In honor of the International Day Against Homophobia, I'm paticipating in Hop Against Homophobia. We want to raise awareness of this issue and reward our readers for their participation with prizes!
For this hop, I'll be giving away two free copies of my books, reader's choice of title, plus a grand prize of a free book plus a $25 dollar donation to the Trevor Project in the winner's name. To enter my contest, just leave a comment to this post with your email addy so I can contact you if you win. I'll choose the winners at the end of the day on May 20th, the last day of the hop.
Now I'd like to share with you a story about an experience I had with homophobia when I was a teenager.
My friend Susan and I were the two most unpopular girls in our junior high school. I was short, she was fat, and what was worse, neither of us acted the way girls were supposed to. We both endured a lot of bullying in those days. All kinds of stuff, from getting pushed and hit to kids writing stories about us and reading them aloud as class assignments. What, precisely, possessued us to go on the school ski trip, I cannot recall, but my guess is it was Susan's fault.
Of the two of us, Susan was by far the bravest, and the most unrepentant in her difference. By that time, eighth grade, I would have gladly disappeared into the crowd, except the crowd would not have me. But not Susan. She fought to be herself every single day.
After the second night of the ski trip, rumors started to circulate that Susan and I were sleeping together. Now, I had realized about two years previously that I was in love with one of my other girlfriends. As unpleasant as school was for me at that time, I knew it would be so much worse if anyone knew I was queer, so I took those feelings and I shoved them down and simply refused to acknowledge them. I figured, if I didn't admit it to myself, no one else would ever know. That's why, when I heard the rumors, I wasn't concerned at all. I really thought my denial protected me.
I found out how wrong I was when a group of about twenty kids stormed our room. They were screaming "Lezzies! Lezzies!" and they tried to break our door down.
I don't know what would have happened if Susan hadn't been there, because where I froze, she sprang into action. She single-handedly held that door shut, while I sat on my suitcase, holding my copy of The Return of the King as if Frodo and Sam would somehow pop from the pages to rescue us.
I remember very clearly watching that door inch open -- all those hands and arms reaching in. Susan was like a lion. She reared back, her long hair flying, and with a burst of power she slammed that door shut. We found out later she broke a girl's finger in the process. She turned to me and yelled, "Help me!" That broke me out of my fog of shock and I got up and helped her hold the door shut. The other kids finally went away.
Afterwards, Susan and I never spoke about that night, and for many years I studiously ignored the more complex aspects of my sexuality. I don't think it's any coincidence that during that time I didn't write. Instead I went to college and earned a degree in a field I didn't like much. Right around the time I started writing fiction I also encountered the word bisexual for the first time.
About ten years ago, I ran into Susan in the grocery store. She had a daughter. She looked happy. She asked me if I'd ever forgiven our bullies. I said not really. She laughed. "I still hate them too," she said, smiling.
It was nice to see that she hadn't lost her fire. Wherever she is now, I hope she's still going strong.
