"Once, Twice, Three Times a Faggot"

I never went to the prom.

I never went to the homecoming dance.

I never went to any school dances for the most part.

Save for one dance in high school that was organized by the teachers, I never went to any.

Honestly, even though I was invited, I never felt welcome.

That dance I thought would be fun. Especially since the teachers had put it on I thought I might feel more ok being there since it seemed like there would be more support.

But it was horrible. While I was invited and while I went and while I even danced, briefly, I was uncomfortable. And I was laughed at. For dancing. For thinking it was ok to be there.

And while there were those who tried to make me feel comfortable and wanted me there and stood up for me when I was picked on, the reality was that I still felt like I shouldn’t be there.

Election day 2008 feels like that dance for me.

Everyone is partying. Everyone is celebrating. I’ve been invited, welcomed, and supported. And yet, I feel like I’ve been kicked to the sidelines, watching everyone else party, while being separated and shown the door.

While I was campaigning during election day, I was called a ‘faggot.’ Not once, not twice, but three times. By differing guys in different trucks as they drove down the road past me in San Francisco. In San Francisco.

At the time, it just sort of seemed par for the course of the day. But now, upon reflection, I can’t help but feel like no matter how much we advance in our rights in general and no matter how much strength we think we might have in a city or a community, we are still easy targets. With the numerous fellow Americans voting to deny my equality in California and around the country in other state propositions this year and over the last many decades, it just seems that no matter where we go or how far we climb, they’re still laughing at us for even considering dancing at the party.

So here we are with the biggest celebration in decades. An historic win for the presidency and our friends throughout the country. And everyone is partying and dancing. Save for me.

Oh yes, I’m heartened that I’ve been invited and all my friends are telling me I’m welcome and supported. And I’m heartened that so many supporters were out there working for my right to be there. And I’m happy that everyone has their happiness and are enjoying dancing.

But I feel like I’m sitting on one of the chairs against the wall of a highschool gymnasium while the rest of my fellow students enjoy the party, kept separate again.

And so even though I’m here at the party, I just can’t dance today.