Originally posted on Facebook

To those that say that being gay is a choice, I invite you to read on.

To those that insist that being gay is the product of overbearing mothers with an absent father, please read on

If you believe that being gay is about sex, I urge you to consider that you just might be very wrong.

I came out publicly just shy of 21 years ago. I came out to myself just a few short years before.

It was a journey of faith, understanding, and struggle, seemingly for my very soul.

Through it all, I never really understood myself. Whether it was my own ego or my naïveté, my struggle for self identity took well into my twenties.

Not that I am so different. After all, knowing ourselves is something that we all struggle with. Many of us never come to that point, alas, allowing ourselves to be identified by the expectations of others instead of our own goals.

I was never exposed to gay people as a child. I never saw a positive example of a same sex couple until my early teens.

I didn’t know what some words meant. Even in the eighth grade, I didn’t understand what the “f-word” meant before someone demonstrated with their fingers. All I knew is that my classmates used it all the f-ing time.

I was asked if I was gay in middle school. My understanding of that word came from “The Flintstones.” I didn’t understand why they laughed at me. I sure as hell didn’t know what “faggot” meant, even though it was hurled my way with frequency and gusto. I did not understand.

I heard describe themselves in a movie as “straight.” Straight what? I didn’t get it. My older brother told me he might explain when I’m older. I didn’t understand.

I remember well the times I was in a locker room, getting feelings I didn’t understand. My heart raced. My palms became sweaty. I didn’t understand.

People around me wouldn’t even say the word, “gay.” If it HAD to be said, it was silent with exaggerated lip movements that would make a drag queen jealous.

“That way.” “Oh, you know,” someone would say as they flopped their hand.

I didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand why other classmates called me “faggot” or “queer” every time they saw me, usually right before knocking the books out of my hand.

I guess I was too busy being self-conscious about my hearing aid and high-powered father to engage in that sexual awakening. I never really was interested in girls, beautiful as they were.

I just didn’t understand.

It wasn’t until I was confronted with someone I allowed myself to love, beyond anything I had experienced before. I kissed girls. I kissed women. And something was missing. I didn’t understand.

And my first real girlfriend and I spent long nights together. Long talks. She was loving. She was kind. She was thoughtful. She still is all of those things. And I learned that she had similar struggles to mine.

We shared a Christian faith that kept us chaste throughout our relationship. Eventually, we parted company.

It would be years before Imet someone that captured my heart again. And he did.

Then I kissed him. A man. Strong hands. Beautiful soul. He loved me. As messed up as I was. And I couldn’t stop kissing.

That set me off into a world of anxiety, stress, and fear. What if someone found out? What if I really AM gay?

They wouldn’t understand. The Church sure wouldn’t.

It wasn’t just love. It was a deep, soulful love that filled my soul. I was confronted not only with the love of another man, but my love for him as well.

My entire religious upbringing taught me to be ashamed. I decided to confront that directly with years of research and reading. I dug into scripture and theology.

I began to see major inconsistencies in theology and the Bible on the topic, and finally came to a point to where I could hold my head high, and look back on all my years and everything finally make sense.

I am gay. I am not ashamed. I will not be ashamed. God made me with all of my peculiarities and differences, what he made me to be ME.

It was then that I finally understood.

Shame is a lie.
Guilt is a lie.
I’ve always been gay.
Shaming children for being different is wrong.

We must give strength and protection for kids like me, and maybe help them understand themselves. Bile and hate do no one any good, and never will.

Helping people understand who they are is a calling few have, a calling that is abused by far too many.

Fear and prejudice are quite common these days, all from the reality that they don’t understand and simply don’t want to.

That kind of willful ignorance will only harm, maim, and destroy, for anything outside its worldview is an immediate threat.

And far too often, those kids that are different get lost in the fracas, or even lost entirely to suicide.

All because no one wanted to understand.

So now I stand with pride, not only as a gay man but as a man that loves justice and fairness.

And my quest continues, the quest to understand. It’s a path of more questions than answers, even when some of those questions don’t have answers.

I hope you will join me on that journey. It’s been pretty amazing so far.

But in the meantime, how about giving our kids the space to find out who they are without your prejudices?

Stop putting your shame into your children. For when they begin to realize that your whispers are about them, that’s the moment you will begin to lose them.

Embrace them now. While you still can. And they will truly shine.

One day, you will understand.

But many of us do understand. I hope we all remember, we are not alone. That means you, dear reader. 

You are not alone. – David, Clarksville, Tennessee 

What’s your story? Let us know! Send an e-mail to charles@personalstoriesproject.org to share yours! #PrideMonth #PersonalStories