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"Anonymous," photo from "Living in Limbo: Lesbian Families in the Deep South." (Carolyn Sherer)

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By Carolyn Sherer, an artist who frequently addresses social justice issues with her work. She is the photographer who created "Just As I Am: Americans with Disabilities" (1995), "Living in Limbo: Lesbian Families in the Deep South" (2012) and "Family Matters: LGBTQ Youth Perspectives" (2014); all debuted at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.

We all know that bad things happened to gay people in the past. And yes, my wife and I know people who were sent by families to receive shock treatments, lost custody of their children from previous heterosexual relationships, were fired, were beaten and even arrested for sexual pervasion after being caught kissing in a car at night on campus grounds.

But what most people don't know is that in spite of those things, or perhaps as a result of those things, many of us who did not leave Alabama in the '70s, '80s and '90s were part of a delicious secret society. My dear friends were educated and privileged in many ways. But as closeted lesbians, we sheltered in place on the weekends. We put as much space as possible between hurtful establishments and ourselves. We were drawn to rambling old Victorian homes on Southside where everyone danced the night away; lake houses where we clustered together in, of all places, Walker, Winston and Cullman counties; barn parties in Shelby County; and faraway, outdoor adventures. The subculture that thrived in those safe places was incredible, and impossible to accurately describe with words. Pent-up energy resulted in giddy social discourse. And together we were a powerful group.

Those were zany times. Frequent, intense parties were meticulously planned and executed. We favored wacky themed bashes with costumes. And when large groups of lesbians from many faiths came together to celebrate High Holidays, we did so with a twist. On these occasions, when many did not feel welcome elsewhere, we were intentionally irreverent--creating joyous celebrations, and distance between oppressive institutions and us. A Jewish woman organized a Seder celebration, assigning each of us period regalia to wear that night. Easter was at the lake with lesbian clergy who gave non-denominational, gender-neutral sermons-- just before the fishing contest, singing competition and Easter egg hunt began.

But Halloween shindigs were the best! Once there were 200 masterfully disguised lesbians crammed into a barn party in Shelby County. A mistress of ceremony managed a parade of entertainers among us, including a very skinny woman who lip-synced "Proud Mary" and danced as Tina Turner.

Out-of-state escapades gave us the opportunity to travel in pairs without worry about consequences. Horseback riding, kayaking and bicycling trips abounded. In the early 1980s lesbians from Birmingham filled every single slot in a weeklong Vermont bike tour. The first night, a friend delighted the large dining hall crowd with vivid tales of once riding on the back of Martina Navratilova's motorcycle in Atlanta. The tour leaders quickly realized that unbeknownst to them, a gay trip had been booked. But they were perplexed and said they had no idea there were that many lesbians in Alabama. And certainly not that many professional women! Yes indeed-- doctors, lawyers, educators, dentists and business owners. We valued education and achievement, and pushed each other to excel.

And like any good secret society, when we came home we were there for each other. Need a doctor in the night-done! Toothache? Don't hesitate to call, anytime. Someone is really, really ill; we will put together a care team. Pronto. We were a chosen family in every sense of the word. We understood each other without saying a word, and the things we survived together forever bond us.

In 2012 our community, along with some great allies, got solidly behind the "Living in Limbo: Lesbian Families in the Deep South" photography exhibition at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. Although a few women never went to see it because they were afraid someone would spot them there, many of us came out that opening night publicly, en masse.

When I see those old friends, the conversations always begin with: Did you ever think we could live out of the closet? Get married? No, not in my lifetime. Not in Alabama.

Yes, there is still work to do in this state. However, for my friends and me, being able to marry to honor decades-long relationships was an incredible experience. Many of us are retirement age and no longer in vulnerable positions at work, though we worry for those who are. Several communities of faith now have active LGBTQ outreach programs. However, the culture hasn't quite caught up and people still assume we are straight, forcing us to come out daily. Who is the woman named on your insurance card? What is your husband's name? But most people are apologetic when corrected. Notably, we have moved on socially. Quickly included in social groups within the community at large, now it is not uncommon for Jean and me to be the only gay couple at a dinner party.

But I will never forget the family of choice that nourished me in the shelter. As we assimilate, I do wonder how to sustain and honor those relationships, and our shared unconventional culture. These women are lifetime members of an extraordinary sisterhood. Is it time for another party? Hmmm ... it might be fun to see that Elvis impersonator again. She was amazing!

The Living in Limbo and Family Matters exhibitions traveled courtesy of the BCRI, Living in Limbo (LiL), Inc., and Birmingham Aids Outreach. Current group exhibitions at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts and the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery include selected images from those two series.

Sherer was a founding board member of LiL, Inc., an organization formed to use the arts to advocate for LGBTQ equality. She is currently directing the film "Love, Alabama" with Lara Embry. That documentary is a LiL, Inc. project, produced by Michele Foreman.

This article reflects the author's individual views and not necessarily those of The Women's Fund of Greater Birmingham. This piece is part of a series featuring voices from past honorees of Smart Party, The Women's Fund's annual fundraiser. Smart Party 5.0 will be Oct. 13 from 5:30-7:30 p.m. at Iron City Birmingham. Get your ticket and learn more at www.womensfund.smartparty.org. All proceeds from the event fund innovative solutions to move low-income women out of poverty.