“I'm not your little faggot.”

— Actor Isaiah Washington to fellow cast member Patrick Dempsey during an argument on the set of Grey's Anatomy last month “I don't know what his deal was — maybe he didn't want to get wet, maybe he was cold, maybe he's a nancy boy … ”

— Survivor: Cook Islands contestant Nate, in reference to his gay teammate Brad, who turned down a swimming challenge on Episode 7 “You can't use your shoulder to catch a football. … You've got to learn to be able to put the ball in your hands. … Your hands are tender and they can move and caress the ball. … That's kinda gay, but hey.”

— ESPNU commentator Brian Kinchen during a college football game last month “I could go now a lifetime without Grace Ross. … I couldn't stand her at the end. At one point I was about to yell, ‘Will somebody tell that fat lesbian to shut up!'”

— Former WRKO Radio host John DePetro on Nov. 2, expressing his disgust with the performance of Grace Ross, the openly lesbian candidate for governor of Massachusetts, at a televised gubernatorial debate.

The first time a boy called me a dyke, I'd just turned 15. I didn't know the word in a sexual sense, so I didn't totally understand what he meant. But I knew I wasn't being complimented.

I could tell by the tone of his voice, the sneer on his face, and the way he nudged his buddy as he formed the word on his lips that “dyke” wasn't simply another insensitive teenager's assessment of my appearance, but a broader judgment — and it was rendered with unmistakable disgust. That one word was more negatively charged than any of the names I'd been called before.

“Fat” and “ugly” stung me — always. But “dyke” seared. It felt as if the word came not from the mouth of small, stupid boy who sucked his opinion and bravado that day from a pint of Colt 45, but from the end of a sharp and glowing-red poker that now had chunks of my heart or lungs hanging from it. Like the word, the pain was new, and with it came a feeling of isolation I hadn't known before. I didn't only feel victimized and violated; I felt annihilated.

That experience taught me plenty. I not only learned that the delivery of words is just as important as the words themselves, but also that intuition and common sense are just as valuable as a good vocabulary. I've relied on my common sense and gut a lot since that day because I, like plenty of other queers, eventually discovered that my sexuality is far more problematic for others than it is for me, and that those who are troubled by it are often artful in expressing their disgust and, sometimes later, in denying it.

So I followed the stories behind the four quotes above, and the public reactions to them, with more than passing interest — and with my common sense on high alert.

Like every lesbian who has been on the receiving end of a malicious outburst, I was happy to learn that Boston talk radio station WRKO fired host John DePetro after he called Massachusetts gubernatorial candidate Grace Ross a “fat lesbian” on air on Nov. 2. His words were intentionally vicious, proving that schoolyard bullies never die; they just get older and taller.