loved one, at a time when they need the most support and love they have ever needed, that should be your priority--not what your friends, neighbors, your social club, church or community is going to think.

I'm not speaking this from some Pollyanna-esque vantage point.  I speak from my personal experience.  I lost a relationship with a close aunt when I came out, and severely damaged my relationship with my grandmother, until she eventually asked forgiveness shortly before she died. While I lost relationships along the way, I knew I was being true to myself, which was a promise I had always made myself. At the end of the day, that's what is most important.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is summed up in four verses from the Holy Scriptures:  “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. ‘All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”-Matthew 22:36-50 (NIV)

Think about that.

Respectively,

rkt

AN OPEN LETTER TO BULLIES

9 October 2013

Dear Bullies,

Today is Anti-Bullying Awareness Day.   I’d like to take this opportunity to let you know that I am alive and well.   Oh, you may have bullied me in elementary school, junior high, high school, college or at any other point in my 40 years of living.   You won a few battles, but you didn’t win the war.

Maybe I was an easy target.   I was rather quiet, shy, and a bit of a loner.  Maybe I was not masculine enough by your standards.  Maybe I was too honest about parts of my life.   Maybe you picked on me because I lacked athletic abilities or because I was involved with music.   Maybe you picked on me because you honestly didn’t like something about yourself and needed somewhere, someone on whom to direct your misguided anger. Whatever the reason, I want to thank you because while you silently broke my spirit, deep inside, you made me stronger. 

Maybe you were that jock (I use the term loosely) in high school who pulled down your shorts and exposed yourself in the window while I sat in the school office typing a research paper when I was a Junior.   Maybe you were that kid in sixth grade who pushed me so hard I fell out of a swing and lost my breath for a few minutes.  Maybe you were the athletes behind me in Geography in 10th grade who thought it would be cute to blow on my ears and utter demeaning things about my (still publicly undisclosed at the time) sexuality. Maybe you were on the college track team and got your kicks by leaving harassing messages on my answering machine.    Maybe you were one of many who tried to break me with your words in junior high who made me hate being at school so much that I begged to transfer to another school for high school, which, thankfully, after my freshman year, I was able to do. While that didn’t prove to be a cure-all, it certainly gave me a new start, and other than the few isolated incidences mentioned above, I was treated with respect.

Maybe you were a teacher or friend who saw what was happening.  If you did, Thank You. But, maybe you didn’t.  It’s ok. Don’t beat yourself up over it.   When I was in the Seventh grade, my gym teacher sheltered me from the harassment and embarrassment of Junior High Gym class—and tried to include me in football and basketball, but ultimately put me on duty to just clean the locker room during gym class.  Why did he do it?  I’ll never know, but wherever you are, Mr. Johnson, thank you. Maybe you were a friend in college who comforted me.   Thank you.   Maybe you are an adult now and we grew up together but weren’t close then.  I’m amazed at how incredible the kids I thought I had nothing in common with “back then” are now some of the most amazing people I know today.  Some of you are now teachers yourself.  (Thank you Heather).  I hope that my stories have helped you see what happens in some child’s life every single day.    I hope that you will do everything in your power to help that child know he or she is loved.  It really is, in many cases, a difference between life and death.

Here’s my confession:  The broken, friendless, marginalized of our society.   The nerd, the quiet kid, the gay (actually or perceived).  The black, the white, the rich, the poor.  NONE of us is immune from a bully’s terror.  We think of bulling being something that only happens to kids. It doesn’t. It can happen to anyone at any point in life.  Bullying doesn’t just involve physical actions, but oftentimes words cut much more deeply and break the spirit.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic here, but, yes, there were times in my life when I was the victim of a bully’s actions.  I’m one of the lucky ones, I suppose.   I was strong enough to rise above the hurt.   Today, I’m a 40 year old.  I don’t flaunt my sexual orientation, but I sure as hell don’t go out of my way to hide it.  I found that when I surrendered to the person I was created to be, and learned to love myself, that is when I found freedom.

If you are an adult and you have the awesome responsibility of caring for children in any capacity, please watch them.  Listen to them. If you can’t help them, find someone who can. Today is probably a more frightening time to be a child—because oftentimes bullying can occur in a text message or in social media. Be aware.  I never recall going home and saying “Oh, guess what, I was picked on today at school.”  And your kid is likely in the same boat.  It’s often what your kids are most afraid to tell you that holds them captive. 

If you are an adult and you know that you bullied someone--or think that maybe you did--try to find that person today and make an apology. You might change a person's life no matter how long ago your transgression occurred.

Don’t allow the lie that “Kids will be kids” to go on one day longer. Teach respect. Live respect. Demand respect.  Someone’s life depends on it.

Respectfully  Yours,
rkt

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY PARENTS

8 October 2013

Dear Mom and Dad,

Forty-Two years ago today you stood together and exchanged your wedding vows.   A little less than two years later, I came along.  All these years later, through good times and bad, sickness and health, bumps in the road and bliss, you are still together. And, I commend you for your dedication.

 

I am thankful that I had safe home and that I was provided with all the basic necessities-food, shelter and clothing.   I suppose, looking back, I wanted for very little.  I think I was a good kid.  I never got in any trouble at school and was mostly well-behaved at home.  As a student, I was average at best. School was always a bit of a struggle for me, but I always enjoyed school.  I respected my teachers.  These were values which were instilled in me for as long as I can remember.  “Respect your elders”.  And I did. 

As I get older, my childhood becomes a bit of a hazy blur as I attempt to recall certain aspects.   I recall playing in the dirt, playing with toy cars and trucks. Maybe I wasn’t all “boy”, but I was as much as I possibly could be.   I recall being outside a lot.  As an only child, I recall playing a lot by myself, and, for the most part, I don’t regret that.   I had a vivid imagination, I spent time "playing school", and looking back, if I was lonely, I was blissfully unaware.  

 

Perhaps I’ll never know when you began to notice that your little boy was “different”, and by different, I mean, when you knew I am gay.   Was it early on?  Looking back, I recall knowing as early as eight or nine years old that I was different, but didn’t have a name for it.   I can’t really fault you, if you didn’t know—it was, after all, the 1980s and who knew what to do with a gay child at that time?  Maybe you didn’t realize until I was a teenager, or maybe it was while I was in college.   That, I’ll probably never know.   Maybe you saw me struggle, or maybe I was good at keeping that struggle hidden.  

Did I have a normal childhood? Sure, it seemed normal to me.  How could I know any differently?   Did I have spend-the-night parties?  No.   My spend-the-night parties were with grandparents, and that was fine by me.  While my childhood seemed normal to me, I know that I was far from a “normal” little boy.  I wasn’t into sports, or action figures or anything like that.  

 

I remember taking swimming lessons one summer when I was maybe seven, even though I didn’t do very well at them. All I really wanted was piano lessons.   The answer was always a “no”.  That is, until I was 15, and it probably wouldn’t have happened had not my grandmother stepped in and made sure it happened. I suppose telling her “no” would have been a moot point.   I can’t say I blamed you all those years for saying no.  I mean, had I really excelled at anything in my life?  Why throw away money for piano lessons? However, I did excel.  In fact, piano is probably the only thing that got me through high school. It was my “thing”.   I could play for church, I could play for the school chorus.   And I did. And, still, today, I play.

 

Here’s my confession: Maybe my life wasn’t perfect.  Maybe I wasn’t the perfect kid.   There’s a line from a song that says “And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness for the things I’ve done you blame me for.   But then again, I guess there’s blame to share, and none of it seems to matter anymore.” And maybe that’s the case.   Our relationship has been estranged for many years.   It’s a fathomless, prideful, terrifying place to be, not having the words, not possessing the courage to reach beyond the yesterdays to even see the tomorrows, to embrace that which needs to be embraced.  Perhaps one day it will all come together.  Perhaps one day I’ll understand why I have felt the way I feel.

 

You provided me with life, education and values.   I’ve known acceptance at the lowest moments.   And yet, I have a wall around myself.  It is a wall built of pride, of fear and frustration.  Some days are more freeing than others. Perhaps you can relate.  While I have such a difficult time articulating, I hope you know that you are always on my mind, and in my heart I am grateful for the wonderful blessings of this life you have provided. 

Happy Anniversary.   

Love,

Your Son

AN OPEN LETTER TO SOMETHING I ENJOY: YOGA

3 October 2013

Dear Yoga,

A little over a year ago I was introduced to you by a now former friend.  Oh, I had seen you around for a long time.  I had even tried you out a couple of other times, but something, this time, stuck.   I found myself really enjoying the difference you and I were making together.   Maybe it was the help of my incredible yoga instructor, Sam; maybe it was just that the time was finally right for me to begin a practice.  Maybe it was a little bit of all of the above.

Before last year, I had a working knowledge of “Downward Facing Dog” and was familiar with terms such as “Mountain” and “Tree”, but beyond that, I was a clean slate. I had no idea what a Drishti is.  Now I know that it is a focal point.  I had no idea what Bandhas.  Now I know that they are energy locks.   Now I’m familiar with a wide range of terminology and can do some positions that I could never have imagined.

Yoga, there are people who have misconceptions about you.   They think that you are some sort of spiritual practice which is incongruent with Christianity.   That’s simply not true.  While you are a spiritual practice, and certainly the spirit is enhanced by practice of yoga, religion is not the focus. Yoga, I’ve found is incredibly physical, but not overly demanding.  We listen to our bodies and just take ourselves to the edge of discomfort.  Yoga is not about contorting the body into freak-show quality positions; however, some people do attain the ability to move into incredibly difficult positions.   Yoga is about surrender. It’s about forgetting all the struggles of the day for a period of time.   Yoga is about breathing and moving in synchronization. Yoga is about life.    

Here’s my confession:    After almost a year of yoga (give or take, and there have been weeks I haven’t gone to class), but when I am dedicated to the practice, I see nothing but positive changes in how I feel about myself, how far I have progressed, and, indeed, how far I have left to go.   I think the beauty of yoga is that there is no end the progress.   While I don’t ever expect to be limber enough to twist myself into the shape of a pretzel, I won’t discount the possibility.   For the only limits I truly have are the limits I place on myself.   I am a yogi.  It has been said that you can’t leave a yoga class unhappy.  I have to attest to the fact that it’s true.  Yoga is for every single person—regardless of physical limitations, athletic ability or any of a myriad of “excuses”.   You practice at your own level. It is the most challenging physical activity I have ever done, but I always feel a sense of accomplishment when I am finished.   Yoga, thank you for the things you teach me. 

Namaste! 
rkt

AN OPEN LETTER TO SOMEONE FROM MY CHILDHOOD: MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER

2 October 2013

Dear Great Grandma,

As the signs of fall begin to appear, so does a resurge in my memories of you.   As the temperatures began to cool, we would talk long walks in the woods behind the “old home place.”  It was quite the adventure to me, as I always imagined that there were old, undiscovered Indian burial grounds there, I would imagine a whole world that may or may not have ever existed.  I just knew we were going to discover something we never had, but we never did.  I guess it was just old woods.  When I was a child, you and I spent countless hours with one another. I have often thought, looking back, that we were put together to babysit one another.  And, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have wanted to have it any other way.  We spent so much time together in those early years of my life throughout the 1980s.  What an incredible pair we were.  I’ll always cherish the family history and gossip you shared with me.  You shared family “secrets” with me that I am most certain will go to my grave with me.  I’m not so sure that you ever treated me as a child.  I think you treated me as a little adult.  Perhaps that is why people always commented to me as a teenager that I was mature for my age. Most of my childhood was spent with elderly grandparents rather than children my own age.

In the early part of the 1980s you lived with my grandparents in McMinn County before, in 1984, you moved back to Pine Orchard in Morgan County.   Oh, the times we spent together!  I still remember brushing your hair, having you baby-sit my stuffed animals, and, well, I think you got a kick out of my playing dress up all day.   I’ve always wondered if you knew that I am gay, or if you were so simple that the thought never crossed your mind.  Maybe it was a different day and time.   But, maybe, I think you knew.  I think, that, even though you were a woman of strong religious conviction, maybe you didn’t judge.  Maybe you just loved me for me.  The truth is, I’ll never know. Yet, if you were here today, that’s the one question I would want to ask you more than anything else.

I personally feel very blessed that I was able to know you, my great grandmother. For a great grandmother, you were fairly young when I was born.  You had just turned 63, so we had many incredible years together. We had experiences that were ours and ours alone.   I enjoyed helping you clean house for Christmas, watching holiday programming, and even our oft-failed attempts to have a New Years Eve Party…as we would both fall asleep long before the ball would drop on television in Times Square. 

You left this world in the early morning hours of Friday, December 3, 1999 while sleeping.  My last time to see you was at your funeral the next evening, lying peacefully at rest in your casket.  Your red hair had grayed over the years. After your 89 years living among us, your journey here was complete, just a few weeks shy of seeing the new millennium arrive. Yours was not a perfect life. You had no formal education—in fact, I’m not even sure you had an education beyond the 7^th or 8^th grade. What you lacked in formal education, you made up for in an inner wisdom.   You were active—you loved working in the vegetable and flower gardens, which in the summer is most often where I would find you when I would awaken. I often think of you especially on Sunday afternoons, thinking how great it would be to taste some of your good home cooking again.

Here’s my Confession: I don’t really recall the last time I saw you alive in person.  It may have been the summer of 1996.  I never saw you after you moved off to the nursing home.  Yet, after I moved to Birmingham, you and I did exchange a couple of letters.  In those letters, I believe that somehow, you thought other family members and I were with you, in person, although I knew clearly that neither I nor the ones you thought had been there really were. Somehow, maybe selfishly, it brought me solace to know you thought I was visiting you, even if only in your mind.   I know that you loved me with your entire being. We were, as best we could be, one another’s confidants.    I believe you knew me deeply with an unconditional love.  I believe that you turned a blind eye to the things about me which you didn’t fully understand.   I also believe that somewhere out there, you’re still with me in spirit, and I hope that the live I live today is one that makes you smile when you look down.

Love,
rkt

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY BEST FRIEND

1 October 2013

Dear Lee,

You are my best friend, and even though we have miles between us, I know if I had a need, you would drop everything to come to my side.  It's always been that way, since the very beginning.  You were just a freshman in college when we met.  I was already a junior, but we hit it off instantly.  We were, somehow on one another's level.  You were one of the first people I had that "coming out" talk with.  You never seemed to let it faze you one iota.  You never tried to change me, you just listened. You wiped tears. You stood strong.  Being my friend may have not been easy.  I know the rumors went around.  But you never let it come between our friendship.  Every single day, you were there, supporting me, helping me with homework, just being there.  You know I never had any siblings.  Even if I had siblings, I can't imagine the bond would be as strong as what we have shared for over 19 years. 

Oh the memories I have of you!  The spring break trip we took to D.C. in '95--and you were afraid to say "Yeah, I have no idea where I parked your car." We obviously found it.  Somehow.  There were the trips we took to see Southern Gospel shows, the spontaneous trip we took one Saturday to Asheville, NC, and the horrible visits I had to your hometown-every single time seemed a little more tragic than the last.  How many Waffle Houses have we explored? How much money did we spend at Wendy's in that sleepy college town? How many UNO games have we played? Oh,and let's not forget that TRUTH and Ronnie Milsap have given us some of the best music on the planet.

I will never forget the night I looked at you in January, 1996, after a particularly stressful time in my life, having received a harassing phone call on our answering machine, and I said "I have to be honest and tell my parents that I'm gay.  I can't live like this anymore." As always, you were my biggest supporter.  And, when just a few weeks later, I went home to give my parents the news, you were the first person I called afterwards.  Then, as with many of the other difficult moments in life, you've been there.  When the news of my grandmother's death came, you and Jane were living here in Birmingham.  I was so numb.  I know I didn't cry, but you knew my heart was broken.  Thank you for being there. 

Not only sad moments, but you've been part of happy moments, too.  We graduated together, you begrudgingly attended my confirmation when I became Catholic.  I was honored to stand beside you on the day you married Jane and was just as honored when you stood beside me as Parker and I made our (short-lived) commitment to one another.  Perhaps the height of happiness was having you here in Birmingham this summer as I celebrated my 40th birthday. 

I always thought that it was I who was most changed by our friendship.  What I never realized until a few years later, until I read a blog you wrote many years ago, is that you changed, too.  Watching your best friend come to terms with his sexual orientation, the struggles with God, changed you.  Those events challenged you to the core.  While my faith would grow stronger, yours is the one that went the other direction.  We were, it seems, seekers on a journey.  The only thing that was certain by the time we left our Southern Baptist college is that while we both went in as strong Southern Baptists, we would graduate questioning that faith tradition.  I had already moved on to my transitional home in the United Methodist Church, and you were still on your journey. 

Here's my confession:  I couldn't have ordered a better friend, brother or confidant had I been given a catalog.  You have, since day number one, never waivered in your dedication and friendship.  I can only hope I've been as great a friend to you.  And, well, even though I didn't expect you and Jane to last more than a couple of weeks...you've had a relationship now of 18 years, 13 of which have been in marriage.  Thanks for giving me a "best-friend in law" and "nieces" and a "nephew" I'd have never had.  And, as I close, I quote from the musical "Wicked"..."who can say if I've been changed for the better, but, because I knew you, I have been changed For Good."  Thank you, my brother, my friend.  Though it is often just a thing that is understood and not verbalized: I love you. 

Love,

rkt

AN OPEN LETTER TO MYSELF AS A CHILD

                                                                                                      30 September 2013

Dear Second Grade Me,

So, it’s the fall of 1981 and here you are in Miss Cole’s second grade class.   It hasn’t really sunk in to you yet that you are repeating the second grade.   Lots of things you are experiencing now don’t make sense to you yet.  What I’m about to tell you will become clear to you as you grow up, although, I’m going to be honest with you, some of the things may not really become clear to you for many years.   However, trust me, while there are things right now that you can’t even begin to understand, in a few years, you will.  

You don’t really have a name for it right now, but you know how you don’t really like girls but you like the boys? It’s because you are gay.  That means you are a boy who likes boys. As you grow up, some people will want to use this against you to bully you, to make fun of you, and to make you feel like you are a bad person, undeserving of the same rights and freedoms as everyone else.  You just stay strong.   It’s going to be ok.   Sure, you’ll endure some name calling, but there will always be people on your side.   Some of those people who are mean to you today don’t know any better.  One day they will understand, and not only will they respect you; they will become some of your biggest fans.  You see, in your lifetime, you’re going to see what are called “openly gay” people on television, in movies…even in your daily life.   You will be an agent of change just by showing those around you that you are proud of yourself.  Oh, it won’t be an easy road.  Actually, it’s going to be quite a scary place at times.  You’ll cry.   You’ll laugh.  You’ll want to give up.   But you won’t.  You’ll keep going, because you’re going to have friends who support you every step of the way.

Speaking of friends, I know how you often feel very lonely right now, even if it is something you don’t recognize.   The truth is you don’t even know right now that the people in your class have sleepovers and have birthday parties on the weekends to which you aren’t ever invited. You’re blissfully unaware.  You’ll have some very close friends one day, but don’t worry—it won’t happen until you are in college and even well into adulthood, but it WILL happen.

One day, you’ll wake up and realize that while life isn’t perfect, that you really do have everything you need.   Here’s a sneak peak of your life by the time you get to 40.   You’ll not only learn music, after high school you’ll go on to earn a Bachelor of Arts in Voice, so when your parents keep telling you “no” every time you ask for piano lessons, it’s ok, because one day you will grow up and share the gift of music with others. Don’t worry about being the last kid chosen to play games at recess.   Sports isn’t your thing, anyway.  There are a few things you will regret as you get older—you’ll wish you had learned to read more and that you had been encouraged to read for pleasure.  Something you’re going to find really cool when you get older is that “Miss Cole” will become someone you respect a lot, even going so far as to call her a friend. You, after all, were part of her first class.  Oh, and that thing about repeating the second grade?  You’ll come consider that one of the greatest things your parents EVER did for you. Many years from now, you’ll reconnect with her on a place called “facebook”—I won’t spoil the surprise for the future, but facebook is something of which almost everyone is a part.     One more thing…next year, in 1982, The World’s Fair will be in Knoxville.   You’ll have the chance to go a few times.   Be sure to soak up every little moment that you can.  It will be something really neat to say you were a part of when you get older. 

Here’s my confession:  In some ways, I think it would have been nice to have a letter from the future telling us how things would turn out.   Yet, at the same time, I have to confess, I like the adventure of not knowing everything.  Isn’t it the blind experiences of life that help create who we are?  What I have learned in my 40 years on earth is that in the grand scheme of things, that life is pretty good.   Everything that happens is for a reason, and usually builds on other events.  Rainbows are one of the most beautiful visions known to humans—however, in order for a rainbow to appear, we have to endure a little bit of rain.  So it is with life.   Storms come, we get battered then the rainbow appears.   So it has been with my life. 

Love,
me

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY CAT

                                                                                                       29 September 2013

Dear Monkey,

Our relationship began on February 14, 2004.   For nearly a decade you have been my feline companion.   We’ve no doubt been through a lot of things together.   We’ve moved three times together, you’ve been there as your other daddy and I decided it was best to part ways, you’ve been there as I’ve changed jobs and for many other events along the way.   And, now, as you are in your later years of life, I don’t know how much time we will have remaining.   There are some things I want you to know. 

While our time together has not always been a bed of roses, I am thankful that you have been a part of my life.   You have been notorious since almost day one for your “on purposes”…some people might call them accidents, but I don’t.   I know when you go outside your litter box you are doing it completely on purpose.   More often than not, I just want you to speak like a human and tell me what the hell is going on in that little brain of yours.   So, yes, Monkey, I’ve been frustrated at times.   But, on the whole, you have been so loving and so affectionate.   One of my fondest memories of you is the morning after we moved into our current dwelling.  Certainly, you were scared, and the next morning as I awoke, I found you curled up, in a ball, underneath the covers with me.   That always makes me smile.   There is also the time before Parker and I parted ways that he was trying to get you to use the fancy litter box that hooked up to the plumbing and you were having none of it, and you let him know by climbing on the bed, backing up, and leaving a steaming pile on him.   Well played, kitty, well played. 

You have a unique history about you, one of which I only know bits and pieces as given to me from the sweet lady in Columbus, GA, from whom Parker and I adopted you.   Before your brief stay with her, you lived in New York City, and were there, across the street in your home, across the street from the World Trade Center, when those horrific events of 9/11 unfolded.   If only you could talk, what stories you could possibly tell.    Your original humans were unable to keep you, so the sweet lady from Georgia adopted you, and then discovered that she could not give you the care you deserved.   That’s how Parker and I discovered you, though Parker’s sister’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, who worked with the lady who put you up for adoption.  

Here’s my confession:  I know I’ve not always been the best human companion, but know that when I wake up in the morning and you are there with your gentle love, it makes me happy.   I hope that you know of the love that I’ve attempted to give to you.   And now, as I look over at you, sleeping on the bed, your frail, emaciated body sleeping peacefully, I wonder what it will be like when you leave this world.  I don’t know if we have weeks or years left, but as we approach our tenth anniversary together next Valentine’s Day, I’m thankful for the love we’ve shared.   And, when that time comes that you must surrender to death, go, knowing that I’ve tried to take care of you as best I possibly can.  

Love,

Me

PURGATORY

Today’s topic:  What is one story you want to share?

Traditionally, Purgatory is defined as “a state after death according to Roman Catholic belief in which the souls of people who die are made pure through suffering before going to heaven: a place or state of suffering.”   Whether or not I believe the dogma of the Roman Catholic Church to me is a non-issue.   My definition of Purgatory is in a more personal sense, and something I feel I have experienced for about the last five years of my life.   Purgatory, for me, is about being in a state of limbo, a place of transition, being in a place from which I know I will one day emerge.   In a religious sense, Purgatory has been described in laymen’s terms as “Being at the door of Heaven, but having mud on your shoes and you have to get the mud off before you can go in.”  I like that analogy on both a spiritual and personal level.  I now present to you my journey through Purgatory. 

Five years ago, I was newly single after a relationship of just over five years had ended.  Parker and I had purchased a house in 2007, which we had no business purchasing, and, had I been stronger and had my wits about me, would have probably set my foot down and said no, but, hindsight, as it is said, is always 20/20.   By this point five years ago, I had begun developing a social life, exploring the city I had lived in for a decade and was, for the first time, finding my voice both literally as a member of my city’s newly-formed gay men’s chorus and figuratively, as I began my journey to independence. 

In late 2009 we decided that we would let the house go, so I found a small, affordable place to live.  Parker had already moved well over a year before.   This is where I believe, although unbeknownst to me at the time, my own personal journey through Purgatory begins.   Thanksgiving weekend 2009, I moved out of our home and worked to acclimate myself with my new life.  Three months later, an unexpected twist came my way—I lost my job of nearly 12 years.  Here I was, my savings account depleted, my source of income now vanished. “Is this some cruel joke from God or some blessing hidden in the rubble?” I thought.  As it turned out, maybe it was a little bit of both.  Somehow, the money that I had lasted me until a new job began for me in August of 2010—a long-term, full-time temporary job which would last for the next 21 months.   Prior to beginning that job, my attorney and I settled out of court with my previous employer on a buyout rather than a termination.  While a large percentage of the money went to attorney fees and taxes, the money came right on time.  That job turned out to be a great experience and I was hired in another department when our project ended.  With the permanent employment, however, oddly, came a reduction in pay, hours that were unfavorable and fatigue, restlessness and anxiety worse than I’d ever experienced.  It was during this period of time that I came to realize I was living in my own personal Purgatory.  

I remember thinking “Wow, look at all that has happened since 2008.  You’re here for a reason.  You’re living in a small house that isn’t really “home”, you’re working a job just to get you by, you’re tired beyond words, and there seems to be no end to this situation.   You are in Purgatory. “   And, with that thought, I realized that everything I’ve experienced has been for my greater good.   The key, I began to realize, is to learn what lessons are intended for me during this interim period.   Knowing that I’m in Purgatory, I can take solace in the fact that I will one day emerge from this period.   This is a time for me to work on finding a better job (which I did earlier this year), a time to work on eliminating debt (which I have a plan in place), and armed with a few supportive friends who are there for me, I began to look at this situation as much more bearable.

Here’s my confession: Purgatory is not exactly a happy place, but it has been a humbling place.   My “shoes” are still a little muddy, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.   I’ve reached the place where I can see a little more clearly where my life is headed and am able to dig out of the tunnel and patiently await the day when I emerge into my own personal Heaven.   What does that look like?  Where will it be?  That, I can’t say for certain, but what I can say is that it looks like a bright, beautiful place.   And, after this period of refining, purging and redefining myself, I’m going to be ready.  

WANTED: TWO THINGS

Several days have passed since I composed my last blog.  The topic of today's blog caused me to take several days to really contemplate the answer. The question? "What are two things you want?"  What follows is the result of several days of deeply questioning myself, pondering for an answer.

So, what two things do I want? 

I want Peace.   I don’t long for peace just on the surface, but deep, satisfying peace.  I long for financial peace, emotional/spiritual peace and personal peace.   Now, that may sound like a lofty want or something straight out of Hollywood.  Peace like that doesn’t exist in the world, does it?   I believe it does, and I believe that all three areas where I most long for peace are so inter-connected that by making small changes in each area will have dramatic outcomes on the whole. By freeing myself from the burden of debt, my spirit should be lighter, which transcends into my personal life and interactions with others. 

I want Love.   Love must start with me.  If I’m completely honest, there are times when I am somewhat self-loathing.  Until I surrender and fully love myself with all my flaws, I certainly can’t expect anyone else to love me.  Sometimes I don’t like the man in the mirror because the reflection is not the right weight, he says and does crazy things.   But, the truth is I do love the man in the mirror, and am working daily to learn to love him even more. That man in the mirror is me.  One day, maybe in the not too distant future, I’m going to be able to give a man my heart again.   And, when I do give my heart away again, with it will be a whole new me—a me that loves myself, a me that respects myself, and a me that can stand on his own like never before.  

Here’s my confession: In recent days, I’ve started feeling a little more peace and love in my life.   I see how far I’ve come, and I have an action plan in place to go farther.   I question myself often about peace and love.  I am accepting circumstances and learning to accept those that I can’t change, and actively seeking ways to change the ones that I can.   Sometimes, the answers come to us when we are least expecting them.   Sometimes they come in the way of the voice of a friend, and sometimes they even come to us in the silence.

My next blog will actually piggy-back off this one, as I tell a story of the paths I’ve traveled to where I am today, and where I hope to be in the tomorrows that are ahead.

THREE THINGS I MISS

Today’s topic: What are three things I miss?   I must admit this took a great deal of thought.

INNOCENCE: At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy-duddy, I miss the innocence of life. I miss more simplistic times.   I actually miss the world where television stations weren’t on 24 hours a day. I remember when television stations would sign off at night and back on the next morning.   I still can’t force myself to believe that there is a need for news 24 hours a day.  There is only so much that can be reported, and it doesn’t have to be updated every three minutes.   I miss a time when we didn’t have hour-long shows on television dedicated to dissecting court cases with raving Nancy Graces everywhere with their sensationalizing of cases, missing people and murders.  There was a simple innocence in a not-so-far-away world where we didn’t need that.  Don’t get me wrong, I love facebook, text messages and email and the connection they provide.  I even still enjoy watching the news, and I like to be able to get updates on breaking news online.   But, I miss the simple innocence and beauty of a handwritten letter, watching a simple 30 minute newscast by people to whom we all felt a connection.  

PEOPLE:  I miss the people who have all had a hand in molding me into the man I’ve become.  There are some people with whom I’ve just lost touch, which is ok because some people are only meant to be in our lives for a season, some have passed from this life, and some just simply live farther away. 

EMOTION: There are times when I want to just sit down and cry.  I believe it is healthy.  However, for whatever reason, I have not had a good cry in far longer than I can remember. I imagine that one day when the floodgates to my tears are opened, they may go for days.  Whoever came up with the philosophy that “real men don’t cry” was, and, I’ll put it bluntly, a damned liar.   I imagine there are men who lived lives much shorter than they should have because they were taught to not express their emotions.   A good cry is cleansing for the soul.  Yet, for me, my emotions are expressed in my writing until the day the dam breaks on my tears.

Here’s my confession:   As I prepared to write this blog, it really struck me as a surprisingly much harder topic than I had expected.   I didn’t want to be superficial in the topics I covered.   I wanted to be honest and heartfelt, as always.   What I miss most is the simplicity of life and the people as I was growing up.   I often try to think of things from the perspective of my parents or grandparents and wonder if when I was growing up in the 1980s was really a much easier time than it is now or if, because my only job then was to be a kid, that my perception is that life was easier then?  And so, I will leave you with these thoughts: Does the advent of technology make our lives easier or does it convolute our lives more? In being more connected to the world, are we actually less connected? Is knowledge really power, or is it possible to know too much about what is going on in our world?