Matthew Albright

The News Journal

More lesbian%2C gay%2C bisexual and transgender students in Delaware are coming out of the closet while still in high school

Survey%3A Thirty-eight percent of LGBT youth said they had been bullied%2C more than twice that of heterosexual students

Half of LGBT youth said they felt %22sad or hopeless%2C%22 compared to only a fifth of heterosexual youth.

When Michael McGonigle was a freshman in high school, he knew he was gay, but he worried how his family and classmates would react if they knew.

He didn't want his sexuality to be public knowledge, but he also couldn't keep his thoughts bottled up. So he confided in a friend and a family member he trusted.

Before long, though, he began to hear whispering in the hallways of Delaware Military Academy, where he is a student.

When he walked into class, boys sitting near the door would cough "faggot," just out of earshot of his teachers.

He said he'd find Facebook chat windows popping up to shout "faggot" and other crude sexual taunts.

It's a slur with which he's become all too familiar.

"It's just sort of a reflex for them. Even when they're not mocking me, they just throw it at each other," McGonigle said. "It was hard for me at first."

Today, McGonigle is thriving at DMA, heading numerous clubs and making solid grades.

He is part of a growing minority.

More lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender students in Delaware are coming out of the closet while still in high school or even middle school. That makes them more likely to be a target by peers both at school and online, according to a state report issued this year as part of an effort to combat bullying.

Most have experiences similar to McGonigle's, although the pressure and bullying can vary wildly in intensity and duration. LGBT youth are still more likely than their peers to feel isolated, leading to higher rates of depression and suicide.

Advocacy groups and schools are trying to beef up the support these students can get both inside and outside the classroom.

"As a state, I think we're making a lot of good progress. I'd say we're ahead of most states," said Bob Martz, who leads the United Way of Delaware's Pride Council. "We can do more, but I think there is a lot to be optimistic about."

Teachers and other school staff can be a big part of helping a gay student come out, Martz said. When a military instructor heard that McGonigle was being taunted, he disciplined the students with military speed, and made clear that bullying was not to be tolerated.

Several teachers, including his favorite business instructor, Scott Green, with whom he now runs a school coffee stand in the morning hours, would stop him after class.

"They asked me if I was OK. They wanted to make sure I was handling everything well," he said. "It was a really big deal for me to know that they supported me."

Still, teenage boys can be, as McGonigle says, "kind of idiots." Almost two thirds of the graduates at DMA are male, and the school's military focus means they are often steeped in masculinity and machismo.

His family took the news of him being outed better. But it was still sometimes difficult to talk about his sexuality, especially with his father.

"It was really awkward for a while. He just didn't want to face it," McGonigle said. "It was difficult to talk about things with him. I had a couple of big flipouts."

Martz said this is a common tension in families when students come out.

"For many parents, it's going to be a struggle," he said. "They're not bad people, it's just a big change they have to deal with."

Things began to turn around for McGonigle when he went to a party at the Newport home of a gay couple, Andrew Zeltt and Don Hiott. The barbecue was sponsored by Big Brothers/Big Sisters, an organization that connects youth with mentors and has been on the forefront of trying to support lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender, or LGBT, youth.

The organization connected McGonigle to Zeltt as a mentor. He began spending time with them on the weekends, until their connection grew so close that they decided that Zeltt would become McGonigle's legal guardian.

McGonigle is still on good terms with his family – including his dad – and visits them regularly. But the new arrangement gave him some needed space from a big family and connected him with people who better understand what he is going through.

Living in Andrew and Don's house, where a veritable horde of dogs greet him at the door and blanket him when he sits on the couch in the evenings, has made a big difference in Michael's life. He has gone from a C, D student to making As and Bs, and has joined several student organizations at school, found a part-time job and volunteered at a local food bank over the summer.

"It's been a really big deal. I feel a lot more comfortable talking about myself here," McGonigle said. "It would have been harder for me to be where I am now without them."

For Zeltt, the prospect of gay and lesbian students coming out during high school or middle school is a far cry from when he was growing up – he didn't publicly come out until after college.

"It's like night and day," Zeltt said. "I think our culture is changing so that kids feel more comfortable coming out earlier. With social media and the internet, they realize that they're not alone."

Surveys show gay and lesbian youth are still more likely to be ostracized and battle mental health problems.

Thirty-eight percent of LGBT youth said they had been bullied, more than twice that of heterosexual students, according to a 2011 survey by the Center for Drug and Alcohol Studies at the University of Delaware. Another 38 percent said they have been the victim of physical abuse, almost five times that of straight youth.

'I don't like labels'

Queen Cornish, 13, has fought that battle.

She calls herself a strong Christian. She does not want to have sex until she's married, and recently started wearing a "promise ring." When she starts talking about her classmates "making out" in hallways, her face scrunches up into the universal signal for "eww."

It also happens that she's attracted to girls as well as boys.

"I don't like labels. Why do we always have to put labels on everybody?" she said.

Cornish says she has known since she was four or five years old that she was different. But it wasn't until sixth grade that it began to affect her life.

She got a crush on a girl.

As most middle-schoolers do, Cornish confided in a best friend. That friend then did something she would later regret – she told other classmates.

"She told a friend, who told a friend, who told a friend," Cornish said. "And all of a sudden everybody was talking about it. All of a sudden I found that people were alienating me."

When she'd approach some people in the hallway, including classmates who used to be friends, they'd run into classrooms. One time, on the bus, a boy stood up and yelled "Queen's a lesbian! Queen's a lesbian!"

Even among those who remained her friends, there was tension. When they would gather for the teenage ritual of chattering about their latest crushes, conversations would die out as soon as Cornish mentioned a girl she liked.

After school one day, one of her friend's dads, a conservative pastor, confronted her.

"He told me that I was choosing a lifestyle that was sinful," Cornish said. "He told me that if I stayed on the path I was going, I would be an abomination."

That sent her into depression. One night, the word "abomination" echoing in her mind, she took the cord from her robe and tried to strangle herself.

"I was thinking "what if God really does hate me?" she said. "I didn't want to live like that. But I just couldn't go through with it."

There, in the dark, she found herself staring at her Bible. She began reading it, and began the arduous climb from her emotional pit.

Queen is not alone.

Half of LGBT youth said they felt "sad or hopeless," compared to only a fifth of heterosexual youth. Almost a third of LGBT youth reported planning a suicide and 29 percent said they had attempted suicide, compared to only four percent of heterosexual youth.

When the Centers for Disease Control investigated a "suicide cluster" of teens in Delaware last year, they found that two of the 11 victims were "sexual minorities." Martz said the CDC didn't interview teens, only adults, so it's likely that more students were gay or lesbian.

Of the four students who committed suicide during the last school year, Martz says one was a lesbian and another was likely LGBT.

Since the night she almost took her own life, Queen has become more confident in herself, and things have gotten easier. She still faces occasional bullying and taunting, but most of her classmates have "gotten over it."

One of the biggest reasons Queen is now self-confident is her mother.

Dionne Cornish has been a rock and best friend for her daughter. They can finish each others' sentences and make each other laugh with just a sideways glance.

A social worker with Brandywine Counseling and Community Services, Dionne knows what it does to a person to conceal who they really are.

She has seen the video suicide notes gay kids have left behind as their last testament.

"There is no way in the world I would want my child to feel uncomfortable in her own skin," Dionne said. "I can't imagine me not being accepting and causing even a little bit of pain."

With students coming out of the closet at a younger age, groups like Big Brothers and Big Sisters and the United Way of Delaware's Pride Council say it's more important than ever to give them the support they need, both outside and inside the school.

Many gay and lesbian kids are far less fortunate than Queen. They do not have parents who will stay up late reading scriptures with them, not to convert but to comfort.

A quarter of gay and lesbian youth said in a survey by the Human Rights Campaign that the most important problem they faced was families who did not accept them. In contrast, the most pressing issue for straight kids was classes, exams and grades.

Some LGBT youth are not as lucky as McGonigle. They do not live in a home with people who understand what they are going through, and they don't always have teachers who have their backs the way his have.

Almost 30 percent of LGBT students in Delaware said they don't have an adult they can talk to about personal problems. Others say they have adults they can talk to about everyday issues, but none with whom they feel comfortable discussing their sexuality or romantic lives.

To address these problems, the Pride Council hosts training sessions for teachers and school leaders on how to be supportive of LGBT youth. It holds events to help gay youth find friends and other resources, and they have worked to connect students with mentors through programs like Big Brothers Big Sisters.

There are chapters of Parents and Friends of Lesbian and Gays in Wilmington and Rehoboth for parents seeking advice.

Advocates are also pushing for schools to create Gay-Straight Alliances, or GSAs, student organizations that give gay and lesbian students a safe place to talk about their personal problems with supportive friends and teachers.

GSAs are becoming more common in Delaware, but they are not yet in every district. Of the 41 high schools in Delaware, 30 have an active GSA. Of the 11 that don't, three have had a GSA that went inactive.

All of the eight remaining schools are in either Kent or Sussex counties.

A safe space

Jairo Rodriguez came out in sixth grade. Today, he is president of the GSA at Cab Calloway School of the Arts.

His immigrant parents struggled to accept him. It took time and professional help to reconnect.

"We have a great relationship now," Rodriguez said. "But it did take some time and work."

Cab Calloway's GSA, which Rodriguez helped found, hosts regular meetings, puts on talent shows and other events, and organizes trips to the movies, dinners and other places.

"We want to create a safe space where everyone feels comfortable," Rodriguez said. "It might look like just a way to hang out and have fun, but it's very important to be able to do that with people who understand where you're coming from."

While trying to boost membership in his GSA, Rodriguez noticed that many students have no problem befriending gay classmates, but they often shrink from showing any public support.

"I have a very close friend who I asked to join as a [straight] ally, and he really struggled with it," Rodriguez said. "He finally ended up telling me, 'look man, I'm sorry, but I just can't.' He just didn't want that label."

Joe Massiello, a Cab Calloway sixth-grade English teacher, knows what it's like for students to feel like they have no one to talk to.

For 15 years, he stayed "in the closet," even though he had a dedicated partner.

"I was keeping it in, because I had to," said Massiello, who in 2010 was named State Teacher of the Year.

One day he couldn't take it anymore. So he quietly put a picture of him and his partner – now his husband – on his desk.

"I don't evangelize. If somebody asks me who that man in the picture is, I tell them it's my partner," he said. "If that leads to a conversation, that's fine. If it doesn't, well, that's fine too."

Having struggled with coming out himself, Massiello hopes he can "be there" for students in that situation.

"By the time a parent or a friend finds out that a kid thinks he's gay, he's probably already been thinking about it himself for years and going through torment," Massiello said.

That's where Massiello feels he can help. He's a sponsor of his school's GSA.

"It's not my job to be a gay advocate. It's my job to teach. But I can be a role model," he said. "If a student comes to me and is confused or doesn't have anyone to talk to, I can be there for them."

An uphill battle

When Charlie Megginson came out two years ago as a freshman at Sussex Central High School, news spread fast.

"Everybody knew about it. I felt like it was kind of the talk around the school for a while," Megginson said. "Being in Sussex County, it's a much more conservative area. So it was hard for me to find people to talk to."

"I finally found one teacher who was just great. She was very accepting and was willing to talk through whatever I was going through," Megginson said. "I realized when I started talking to her that there was nowhere for students to go. If they wanted to find somebody to talk to, they had to go through the same search I did."

So Megginson started a GSA at Sussex Central. It took a year of planning, but last school year, the club saw 20 to 50 students at each meeting, Megginson said.

"It's been a really good thing for us," Megginson said.

Though GSAs and similar groups are growing, it can still be an uphill battle to make them successful.

Megginson said the school administration, which has since changed, took a "very hands off approach."

"They said we could do it, I think because they knew they had to let us do it, but they also said they weren't attached to it," he said.

The day after Megginson proposed his GSA at a school board meeting, an administrator who is no longer at the school called him into his office.

"He told me that the GSA isn't a school-affiliated organization. We provide them the room and the opportunity for you, but it's not an official school group," he said.

At Delaware Military Academy, McGonigle said there are times when the school seems hesistant to offer full support of their group. For example, the announcements on the school loudspeakers say "GS Alliance," not "Gay Straight Alliance."

"When we were in the yearbook for the first time, there was a lot of pushback," he said. "There were people saying 'why do they get a club? Do we get a straight club?' "

Students say there's a lot more work to be done to help Delaware's LGBT youth express who they are without backlash. Slowly but surely, though, they see reasons to be hopeful.

"If you're a student who's struggling, if you're facing bullying, hold on," Megginson said. "Help is coming. Things are getting better, I promise."

Contact Matthew Albright at malbright@delawareonline.com or at 324-2428. Follow him on Twitter @TNJ_malbright.