I Am Gay and This Is Where I Play (Campaign Against Homophobia)

Dear Friends:

I excerpted this from blogger “Joe My God.” The “I Am Gay and This is Where I Play” campaign is a rebuttle against the rampant homophobia that is so prevelant in the African American community. Read on…

In between ads for TV shows and clothes on the Long Island Rail Road is a different kind of message. These ads feature pictures of young African-American men with their families, at church and on the basketball court. At the top of each poster are the words, “I am gay.” The Bay Shore-based Long Island GLBT Services Network sponsored the ads with a $37,000 grant from the state health department. David Kilmnick, chief executive of the group, said he hopes the ads will start a conversation within black communities about homosexuality and homophobia. “This is the first time there’s this visible of a campaign and so widespread across the entire Island,” he said. “It’s in your face in a positive way. . . . It’s talking about ‘We’re gay and this is our home and this is our community.’ ” Dale Anthony Edmonston, an African-American AIDS activist from Hempstead, said homophobia in the black community has had disastrous results for black Long Islanders who are gay. “In the African-American community, it’s taboo to talk about gays and lesbians,” he said. “Many members of the African-American community have family members who are gay and lesbian. And it’s not discussed and they can’t say nothing in their family and so they go outside of the box to find the happiness and support that they think that they need, which is allowing a lot of people to put themselves at risk.”

I think this is a wonderful idea and a step in the proper direction. African American gays need an identity outside of Adam4Adam, Houston Splash, and Sex parties. It is time to represent and be about it. If you want equality you eventually have to stand up and be counted. Does it mean leading the floats on gay pride? No. It simply means being your authentic self and saying, “Yes, I am gay and I’m still apart of the black community.”

Cheers!

Toddy English.

Family First? Not Always (Making Hard Decisions): Note From A Content Black Sheep.

Dear Friends:

A few days my Facebook friend (and fellow blogger), Deonte K, deleted his brother from his page. The reason? His brother left him a horrible homophobic remark on his FB wall (and inbox). Deonte was rightfully pissed and penned a thoughtful message about it on his blog (stating how he had to cut his brother out of his life).

I am glad he chose to share. It helped me feel not so alone in my experience. In spite of this being the 21st century not all gays and lesbians have this magical experience of total acceptance from their familial counterparts. Sometimes, it is the antithesis(life is not an episode of Brothers and Sisters for the majority of gays).

Myself, I have not spoken to nor seen my older brothers in years. As I’ve stated many times before I am estranged by choice. The emotional toxicity  they heaped upon me (for years) was too much to bear. Therefore, I had to make a choice between happiness (minus them) and sadness (plus them). I chose myself.

It was difficult at first. Anyone who knows the story of my family wonders WHY it was difficult for me to cut them off (chile we are NOT the Evans’ on Good Times). Well, for me, it was all about being a human being wanting and needing to be loved and accepted. True, making the decision to cut off your biological family is easy on paper. Yet, when the pivotal moment comes it is tragically difficult. Ultimately, you know it is what you have to do. Yet, you do not want to do it. As a child you truly want and NEED for your family to: love, support, and care about you. You need them to anchor you. You need that safe place to fall. So, when the opposite occurs you still–in some cases–accept abusive treatment (be it emotional or physical) because it is familiar. You accept familiarity because you are scared of lonely.

Speaking for myself, through a lot of counseling, I learned that I would never be alone, ever. In becoming aware of that it empowered me to do what needed to be done. When I kicked my brothers (and the rest of my immediate family)out of my life the door opened for new people to come in.  Their support is unconditional. I can be myself sans any facade because these people know the REAL me.

I would just like to say today that if you are gay and have lost family members don’t feel like it is the end. Bloodlines do not necessarily equal family. Family is where you are loved, protected, and cherished for who you are, percieved flaws and all. Don’t sacrifice your soul and self worth to people who hate you simply because of what you are. Love yourself enough to begin a new and healthy life.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

The Story of Beauty To the Tune of Michael Jackson

Dear Friends:

I am obsessed with Michael Jackson’s face. Wait a minute…scratch that. I’m not obsessed with his visage insofar as I am morbidly fascinated by it. Oddly, my awe stems from a certain identification with him.  

Since the King of Pop’s tragic demise my love for him reignited itself. As a tiny tot for Christ I thought Michael Jackson was the greatest thing in the history of all things: past, present, and future. However, with the subsequent allegations of molestation and drastic physical transformations I–like many others–lost that love and adoration for him. Michael ceased being the ultra cool brotha in “Thriller” and became the strikingly pale, astoundingly eccentric, andrognyne that both beguiled and repulsed onlookers. The uniqueness and originality that sent him rocketing to the stars would ultimately send him crashing back to earth. The colossal talent that dominated the music scene in the 1980′s was completely overlooked throughout the 1990′s (and subsequently the rest of his life). Mike became better known for his alleged perverse eccentricities and not his bodily kinesthetic/musical genius.   

By this point I had thrown in the proverbial towel. I did not know this Michael. His life was as foreign as his new face and bleached skin color…

Yet, as cliche’ as it may sound, death always puts your priorities into perspective. The sad irony is (and I don’t mean this lightly) that death was the best career move for Mike. When Michael Jackson died so did all of his eccentricities, personality quirks, and every other bizarre idiosyncrasies that made him unrelatable to the fans who once cherished him. Instead our obsession with his personal life has shifted back to the complete reverence for his magnificent body of work (and that is as it should be).

Now, I love Michael Jackson again… just as I did as a child. Moreover, as I’ve stated previously, lately I find myself enthralled by him. Now that the veil of secrecy that shrouded him for so much of his life has been removed I feel a certain kinship with him. In his ever evolving facial aesthetic (which went from stunningly beautiful to shockingly grotesque), I see my face–my own story of beauty–in his.

A few nights ago I was watching Michael’s final concert DVD ‘This Is It’ and was moved(to tears at some point). I was transfixed by his face. Many people thought Michael wanted to be caucasian; however, for whatever reason, I could only liken him to an ethereal little pixie (complete with pointy ears. I wonder did he have his ears altered to look like that?) prepared to cast a wonderful spell on those fortunate enough to sit in the O2 arena.

Whenever I see the Michael Jackson of old (with his beautiful African features) juxtaposed against his final incarnation I am always astounded. This beautiful man who once epitomized black pulchritude and pride had, over the years, systematically removed every vestige of the motherland from his face. It often left me wondering what he was thinking about as he endured procedure after procedure. I wonder what his brothers and sisters thought about his appearance that seemed forever in a state of flux? Moreover, I wonder how Katherine must have felt about her child, born of her womb, removing every semblance of HER own unique traits passed down through the generations? More importantly, why did Michael choose to adopt white children (and try to pass them off as black)? Was it born out of hating his blackness (if he hated being black then why did he continue to proudly represented blackness)? Or was it the numerous insults that Michael endured from his father and brothers about his “big nose (the one feature of his body that was literally crucified by repeat surgeries)?”

I can theorize ad infinitum but I’ll never truly know. However, my captivation derives from the fact that I so closely identify with him in those respects (at least I used to).

Like Michael I knew what it was like to be that “adorable little kid” that everybody loved. When you are a small child you get used to everyone calling you “cute,” “adorable,” “precious,” and the like. You ultimately take it for granted that you are never going to grow up and people will always love you because you are so little and so cute.

As a small boy my mother was all about appearances. She dressed me in every cute little outfit imaginable. Growing up I always felt like a little doll. Every weekend she purchased me little outfits and had my picture taken (at least once a month. I have so many baby pictures it is almost nauseating). Of course, every Sunday, the gargantuan breasted ladies in church would literally grab me and nearly smother me to death in their E cup bosoms. “Oooh he so handsome!” and all that (coupled with numerous bags of candy).

Again, as a kid, all of this is lost on you because you think, “It’s just the way it is.” No one really thinks about being an adult as a child (until someone asks “What do you want to be when you grow up?”). Then, almost overnight, you turn into an adolescent and are forced to navigate the winding pathway between childhood and adulthood, sans cute chubby cheeks. The short cherubic little body becomes lanky and awkward with features too big for your face and pimples to match. Your feet look too big for your body and you last resort at looking normal is to hide beneath baggy clothes in an effort to conceal your shockingly emaciated frame (but those big clothes only serve to exacerbate it). The “awe he’s soooo cute” suddenly become “Ew he ugly” or “what happened to you?”

After childhood I came to think the definition of ”ugly” was synonymous with me. Everyone, including my family members, told me how ugly they thought I was. It got to the point where I started to believe it. I developed this repulsive obsession with my appearance. There would literally be days that I would not go out if my: nose, eyes, skin, or hair did not look or “feel” right. Sometimes, I would turn the lights out in the bathroom just to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I could give you a laundry list of flaws that I percieved about myself. As far as I was concerned the elephant man was not nearly as hideous as me. According to my skewed perception my: head was too big for my body; I was too thin; my eyes were too big; my nose was to big (I begged my mother to let me have a nose job); my voice was horrible; and just overall hideous. It got to the point where I could not take compliments, ever. If someone told me I was: handsome, smart, or funny I’d quickly dismiss it as a lie. To this day it is difficult me to accept flattery because, sometimes, in the back of my mind those feelings and emotions are always there. I won’t even lie and say that sometimes I’m still insecure about myself on certain days.

Yet, in spite of all that at least I had a childhood, unlike Michael. Whereas I could retreat into my perpetual state of anonymous teen angst Michael went through puberty before the collective eyes of millions. He endured the worst ridicule simply because he was in the public eye. His fans could pick him apart all they wanted to. He could never escape it. If he wasn’t out his face was sure to be on the cover of Tiger Beat.

What I’m getting at is…

I no longer fault Michael for why he became obsessed with his face. Unlike him my face did not decide my future. His made his living. As Michael transformed I couldn’t help but envy him(at that time). He could change what he thought was not right anytime he wished and however he liked. I had to be told, as a young teen who thought he was horrendous, “You will eventually grow into who you are.” That was enough to send me fleeing to my room in tears (because when you’re a teen you don’t look to the future. All you care about is the present).

Eventually, I did grow into my body. Like an oversized suit hanging on my small frame I eventually changed to fit into my lanky arms and oversized features. Basically a couple of pounds, a few years, and some additional height leveled off the traumatizing effects of adolescence. Like I’ve stated before I still have some insecurities about my appearance; but, overwhelmingly, I am really learning to love the skin that I’m in. It took a very long time but I’m thankful that I came to the conclusion on my own terms.

In retrospect I was fortunate to not be in Michael’s position. Instead of pinning my hopes on the miracle elixir known as cosmetic surgery I grew and developed as a person. I learned that–at the risk of invoking yet another cliche’–true beauty really comes from within. Bettering myself as a person and showing kindness and compassion to others are what made me feel better about myself, not the slice and dice of a surgeon’s scalpel…

Michael and I took different paths to reach our goal. Therefore, in spite of his cosmetic changes I embrace Michael in totality. The face he chose may have been an anomaly to us; but it was the face that Michael ultimately settled on. It was the face that he was finally happy with him. So in spite of it’s affront to my Afrocentrism it was his canvas to do with as he pleased.

With that said as“This Is It” progressed Michael’s face ceased to take center stage in my mind’s eye. No matter what stage of cosmetic evolution his face was in Michael was still beautiful to me. He was: smart, funny, sweet, and in tune with the feelings of all of those around him. Michael Jackson was truly a warm spirit filled with love and compassion. No amount of cosmetic surgery could make him anymore beautiful than he already was. Moreover, his beauty was in his art…art which he gave to the world so selflessly.

Michael ultimately showed me what true beauty DEFINITIVELY is.

Thanks Mike…=0)

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English

I Love Being Skinny (So What If I’m Not Tyson Beckford? I’m Still Fly)

Dear Friends:

A few days ago I happened to catch an episode of MTV’s “True Life.” For those of you who’ve never seen it “True Life” is a documentary styled series that focuses on the trials and travails of young adults doing really fucked up things to themselves and the people in their lives. On this particular episode the three subjects were all steroid abusers. Admittedly, the show garnered my undivided attention simply because the first guy (for the life of me I cannot remember his name) was body BEAUTIFUL (Oh…My…God). However, as the show proceeded the final guy’s story, Brian, really struck a chord with me.

Brian was a young gay man with serious body image issues. Brian’s idea of being a self actualized person was having random people worship his body and tell him that he’s “hot.” In addition Brian also confessed to growing up with self-esteem issues and believed that if he could attain the perfect gym body he would be deemed worthy by those he seeks validation from (I’m assuming the patrons of gay bars).

Later on in the show Brian wound up hospitalized because of illegal steroid abuse (thus, in spite of his physical gains the roids messed up his mind and nearly sent him over the edge). Fortunately, he did not die but sadly his low self-esteem compelled him to keep using. I don’t believe there has been an update regarding his situation. Nevertheless it was truly saddening, no matter the result.

Needless to say Brian’s story truly resonated with me.  Granted, I’ve never felt the slightest bit compelled to use steroids (It causes severe acne. Are you kidding? All of the product I buy to keep my skin clear would go to waste!); however, growing up I suffered with severe body images issues too (as a teenager I believe I dealt with some body dysmorphia). Moreover, it is not lost on me that the majority of men with body image issues are gay men.

In gay culture unless you look like Tyson Beckford or Ryan Kwanten (Jason Stackhouse from True Blood) naked then you should either…

A.) Get into the gym and achieve that “look”

or

B.) Kill Yourself.

I believe that everyone in the community has felt the pressure at some point or another. I know that I did. Many people complain about having weight issues. Most of the time it is about being to heavy. However, as a teenager, I was on the polar opposite end of the pendulum swing. My natural thinness was the bane of my young existence. People constantly teased me about my body, constantly. People would tell me that I looked like a bobble doll (because I was so thin my head looked too big for my body); a victim or HIV/AIDS; or a Barbie doll (the dumbest one. But it still hurt nevertheless). The teasing so relentless I started layering my clothing just to look like I had more bulk.

I used to fantasize about how my life would be so much better if I had the perfect body. If I had rock hard abdominals; juicy pectorals; 28 inch guns; and a booty like two ripe peaches; then I just knew all of my problems would cease to exist and everyone would love me. It didn’t matter that I had nothing physically wrong with me physically (i.e. just going through a hellishly awkward preadolescent stage). All that mattered to me was that I fit the standards deemed appropriate by everyone (including those who did not fit into it themselves)…

Thankfully, I grew out of that. However, some people never do. Some guys I’ve noticed seem to be on the endless quest to pursue this standard of perfection, even if it means bastardizing their online photographs to high hell with Photoshop (honey, we know that is not a really magazine cover, mmmmmkaaay?). Lastly, there is nothing more sad and tragic than a guy in his 40′s, with a spray on tan and the latest abercrombie Fitch fashion, wildin out in the club (high on crystal meth) like there is no tomorrow. It is almost Shakespearean level tragic!

Myself, I came to the conclusion that I’ll never have that type of body (The Tyson Beckford one). I hate going to the gym (I much prefer dancing, running, and doing a little yoga). I don’t eat a lot (I never go back for seconds). Furthermore, I’m a naturally diminutive individual. I don’t have this propensity for huge muscles (unless I roid it up). So, I figure, why not just accept myself and love what I already have?

I am a very healthy and physically fit person. Therefore, that is all that really matters (in my opinion). I feel extremely fortunate that I can jump out of bed running in the morning. Some people are bed ridden and cannot even move. So what if my abs aren’t rock hard? My stomach is flat, enabling me to fit perfectly into my jeans and T-shirts.

What I’d like to say today is that perhaps we should give ourselves a try. Maybe we would all be happier people if we did not beat ourselves up for what we don’t have and embrace our own natural attributes. Each of us is unique, different, and special in every single way. So why not take the time out to celebrate that and emphasize it?

Granted, I’m not advocating ill health. If you are anorexic or morbidly obese then you should seek medical evaluation and psychological counseling; however, if you are a natural big or small person–and you are HEALTHY–then love that.

When I think about being really buff I automatically think, “Wait, if I were that big I wouldn’t be able to fit into this spiffy little slim suit!”

Y’know, true my physique may not be the chic cosmopolitan universally accepted IDEAL; however, I think I’m fly nevertheless. I think in learning to embrace everything that I do have the longing for more has decreased. Instead I’m learning to channel my energy towards more constructive things.

It just makes me wonder, in the span of a few months, how much time have I actually saved not obsessing over body image?

Anyway, more power to all of those men who are dedicated–and can achieve–that Tyson body. However, don’t hate on me for loving being skinny. I feel good this way and my body appreciates it. That is what matters most.

With love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

The Black Gay Male Pledge of Allegiance

Dear Friends:

I found this video so wonderfully affirming. It’s called “The Black Gay Male Pledge of Allegiance.” I initially saw it on Facebook and quickly friended the author (Derek McMahon) afterwards.

It made me stop and think about the ritualistic psychological abuse that the black community places on LGBT youth, particularly the church. So many lives have been destroyed because of spiritual gay bashing. Words really do have power. When authority figures (parents and spiritual leaders) tell you you’re: sick, perverted, nasty, dirty, sinful, and reprobate long enough you eventually believe it (whether you want to or not).  This is why I believe STD’s are so rampant among many black LGBT’s. If you don’t believe you are worth anything why should you bother having protected sex? Why should you bother getting tested for STI’s? Why should any of it matter when inside you’re already dead?

The irony is that sexually transmitted diseases grow and flourish in the darkness. The Black community, in terms of homosexuality, is lost in the dark. It will be up to brave black LGBT’s to shed light on the situation by simply standing up and being counted. It really is a matter of life and death.

I remember an acquaintance of mine named Trevor. Trevor and I attended the same southern black Baptist Holy Roller church in the late 1990′s. Trevor was leader of the youth group, lead singer in the choir, and one of the smartest kids I knew. He seemed like he had such a bright future ahead of him. Well, after our church fell apart (there was a huge controversy that involved one of my family members) I didn’t see Trevor again until 2003.

Oneday I was coming home from work to drop some mail off at the post office. Trevor was meandering around in the parking lot begging for money. Initially I had no idea who he was. His skin was covered in lesions; he was emaciated; and he looked completely disheveled. Anyway he recognized me and called my name. I did a double take. Once I got a good look at him I knew who it was. So I smiled and said hi. He asked me how me and my family were. We had a little small talk before he asked me for a dollar. So I gave him two dollars. That was the LAST time I ever saw him again. The next thing I knew, two weeks later, he was dead from AIDS related complications. He was 27-years-old (He would have been 33 now).

It was rumored that Trevor had gotten hooked on drugs and hustled. I don’t know the entire story but it didn’t end happily. He had so much promise and it really shook me the way he went out…

Now, it makes me wonder which one of our wicked pastor’s sermons sent him over the edge? Which bible scripture (other than that Leviticus one) did his loved ones hurl his way consistently? Which of his relatives told him to stop lisping when he talked because it made him sound like a “sissy?” How many times was he called a “Faggot” or “punk” by his peers? I wonder how many men did Trevor give himself to simply because he wanted love (like so many other gay men who go that route), even if it was momentary? How many of them lied and said he was special but threw him away like garbage after the act was complete? How many nights did he stay up and pray that he could be “healed” from his “perversion?” How much can one person endure before they finally break?

I told myself that I never wanted to end up like Trevor, ever. Which is why I’ve made it my purpose to counteract all the negativity levied against me by the “community.”

To that end this has inspired me to write my own personal manifesto. Every black gay person should write his or her own. This is 2010. It is time to end all these negative statistics and start loving ourselves for who we truly are.

Thank you Mr. McMahon for throwing down the gauntlet!

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

In Full Bloom (The Element of Freedom)

And the day came
When the risk it took
To remain tight and closed in the bud
Was more painful
Than the risk it took to bloom
This is the element of freedom

Alicia Keys (The Element of Freedom)

Dear Friends:

A few days ago I purchased Alicia Keys’ lastest album, “The Element of Freedom.” While this is not an album review the introductory poem (above) is what compelled me to write this post. I replayed the intro several times before continuing with the rest of the CD. It struck an emotional chord because I felt like she wrote it for me (lol).

Although I don’t literally believe that there is this giant man in the sky that has a plan and purpose for our lives I still believe that the universe itself is alive. I believe in the concept of energy and how we (and all living things) are apart of it. We all have purpose, uniqueness, and something wonderful to contribute. Some of us know right out of the gate who we are and what we’re supposed to be.

Others of us have no earthly clue and then, on any given day of our lives, discover that purpose and allow it to unfold…

Myself, I am what people have always refered to as “A Late Bloomer.” Everything came late for me. Before going further I’d like to be totally honest and reveal a few personal things. I’m 27 years old and I’ve never been outside the state of Texas (unless you count New Orleans and Disney land; however, my mother said I was still in her womb. So technically those don’t count). I’ve never lived in another city. I didn’t go to any proms or dances when I was a teenager. I have no tales of debaucherous sexual trysts to regale anyone with (seeing as I’ve only had sex, up until recently, in the context of relationships. Compared to some people I’m practically still a virgin). I’ve never had, up until recently, close friends or acquaintances (because I was so petrified that people would not think I was good enough). I’ve never been alone a day in my life (when I didn’t live at home I had a college roommate), ever. Lastly, I’ve never truly been in love (more in love with the idea of it. I think you can only truly be in love when the other person loves you back).

The list could go on but those are just off the top of my head. If I were a color I’d definitely be green. My existence, up until fairly recently, has been incredibly sheltered. Some of it was the doing of my parental units whereas others were of my creation. It has only been recently that I’ve begun the adventure of finding out who Toddy is and what HE wants out of life.

One of my favorite movies in the world is “Their Eyes Were Watching God” (based on the novel of the same name by Zora Neale Hurston). Although the movie stars Halle Berry (Ya’ll know how much I loooove Halle, heh) this was (in my opinion) one of her most beautiful and sincere roles, ever (next to Introducing Dorothy Dandridge and Queen. Let’s put it this way in certain roles I love Halle. In others she stinks like rotting mackerel)…

In the film Halle Berry portrays a young woman by the name of Janie. Janie, as a young black woman in the 1920′s, really has nothing to look forward to other than being a man’s wife. So in order to keep Janie from being some random bloke’s ”good time girl” her grandmother (played by Ruby Dee) marries her off to an old geezer (at the age of 17). However, later in the marraige, Janie leaves the geezer and runs away with a man named Jody who promises her a life of prestige and comfort. Together Janie and Jody help transform Eatonville, Florida into a thriving African-American community. Jody is eventually made  mayor of the fledgling town and Janie unwittingly inherits the unofficial title of the “Mayor’s Wife.” Instead of being her free-spirited self Janie, in order to appease her husband AND the towns people (who all believe that she must behave in a certain manner), denies herself her identity and happiness. Janie binds up her beautiful hair and stifles her youthful spirit and vitality. Over the course of twenty years she is relegated to the role of “The Mayor’s Wife.”  During this time Janie is merely existing, staying in her lane and living up to the perceptions and expectations that everyone else had of her. Suddenly, after twenty years  Jody is struck ill and dies. After the funeral Janie stands in the mirror and removes her head wrap, allowing her flowing locks to fall to her waist. Much like her hair Janie’s truest self was released. She later meets a handsome young suitor, Teacake, (played by the BEAUTIFUL Michael Ealy), falls truly, madly, and deeply in love (for the first time), and lives her life for herself for the very first time…

I saw so much of myself in the Janie character that it made me cry (happy tears though). I know what it is like to feel like a fraudulent person. It is painful when your entire existence is predicated on the idea of being “perfect” in the sight of others. However, when you are alone with yourself and thoughts you stop to wonder, “Who am I?” Yet, you eventually become so lost in the role and so passive in your own life that you become invisible to everyone…Then you forget entirely about who YOU are. Sometimes it takes something prolific to discover the element of freedom. For Janie it was the death of her husband. For me it was the death of my uncle…

Everyone knows my coming out story but long before that I was extremely closeted to myself. Even though I’d dealt with a man prior to coming out (officially) I’d gotten to a place in my life where my self-esteem was so low that I had just relegated my existence to going to church and staying in the comforts of my own bedroom (e.g. the familiar). I was far too afraid to truly be myself so staying in my lane was the only option. Everyone expected that of me. Eventually I just accepted it for myself. I was in pain but remained in the comfort of my little bud…

Yet, my uncle’s death was the catalyst that transformed my life. Granted, it wasn’t him dying per say it was what happened in the moments before the funeral. My cousin O (my uncle’s son whom I had not seen in ages) attended the funeral. My cousin O is a gay too. He lives in Vancouver and I’ve not seen him in ages. Well, he and his partner D  attended the proceedings together. O recognized me right away and introduced me to his significant other. Anyway, I cannot describe what happened to me other than to say it was like a light had shone through the darkness that enshrouded my life. When I saw them together it was like an epiphany. I remember thinking, “Oh my god that is ME!” I hung around the both of them for the rest of the day, like a little fly swarming cow dung. All of my life I had been taught that being gay or lesbian would lead to ruin. All I’d ever heard was the negative. Yet, here were these two handsome, well dressed, eloquent, and wonderful human beings happily together. That is what I KNEW I wanted for myself. For the first time I saw how my life could be. I didn’t have to be a recluse or some gay tragedy.

After the funeral I was very happy, for the first time in ages. It took me several days but one day I forced myself to say it out loud. “I am gay.” I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. The war with myself was over and a hole did not open up and devour me. I was still Toddy.

When that happened it did not stop there. Suddenly, I wanted to go back to college and start a new life. I wanted so much more than the confines of my previously lonely existence. In the ensuing years there was a lot of pain and hardship but the journey towards true freedom is never without obstacles. The people around me were used to seeing me (or NOT seeing me at all) in a certain way. Yet, by choosing to be authentic and self actualized they are the ones who’ve had to adjust to me (no longer the vice versa).

Being a late bloomer is not solely about being gay, however. That was just my journey. Your’s maybe different. You maybe a person–like myself–who didn’t have everything mapped out from point A to Z. Sometimes, you do have to live your life as a spectator before you can truly appreciate the uniqueness that is you. The sun will not rise before it’s ready. A bird will not fly until it’s ready. And a rose will not bloom until the spring. However, once they do reach their potential they are just as beautiful as all of the other birds and flowers. Maybe, at the age of 70, you would like to take up ballroom dancing…why shouldn’t you (if you’re physically able)? Why shouldn’t you have sex for the first time if you’re a 50 year old virgin? Why be embarassed of flying on a plane, for the first time, at the age of 40?  

Susan Boyle, at the age of 48, just released her first album (which became the number one debut album of all time) after living as a virtual recluse for most of her life (proving that you don’t have to be twenty-one and hot to sell a CD). So much acclaim is given to child prodigies who do everything early; however, no one gives any credit to the genius–who after being married for 50 years–becomes a world renowned painter at the age of 90.

For so long I felt so very inadequate because I haven’t had a “full” and “worldly” life by the age of 25. However, that doesn’t matter to me now. What matters to me is that I’m doing it now. Moreover, I’m doing it for myself and not for anyone else. When I set out to finish my college degrees it was for more than just acquiring a good job. My education was symbolic. It was me empowering myself for myself. That is why my graduation this year was so important. It officially closes a huge chapter in my life. Now, I am ready to write a new one. I won’t sit up here and lie and say that I’m not scared in some capacity. I am. I’m getting ready to leave behind everything (good, bad, and UGLY) that I’ve ever known. For the first time I’m allowing the world to see Toddy for who he really is and not just an illusion I tried to create in order to engender love and worthiness.

I know what I want now. I want every good thing in life that I deserve. Most important of all I am ready to truly embrace the concept of self actualization. I have the right to truly inhabit my being in complete and utter totality. I’ve decided that, in my heart and mind, I’ll never cease to be childlike. I will continue to learn something new and find beauty in every individual or situation that I come into contact with. This journey was my element of freedom.

Now, I feel like a flower in bloom. Watch me grow world. =0)

This is for all of my fellow rose buds out there. Keep on blossoming.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

To Everything There Is A Season…

Dear Friends:

This is yet another Toddy English Faith and Religion post, bear with me (haha)…

____________

2009 has been quite the learning experience for me. That in and of itself was so very necessary, however. 2008 grew me up. 2009 was about reflection. One very important lesson that I’ve been privileged to discover in this school called life is that all: people, places, things, and situations are seasonal. Everything good, bad, or indifferent is fleeting. If you believe that any given circumstance is eternal just give it time and it will be but a memory. Now, onto why I’ve decided to share this, my personal epiphany…

This year I’ve chosen to no longer attend the gay affirmative church that I’ve congregated within for the past several months. There are a myriad of reasons (reasons that prompted me to write this latest dissertation) why but the ultimate is simply that I no longer have any inkling of faith in Christianity (nor any other organized religion for that matter). Some Sudnays I’ve thought to myself, “What am I doing here?” I’ll watch the people pray, sing, praise dance, and testify and it inspires nothing for me. Granted, I am happy for them because their faith is quite important in their lives. Yet, I feel indifferent to it. I no longer need Jesus in my life to give me happiness and fulfillment.

Ultimately, my decision has been provocated by the fact that the pastor is vacating (and the church itself is in a state of disarray). He was the penultimate reason why I enjoyed attending, regularly. Here is the reason why. Although his message was based in Christianity he delivered it in a way that was relatable to everyone (not just the faithful). The pastor rarely mentioned ‘God’ in the sermon until it was complete. Instead he provided, what I felt, was sensational motivational speaking. I liked him because he gave me advice that I could apply to everyday life. Since he hasn’t  been preaching for the last few Sundays I’ve found the services lacking because, in the tradition of a Christian church, everything is centered on Jesus (lol)…It left me empty. Needless to say I am now disillusioned by the idea of continuing. Yet, I am thankful for my disillusionment. It is telling me that it is time to move on and begin something new. I needed to attend the church when I needed to. Now, there is no longer a need. It helped me realize, definitively, that I no longer believe in religion. Furthermore, it solidified in me that belief that all power for positive change starts from within.

Now, I feel comfortable in accepting and embracing my humanist view towards life. When I started writing this blog two years ago it was a struggle. I was quite angry (although I refused to admit it), confused, melancholic, and distressed. I was trying very hard to understand the world during that period. While trying to be the perpetual optimist (a natural component of my personality) I was coping with a great deal of anguish and anxiety.

When I embraced my faith, years ago, it was because that was expected. Everyone went to church and had Jesus (even drug dealers and gang bangers) When I kicked my faith to the proverbial curb it was to spite everyone else. I transformed into the belligerent warrior atheist that had to trash everyone who believed in ANYTHING supernatural. During that period of my life there was no middle ground. The pendulum swung either left or right (and got stuck on both sides) and that was that. I never gave myself the oppurtunity to mourn my Christian faith. Instead I tried to replace it. Yet, the wonderful thing is when you leave something alone for awhile you can comeback and look at it in 3rd person…

That season of discontent has finally stationed itself in the past…

As I’ve grown up so have my views on the matter. I’ve outgrown my former beliefs. However, I refuse to disparage anyone else their own. I know how important it is to have a refuge, an escape. Everyone needs something to believe in, I think. While some believe in the concept of an anthropomorphized diety I believe in the power of the human spirit. The reason I believe so strongly in it is because of what I’ve seen in other people and myself.

While reflecting on the trauma and tumult that was my life in recent history one thing always stood out. Not once did I fall to my knees and pray. Sometimes I had the inkling to do so; yet, because christianity no longer factored into my world view it ceased to matter. Instead, I turned inward.

Growing up I was unwittingly taught that image was the ONLY thing. My family was (and still is) dysfunctional as all hell; however, from the outside everyone thought we were perfect. In order to perpetuate the facade I learned to suppress my emotions. No one was allowed to see me sweat until I got home. It wasn’t until recently that I stopped doing that to myself. In retrospect whenever I felt anything deeply (despair, sadness, pain, and etc al) my mother (and everyone else in my life) told me to “Just pray about it.” For me that was the worst thing; because I was already a masochistic perfectionist. If I prayed and still felt those emotions it would make me feel worse because I’d think, “I don’t have enough faith in God!” It was almost a sick form of torcher that I, a child, was committing against himself. Moreover, “Just pray about it” made me a passive spectator in my own life. Always waiting for something good to just happen I spent more time being sad. I felt like a fake person, an android if you will.

What I know now is that all emotions and feelings are valid. To be human is to feel and experience. Fairly recently I’ve wept profusely, laughed hard, wept some more, screamed with anger, and cried again and again and again. In the end it was nothing short of total catharsis. All of the emotions that I’ve ever pushed down came swimming to the forefront. It was frightening to confront them because that meant having to take time out to care about myself…which I was always taught was selfish (a SIN) and a sign of weakness. The true sin was denying my emotions their right to be expressed. True weakness lied in hiding from my emotions instead of acknowledging my pain. Yet, they were not to be denied. The more I tried to push them (my sensations) down the more those motherfuckers wanted to float…

After honoring them I was able to push through so many issues of my life. For so long I felt stagnant, as if my circumstances would never change. But, in the end, all I had to do was keep living. There no longer a need to pray because my belief in the promise of a new and better day got me through everything I was going through. Because I wasn’t praying I found: wisdom, love, and courage that felt elusive.

As I’ve said before organized religion is no longer a dire need for me. It is now akin to my security blanket that I carried up unto age nine. When I was born I carried around a blanket that he been with me since leaving my mother’s womb. I took it everywhere, except for school. It was literally like an extension of myself. My church and family members nicknamed me “Linus”(from Peanuts) because of it. In addition, I also sucked my fingers while carrying my blanket. It was like my blanket made my fingers taste like candy(to this day my left middle finger has a not in the center from where I sucked on it). So, still carrying it by the time I was nine, my mother began secretly cutting it away. It was getting smaller and smaller but I still carried it. However, one day some woman my mom hired to baby sit me threw it away while I was at school. When I came home and couldn’t find it I felt like a crack fiend going through withdrawals. I tried substituting another blanket but it would not do. So I suffered for the next week…Until finally it just didn’t matter.

At this moment the idea of God the father and Christianity are my blanket. I feel like I’m finally able to put it away for good. I still learn a lot from religion and apply it to my everyday life. But there is no longer a need for literal immersion or a “relationship” with an invisible being with all power. Moreover, I don’t have to attend church just to fit in with everyone else. I’ll only go when it makes me happy. Spirituality, for me, is about appreciation and gratitude for everything in my life. I feel like I’ve found my own spiritual path which is to basically be kind and loving to myself and others (that makes me happy).

I still embrace the church for what it does for the community but alas it no longer fulfills me in the way that lifts my spirit. To quote that Bible verse, “To everything there is a season.” My time for religion and church is over. Perhaps it will come again; however, this is the time I am in at this moment.

It is odd for me not being religious. I have a fantastic and often overactive imagination. So, the concept of ‘God’ for me was easy. Now, I’ve allowed myself to imagine the possibility that there is not a literal shaper of all worlds. Maybe there isn’t a grand puppeteer playing us all like marionettes. Maybe, just maybe, we are in this ‘alone?’ Yet, we aren’t alone. We all have each other on this planet.

So, I’ll never shut the door on the possibility; but, for now, I choose to dwell inside of and embrace this three dimensional construct in all of it’s beauty and wretchedness.

Life makes a lot more sense to me now.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

A Day of Gratitude…

Dear Friends:

Today, I am very thankful. The meaning of this holiday is so much more significant to me now than ever before (and it isn’t about food either). As I type this I’m going to try and keep it cute because it’s always emotional speaking on the previous series of unfortunate events that occurred in my life just over a year ago. Last year, on this date, I really thought my mother was going to die. I was seriously bracing for, what felt like, the inevitable. She seemed to be getting sicker and sicker by the day. It was a horrible period. I felt: lonely, sad, lost, humiliated, afraid, and defeated…

What a difference a year can make, no?

Today I feel completely victorious. In a manner of speaking I feel reborn. My mother is healthy and happy again. I am healthy and happy again. Moreover, in less than three weeks, I’ll be completing my graduate program (and just three years ago I dropped out of school with only eighteen credit hours left on my BA). Sometimes I think back to that time and wonder, “How in the hell am I still here?”  Yet, when that thought pops into my head it is followed by “thank you.” Sometimes it pays to not even wonder why and just be thankful. Bad things happen to good people all of the time. None of us are exempt. All we can ever do is push through it. All things good and bad eventually come to an end. Be grateful for everything and everyone in your life. Most important of all be grateful to yourself. No matter what you ALWAYS have yourself.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

 

Donnie McClurkin is such a Sad Individual

Dear Friends:

After watching these videos my gut reaction was to go on a tirade against Donnie McClurkin; however, this man does not need my (nor the collective gay community’s ire). He needs sympathy because he is really SAD. He hates who he is so much that he will willingly defame himself, and people like him, just to appease a congregation of people who believes he will rot in hell if he even entertains the notion of loving and being loved in a way that is natural to him.

Anyway…

Sorry Donnie but I’ve been on the self hatred path. I refuse to travel it. I am happy and fulfilled in the knowledge that I wonder, beautiful, and worthy to exist just AS I AM. Honey, you know you can’t change your attraction. You can preach all this rhetoric until the cows come home but the “girls” all know you HOIN in the dark (hell, you refuse to refer to yourself as a heterosexual…which means you are still a homo). COGIC is a breeding ground for closet homosexuals. So don’t hate and ridicule me because I lead my life on the up and up. I’m free Mr. McClurkin. I don’t have to use some woman as a smoke screen and go fuck men in dark alleyways just to feed my loins (which is something dogs do). I’m free to create lasting relationships that will fulfill me completely. Can you say the same?

In addition, Mr. McClurkin, you should really think about what it is you are doing if you REALLY long to be “Christ like.” Somewhere in that audience is a child or adolescent that will go home and cry themselves to sleep just because they aren’t who that hateful church says they are supposed to be. That venomous rhetoric destroys lives and leads to adolescent suicide. I know because I WAS one of those kids. Because of well meaning christians like yourself I was ready to end it all for Jesus. Fortunately, I didn’t. However, could you live with yourself if you found out some child did do that? Don’t answer (because I know ya’ll COGIC people are SICK).

Anyway Donnie…I still send good thoughts your way. Hopefully oneday you’ll get your life together. You have the problem. Not me.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

 

Sammy Sosa has the Michael Jackson Disease (VitiLIEgo)

Dear Friends:

There is a new pathogen run amok. While the CDC has not made any definitive conclusions it appears this seemingly rare disease is quite contagious. Michael Jackson had it first and now baseball great Sammy Sosa is afflicted. What is this insidious ailment of which I speak? Well, the mysterious disease is none other than VitiLIEgo.

Now, don’t get it twisted Vitiligo and VitiLIEgo are two different diseases. Vitiligo is a rare skin disorder that destroys skin pigmentation (leaving white spots and blotching); however, VitiLIEgo not only decimates all of the skin pigmentation (turning dark-skinned black men whiter than Casper the friendly ghost) but it erases every single trace of afrocentricity from the faces of its victims, usually handsome black male celebrities (eyes turn lighter, hair becomes straighter, and noses go from full to pencil thin). Once the disease has run it’s course the victim generally resembles a smiling cadaver (at best a grotesque mockery of a caucasian person)…

VitiLIEgo patients quite commonly suffer from delusions of grandeur. They genuinely think the general public is dumb enough to believe that: vitiligo, steroid use, and “skin rejuvenation” can simultaneously whiten the skin; straighten the hair; lighten the eyes; and result in more Eurocentric facial features.

Again, VitiLIEgo is quite heinous (as you are about to see). Be warned the following images are quite graphic…

Sammy Sosa Before being struck by VitiLIEgo

Sammy Sosa AFTER contracting VitiLIEgo (now looking like a hideous Bizarro world version of Desi Arnez)

Michael Jackson: The most extreme case of VitiLIEgo on record. Went from Black and Beautiful to make-up done by Crayola...

Lil Kim before (A beautiful young sex pot)

Lil Kim now (one more attack of VitiLIEgo and she'll be Faye Dunaway from Mommie Dearest)

Seriously though? I can’t STAND black people that don’t want to be black. Oh my goodness it just stirs a gut level reaction in me. Perhaps, it is because I find black people to be BEAUTIFUL. Aesthetically and culturally I find everything about blackness splendid. So, it is just an odd thing to me to believe that someone would want to be anything other than what they are.

Don’t get me wrong. You will never find a more devout Michael Jackson fan; however, my relationship with him has always been one of love/hate. I love him because he was a wonderful example of a true black superstar; yet, Michael was the epitome of the psychological scarring left behind by slavery, segregation, and degradation. The Jackson family (when they were cool) were the face of black America. With their beautiful dark skin, afros, and distinctly black sound and style they truly represented black as BEAUTIFUL.

Then witnessing Michael mutilate his magnificent visage in an effort to crossover was–in my opinion–devastating to the psyche of millions of black children. Michael told a generation of children, without ever uttering a word, that being black was not good enough. Michael told us all that he could never make it in the entertainment world (as a cultural icon) unless he altered his face, hair, and coloring. What made it all the more maddening was how he attempted to disguise it as a skin disorder.  I truly believe that Michael lied about having vitiligo. If he could sit up and tell Oprah that he had only two plastic surgeries then he could sure as hell lie about bleaching his skin.

With Michael I think it was about entertainment. Michael lived his entire life to entertain. Anything that would make him more popular he did it. In my opinion I think he wanted to transform himself into a being that was not black, not white, not male, not female, and etc al. In that regard Michael possibly viewed himself as some type of entertainment demigod…accessible to everyone. Moreover, the abuse he suffered at the hands of Joseph Jackson was probably part and parcel as well (the last person Michael wanted to see looking back at him in the mirror was Joseph, who ALL of his brothers look like). As it is Michael was complicated and fucked up in many regards…

But Sammy Sosa is just a whole other situation. Oddly, Sammy made it clear to me that Michael Jackson was in fact a liar. Sammy told the press that steroid use and “skin rejuvenation” caused his skin to turn white. In addition he said that he isn’t really that white it was just the camera flash. Okay, I might buy that if Sammy Sosa were my complexion. I’m kinda light and when the flash bulb is on my color washes out. However, Sammy is dark skinned. There is no way that a camera flash is going to make him lighter than his white wife.

Sorry honey but you got VITILIEGO! Get your mind right instead of mutilating your body!

With Love (A whole lot of L-O-V-E)…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.