Heroes

I was stomping into work yesterday...marching down the hill toward certain retail infamy. I was attempting to elevate my mood with a little Melissa Etheridge and curb my sense of accomplishment for having dragged my ass this far with a cold and sore throat, in the rain no less.

Then it happened. One of those moments of clarity, a real "palm to the forehead" type of thing.

Scarecrow came on.

I always feel like I have had a "special bond" with Melissa's celebrity-see how I so casually referred to her by first name there?

I saw her at a little Long Beach bar called Que Sera in the-gosh-early 90's? Well before she was famous.

When Somebody Bring Me Some Water broke her out, I saw an early BIG venue show of hers at the Roxy. The guy I was dating at the time didn't want to go. I had to make a choice...this was important. I had to really think about it. I thought, "Petur or Melissa Etheridge...Petur or Melissa Etheridge" the answer seemed to be all about me. A bond was formed-completely one sided, I assure you-between me and Melissa.

So when she writes a song that is so broadly appealing and relevant, it makes that song all the more powerful to me.

See also: I Run For Life about her battle with breast cancer and Tuesday Morning about Marc Bingham. I feel guilty for not remembering if he's a "c" Marc or a "k" Mark. Marc with a "c" is hotter to me, so let's go with that one for the purpose of this blog.

Those songs just kill me. I lose it inside everytime I hear them...but they also serve as a great grounding element for me. They really put things in perspective for me.

Scarecrow is about Matthew Sheppard. The song is so powerful-I'll probably use that word a lot in this post. It has particular resonance with me because of my own gay-bashing incident in college-a moment when I was not powerful but powerless. At the mercy of two strangers exorcising some demons on me.

Clearly, my outcome was different than Matthew's, but I still find myself running into that emotional wall every now and then.

When I was in SoCal visiting my parents in late October, the campaigning on Prop 8 was in full swing. My mother and I were driving somewhere and at an intersection we stopped at there was a group of "Yes on 8" folks on one corner and opposite them "No on 8" had taken up residence. I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop...for chaos to ensue. I must have said something because my mom started talking about how she kind of came undone that night I was bashed in college. My room mate, Cindy, had called my parents in the middle of the night to tell them. They had piled the whole fam damily in the car the next morning and came to make sure I was ok. My mom described a vivid memory of the terror she felt walking past my room mate's car, it's trunk covered in my blood.

I was terrified. The images of the prior night still fresh in my mind, replaying out of control. Not just the rednecks who assaulted me, but also the cop who responded. The way he looked at me like I had gotten what I deserved...how he challenged me to declare I was worth medical attention when he asked if I wanted him to call for an ambulance. How his look judged me. Cindy was a brick house and she was about to have a moment with this old bastard cop. My other room mates had to pull her out of the room.

And I did feel like I had gotten what I deserved. I didn't feel like I was worthy of medical attention for my wounds. So I sat there, wide awake all night. Face swollen. Oozing and blackening. Nose unset. Gravel in my ass and imbedded in the skin of my genitals.

But I lived. At the time, I could have died of shame. Unable to acknowledge my own homosexuality or protect myself. I never did tell my family the true nature of that assault. If they ever put two and two together, we are too Catholic to discuss it openly. Maybe mom was trying her best to reach out to me that day...I just couldn't risk being wrong about it and causing her any unintentional guilt or pain over that episode. I know I have an ally in every member of my family, I don't need to personalize this fight by dredging up decades-old events to solidify that. But I wonder if my experience has any merit for demonstrating the length of this battle for equality. Surely, people don't consider this a "current event"?

This is why the underdog will always appeal to me. It's why, I think, I like some of the guys I like, including my ex although we never discussed it civily. I think I see that same fear and vulnerability in them and want to heal it just by accepting them for who they are. Of course, I know that I can't make it better. After 20 years, I know that they have to make it better for themselves and find their own way, just as I did. But I can be that mentor for them, that safety net if they want it. These men make up a large part of the group of men I like to call "The Prodigal Gays" because they come back to me-for whatever reason-and that is a great satisfaction for me, personally.

When I think of the victims who paid the highest possible price...I feel ashamed. Not by comparison. Rather because everyday that I bitch about my life, I diminish their death. Everytime our efforts at achieving equal rights are defeated, our civilization erodes and dishonors their memory.

Marc Bingham died a hero on Flight 93, his partner was not legally entitled to assume his personal effects. If Marc's family had been petty, there would have been zero legal recourse for the surviving partner.

Gays cannot marry in California. They are legally banned from formally celebrating their relationship as a heterosexual couple would.

It's a word.

Marriage.

It has been given uneven political currency because our country's founding fathers never thought to formally outline marriage in our country-one based on freedom from religious persecution-by making marriage a government function over a religious rite. Further, the government has molly-coddled the churches to the point that they basically let them copyright the word and enable their fight to protect it.

It's a word.

It no more belongs exclusively to the church than the word "Heaven".

No more so than the word "Girl" belongs to the gays.

Or the word "Aks" belongs to blacks. (That oughta take the serious edge off this blog)

The thing that concerns me the most about Prop 8 passing in New Utah is that California was the state with the clout to bring about marriage equality for interracial couples. That action spwned the phrase "So goes California, so goes the nation". That's what concerns me.

Matthew Sheppard was tied to a fence rail, beaten, burned and left to die of exposure. He didn't die. He clung to life for days before finally losing his life.

This October marked the 10th year since his assault and murder.

Ten years later our legislators are still trying to pass the Matthew Sheppard Hate Crimes Legislation and define equality in the work place and determine who is protected under the Employment Non Discrimination Act.

The hold up with ENDA? Bigotry. Some people still can't get their arms and mind around what a sexual minority is. They are trying to determine whether gays and lesbians are "people" while transexual and transgender people may simply be "freaks".

Well, folks...I accidentally answered that question with my careless use of the word "people". People are people. The rest is all adjectives.

When people forget that, I feel that rock in my ass (figuratively, in case it wasn't obvious) and wonder how long it will be that society will make me live with it there. Not society, that's not fair. The government.

At the same time, I realize that without people like Matthew, Marc, Milk and even Melissa we wouldn't be this close. We wouldn't be the political wedge we are today and sadly, we need to be a wedge issue before we can be equals in this country.

It's a step on the path to the equality that should never have been questioned in the first place.

I just hope we don't have to suffer too many more acts of heroism as a people before we make it there.