A D V E R T I S E M E N T

Iam out. I have been out for almost half my life.

There is an interesting thing, though, that happens to me almost every single day.  I am faced with the decision to come out to strangers, people that for some reason or another start up conversations and decide to delve down a path which normally assumes my sexuality.

I am a confident gay man, for the love of God. I’ve been on TV talking about my husband; I’ve been on floats in pride parades.  Most would think it’s indisputable how “out” I am.  The strange thing is, though, that many times I just avoid coming out to strangers.  We meet new people every single day, and each day there is an opportunity for those individuals to pry just enough, and who you love pops into conversation.

Think about it: I wear a wedding ring. All too often people see a wedding ring and see marriage as a point of conversation.  It’s innocent enough and with the best of intentions.  More often than not though, I’m asked what my wife’s name is.  So there I sit, just minutes into a new relationship, one that will most likely last for the length of a checkout line or at most the length of a flight.  I immediately am put in the position of coming out.  Again.

It’s not like I’m ashamed, but my head races.  Is it worth the possible uncomfortable conversation?  Should I just play along?  Do I need to be ready for my soap box speech?  This is a frequent, if not daily, decision we in the LGBT community deal with constantly.

Steve and I have been to many events; we’ve flown to many of states and passed through more than our fair share of body scanners.  If you don’t know it already, Steve and I are adorned with tattoos; they encompass our right arms.  Along with that, I wear Steve’s dog tags, so if the two of us are within your eyesight together you immediately know we are connected in some way.

During one of our many airport security checks last summer, Steve and I separately managed our way through TSA wearing our normal attire: a tank top and shorts.  Steve went through the old fashion metal detector, and I went through the one that shows me practically naked to some individual who supposedly is far away (I still have questions as to how true that is).  As I waited to be cleared after my scan, the TSA guard on the other side decided to spark up conversation.

“That’s a nice tattoo, great colors.” The compliment was genuine, and for that I thanked him.  “You in the army?” he inquired pointing at Steve’s dog tags around my neck.  “Nope, they’re his,” I pointed to Steve over my shoulder gathering his shoes from the x-ray machine.  “Oh WOW, you guys have the same tattoos.” I nod in agreement. “Your brother, huh?” he asks.  I replied with a half laugh, “yeah something like that,” and moved on.

It’s odd. I was faced with a simple moment of honesty and maybe even education for this nice man.  What did I do?  I avoided it. I moved on and let him believe what he wanted.  More than likely, in some instances we just let it go, realizing no ill intent is at hand, and we simply don’t want to deal with it.  Why though?  Why did I walk away?  Would it have made a difference?  Could he have been nasty to me, possibly?  In a matter of seconds, I lied. I shoved myself back into a closet rather than be proud of who I am, what I have become; and all the amazing change I fight for was abandoned just because I didn’t want to deal with it.

I sat on a plane once and spoke to a man on a return flight from Florida.  Our conversation was great, I spoke of Steve without gender or assigning a name: “the other half,” or “better half” works well enough (it’s how I’ve trained myself).  I spoke of what he did, where we married, and this gentleman sat and listened and then shared parts of his life.  I assumed by his lack of digging he understood I was gay. That’s normally why I avoid referring to gender, to try to raise awareness in people that the particular gender of the person I love is not important in the grand scheme of things.  The plane landed and he handed me his business card.  “The next time my wife and I are in town, let’s all do dinner.”  I took his card and exchanged it with my own.  He added one last question, “I feel so rude, this whole time I never asked; what’s your wife’s name?”  That day I answered honestly, I answered proudly.  “Actually, his name is Steve.”

Coming Out EverydayEach time we don’t pay the respect we owe ourselves, we go beyond just what we’ve done to ourselves.  We miss an opportunity to make this person realize how normal we all are.  Sure, some may walk away shocked, even annoyed, that their assumption was wrong.  Others may not bat an eye.  For those who are shocked though, they may not know someone who is gay, and you deny them the ability to see our community for what it is: just people, people who live the same lives, who have the same goals, and who just want to live it freely.  By coming out every single time someone assumes you’re straight, you open their eyes.  You expose them to something they may need in order to become an ally — something needed in order to win this fight.

The man I met on the plane that day hasn’t called. I’m not sure he ever will.  I know this though; I helped that man out.  The next time he meets a single male or female, he may approach things differently.  Maybe if he had reservations about the LGBT community, meeting me will have helped him see things differently.  Knowing about my military spouse, my professional role, and just from our friendly conversation, he may have a new perspective.

So as we enter this New Year, I am asking each and every single one of my friends to make the same resolution as I am.  Come out every single chance you can.  Maybe you already do, and if so then encourage your friends to do the same.  Even if you’re straight, come out in support of LGBT rights as often as possible.  Either way, the next few years are going to mean massive change in LGBT rights, and unless we make ourselves known, we risk losing what amazing progress has already been made.  Take each day as a chance to help create conversation around why our differences make us so amazing and yet so alike.

Happy New Year!

 

[box type=”bio”]
Joshua SnyderJOSHUA SNYDER-HILL is the husband of Major Steve Snyder-Hill.  Josh and Steve are notable activists, and are plaintiffs in the SLDN case against DOMA for active duty LGBT service members.  Steve was dubbed the “booed soldier” because of the question he posed in 2011 to then-presidential hopeful Rick Santorum.  Steve inquired about the candidates’ intent to reinstate DADT and was audibly booed by audience members.  Josh and Steve have been speaking in public events and starting websites like MarriageEvolved.com to raise awareness and conversation around LGBT rights.

[/box]

Scroll Up