"Out, And About It"

Last week, UB celebrated Coming Out Day, a celebration full of events that promoted tolerance and awareness, while combating ignorance and bigotry. It was a week that promoted change for hopefully many lives, making it clear to all that knowledge is key to change.

My own such period of change came about this summer, when I came out to my family and friends. With 21 awkward years of teasing and weirdness behind me, I closed the curtain on the first of act of my life and assumed the role of a new character - myself. (Cue family and friends hugging me, crying tears of joy; cut to me, all happy and stuff.)

So gushy, so dream-like, so Renee Zellwegger at the end of "Bridget Jones' Diary."

While my summer experience was no movie, it was as "normal" as I could have asked for. Often, though, the journey from a life of pretending to be someone else to one of realizing how to be yourself can be a strange one. And it doesn't just apply to coming out.

I didn't wake up one morning knowing who, or what, I was. Had I known at age 8 what it even meant to be gay, I'm sure I'd still be hiding under the covers waiting for the monsters in my closet to go away. (Note to self: must work that rhyme into a song.)

But a lifetime of clues starts to add up. At age 9, I cried into my pillow when my parents told me I was going to attend basketball camp - my family is not athletic as a rule; most of my first CDs were soundtracks to musicals; and in an odd twist of irony, my elementary school gym teacher, who moonlighted as the play director, chose me year after year to play the lead part (Santa Claus and The Nutcracker were the two favorites in my Jewish household).

Beyond those obvious insights, those around me had a feeling I was different. How could they not? I was president of Drama Club (possibly the only political position that guarantees your place on our team's roster) for the love of God.

When it came time for me to share my news, a breath I had held for five difficult years while searching for the "perfect" time, which doesn't exist, it was not nearly as hard as I had anticipated. I'm lucky, though. My family was open and caring and didn't give a rat's patoot what or who I was, as long as I was happy.

My mom, who wasn't the least bit surprised, was pleased that I could be honest with her and others. My grandmother said, and I quote, "Who cares? What do you want on your sandwich?" Ahh, grandmothers...

For me, it came down to realizing that this is how I was made and that I better get used to it. Finally, I'm no longer afraid of saying something "wrong" or suspicious during group gatherings. I don't hide the CDs I don't want friends to see I have (and no, we don't all like Cher and Barbara Streisand - eww, gag).

While it takes work on your own part to come to grips with whatever makes you different, a community that supports you every step of the way is the most immensely helpful tool one can have, in any circumstance. Many people say they're okay with those who are gay, or black, or Jewish, or Asian, or handicapped, or mentally retarded, or, or, or...

It's not enough to just declare that you know someone who's gay, apparently making you immune to prejudiced thoughts, and then turn around and call your friend's t-shirt gay or not hold a door for a black person. Truth be told, they probably would have held the door for you; and t-shirts aren't gay, people are.

While generalizations often just allow us to categorize, and therefore justify someone who is different, they can be dangerous. When was the last time you asked a lesbian-looking woman to help change your tire and they said they didn't know how? That's not a safe situation to be in, especially if they do know how to kick box.

What Coming Out Day can provide for so many people - gay, straight or otherwise - is the chance to look at the lives we lead with a new approach. It offers a clean slate, a fresh start - a new pair of shoes, if you will. With a supportive instep, a comfy cushion to help on rough terrain and a refreshingly new sole, any jump is possible. It's those who are willing to spot your landing that make the effort a little easier.