Ryan Phillippe’s Ass: A Coming Out Story

In honor of National Coming Out Day:

I first came out to myself in the 7th grade. I had just seen Cruel Intentions with my mother and my sister – an event that will emotionally scar me for the rest of my life. I remember coming home from the movie and immediately running upstairs to my room and crying quietly into my pillow. It didn’t really make sense to me , nobody talked about homosexuality at the time, unless it was in the most disparaging of terms. I was an adolescent boy, with testosterone supposedly coursing through my veins, the sight of Selma Blair and Sarah Michelle Gellar making out should have sent me into a tizzy. Instead, it was the sight of Ryan Phillippe’s bare ass that excited me more than anything. I didn’t understand these feelings, but knew enough at the time, to keep them to myself.

I came out to my friends Sophomore year of high school. For the most part my friends openly accepted my sexual orientation; in fact most had known since they had first meet me. I guess that was supposed to make me feel better in some strange way. Instead, the realization that I had wasted five years of my life hiding myself away from loved ones, and that I did a poor job of it at that, was a hard reality to swallow. Some of my friends didn’t agree with my new lifestyle choice and that was the end of our friendship while others treated my coming out as if I told them I had cancer or some other terminal disease and kept reassuring me that this was something that we would get through together. For five years, I had built walls and chains around myself – a proverbial prison if you will – but by coming out to friends I slowly began to unravel the trauma, one wall and one link at a time. Some of these walls and chains I am still dismantling to this day.

The first person that came out to me was my older sister, my junior year of high school, as we drove through the backwaters of rural Michigan. I remember laughing when she told me – which by the way is not the most appropriate of responses. When she asked why I was laughing, I let her in on the big joke. We have been best friends ever since. We share a bond few siblings ever have and it has brought a new level of understanding, love, and appreciation to our relationship. Now we routinely make fun of each other for being the poster children for the gay stereotype; she with her prozac loving cats and affinity for organized athletic sports, and me being the Broadway-belting, Disney-loving, diva-worshipping queen that I am.

I came out to my mother soon after during my senior year of high school. I intended on delivering a speech to my entire school of 600 students about what being gay meant to me and the struggles that I had gone through. My advisor informed me I should probably tell my mother before informing 600 students in some gradiose speech. I remember being so nervous that I spilled hot tea all over the deliciously trashy takeout Chinese food my mother and I had just procured. We both cried. She cried, knowing the discrimination that existed for queer people in the world and fearful that she might have ever had a hand in me feeling unloved or unwanted. I cried because my almond chicken was soggy and had the faint taste of Green tea. She was most thankful that I wasn’t addicted to crack or had gotten some girl pregnant. It would be many years later before I would learn that my father knew of about my sexual orientation. Although he and I have never officially had “the talk” he did tell me that my being gay wouldn’t change anything and wouldn’t make him love me any less. I am blessed to have two parents that love and support me for exactly who I am – my father even pulls up photos of my drag queen persona Miss Ginger Devine while at mass, and with the proudest look on his face, says my son is a famous drag queen in Reno.

I came out to my roommate Freshmen year of college. Though a staunch and ardent liberal Democrat, he hated the idea of living with a gay guy. On multiple occasions he attempted to switch rooms with me, saying over and over again, he just didn’t think it was fair that he had to be saddled with a gay guy for his roommate. I didn’t think it was fair that I was saddled with a heterosexist asshat for a roommate but I digress. His solution to this conflict was hanging pictures from Playboy all over our room. I woke up every morning to Labia Majora in my face; maybe it contributed to my getting a Women Studies minor.

These are just a few of my coming out stories. Everyday I make the conscious decision to come out. Some times it is easier than others; sometimes it is safer than others. I have lost friends in the process but gained many more that love and appreciate every facet of my identity, not just the parts that I choose to show them. I do believe that the process of coming out is an incredibly empowering act. I also feel that every single time someone comes out a fairy angel gets its wings. So for National Coming Out, I want to extend my admiration for those that are loud and proud, my empathy for those that are struggling with their identities, and sassitude for those that stand in the way of those attempting to live their truly authentic lives.

Happy National Coming Day Everyone