DescriptiveEssay: To the Unaccepted,
*Quick note, When I say "Her" or "She" in my essay, im talking about my girlfriend specifically, not a generic pronoun*
There I was, in what should have been one of the happiest moments of my entire life. I sat there on the floor of the ballroom, just up against the wall, my right hand caressed around her back, my left pushing her hair out of her face. I held her as she lay in my lap, trying to make sure she was as comfortable and happy as I was. Then we looked at each other. My eyes found hers and i was trapped, treading in the silver-blue crystal sea that was her deadly, beautiful eyes. She gave me that look, the look that always told me that she was thinking the same thing I was, and that she too, was locked in my stare. She lifted her head, and I lowered mine. And our lips met.
I might have gotten a split second of that feeling I loved; that high where you feel like you’ve gotten everything you wanted, and even if just in that moment, all was right in the world. There was no war, no hunger, no global warming, at least not while I was with her. However, as fast as it came, my high went away.
I started to hear random gasps from the crowd of students nearby, a crowd made mostly up of freshmen. Some of the girls from the group started to woot and ooh, as if we were on some distasteful talk show, in front of a live studio audience. I was almost waiting to hear someone start shouting “STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!” or for someone to ask for their Jerry Beads. As the kiss broke away i looked up at two particular girls where the two loudest voices were coming from. They had been staring right at us, giggling when they were not carrying on and hollering. They both looked away emediately, still giggling in both humor and disgust. They were belittling us, and just being so disrespectful right to our faces.
I hated that with every fiber of my being. That sick feeling when everyone looks down at you, like some pile of crap that should not belong near the rest of the community. I guess they think that I’m different than most people because I’m a lesbian. I used to think being gay was different, back when I had not known that I was. I thought it was the same kind of different as people who wear glasses versus those that do not, or people who wear braces and people that do not need them. I used to wonder if people like that thought differently, if they acted differently, if those people would be the same if they did not have braces or glasses. But now, I have braces, and I know that people with things like that are still regular people who do regular things, they just have different assets than a lot of people.
Being gay is like that, too. Most girls either have boy friends or husbands, or will have one later. Most guys have either girl friends or wives, or again, will get one. I just have something different. I have a girlfriend. It makes me feel a little bad now, when I think about it, because I did used to think that way. I did think that gays were somehow unexplainably different then straight people, or as I thought of it, regular people. In middle school I had a friend who was funny, bright, cool, artistic, and as I had found out, bisexual. When I found that out it never really left my mind. I could speak with her, work with her, play with her, or whatever, but I never actually forgot that she was bi when I was with her. I wondered how often she thouht about it, how often she just thought, ‘huh, im different.’ But, I know now that, when you’re gay or bi or whatever, you dont really think about it at all until someone mentions it. And even then, you dont really think about it unless you’re being made fun of or degraded for it.
I think, though, even when people say they totally accept it, there is no real way to know who fully and honestly accepts it until homosexuality hits home. My mother used to tell me that it was perfectly okay, whatever I turned out to be. She said that it ran in my family, that two of my cousins were gay and she still loves them very much. She said that all the time, and I used to deny it. “I'm not a lesbian, mom, God!” She’d annoy me so much because she’d say it every day. It was almost as if she’d thought I was a lesbian, or if not, like she wanted me to be. I was afraid of what she’d say to me when I told her, and I had reason to be.
I came home one day from school, and I knew that I had to tell her soon. It was may 16th, and I had only figured out that I was in love with Her the day before. I didnt want to wait; if I got too far into a relationship without telling her I was aware that she would be angrier than if she just found out later. I came home as she was getting ready to go to the gym, and told her.
“Mom,” I asked. “How would you feel if... if a boy asked me out?”
Mom immediately got that wary face, as if asking herself whether or not she was about to scream at me, depending on my explanation. “Why, did someone ask you out?”
I really didn’t want to tell her straight out, I was so scared, I just couldn’t do it... “Just hypothetically. What would you say?”
“Well,” She began. “I’d want to meet him first, and he’d better not have any kind of intentions.”
I couldn’t handle it, I had to go into detail. I closed my eyes and blurted out, “What if it wasn’t a guy? What if I wanted to go out with a girl?”
“What,” She got a scary face that I couldn’t really describe. It was as if I was a small child and said an array of curse words in front of her. “Did She ask you out?”
“Well, not really,” I tried to be quick to respond so that she couldn’t cut me off and jump to any kind of conclusion like she always did. “We just kinda both felt that way, and, I wanted to tell you bef-”
“No.” She interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
When I tried to tell her that she was just saying no because she was another girl, she decided to use the excuse that I was ‘too young to be in love,’ so I was defeated. I couldn’t argue with her unless I wanted to get angry enough to start packing. I was already in tears, so I decided to drop it. But as much as mom continues to insist that its not because I’m attracted to a girl but because I’m not sixteen yet.
So, having experienced what I have, I really think that acceptance is never really honest until it is put to the test. People can always just say that they accept gays as equals, and even if they think they mean it, as soon as they see it in front of them, they end up showing how they really feel about it. Some prove that they really do think its totally okay, but others end up enshrouding a false sense of acceptance to reveal a layer of ignorance and disrespect unknown even to themselves. The difference is shown, simply put, by the choice of the ‘aww!’ or the ‘ooh!’
I might have gotten a split second of that feeling I loved; that high where you feel like you’ve gotten everything you wanted, and even if just in that moment, all was right in the world. There was no war, no hunger, no global warming, at least not while I was with her. However, as fast as it came, my high went away.
I started to hear random gasps from the crowd of students nearby, a crowd made mostly up of freshmen. Some of the girls from the group started to woot and ooh, as if we were on some distasteful talk show, in front of a live studio audience. I was almost waiting to hear someone start shouting “STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!” or for someone to ask for their Jerry Beads. As the kiss broke away i looked up at two particular girls where the two loudest voices were coming from. They had been staring right at us, giggling when they were not carrying on and hollering. They both looked away emediately, still giggling in both humor and disgust. They were belittling us, and just being so disrespectful right to our faces.
I hated that with every fiber of my being. That sick feeling when everyone looks down at you, like some pile of crap that should not belong near the rest of the community. I guess they think that I’m different than most people because I’m a lesbian. I used to think being gay was different, back when I had not known that I was. I thought it was the same kind of different as people who wear glasses versus those that do not, or people who wear braces and people that do not need them. I used to wonder if people like that thought differently, if they acted differently, if those people would be the same if they did not have braces or glasses. But now, I have braces, and I know that people with things like that are still regular people who do regular things, they just have different assets than a lot of people.
Being gay is like that, too. Most girls either have boy friends or husbands, or will have one later. Most guys have either girl friends or wives, or again, will get one. I just have something different. I have a girlfriend. It makes me feel a little bad now, when I think about it, because I did used to think that way. I did think that gays were somehow unexplainably different then straight people, or as I thought of it, regular people. In middle school I had a friend who was funny, bright, cool, artistic, and as I had found out, bisexual. When I found that out it never really left my mind. I could speak with her, work with her, play with her, or whatever, but I never actually forgot that she was bi when I was with her. I wondered how often she thouht about it, how often she just thought, ‘huh, im different.’ But, I know now that, when you’re gay or bi or whatever, you dont really think about it at all until someone mentions it. And even then, you dont really think about it unless you’re being made fun of or degraded for it.
I think, though, even when people say they totally accept it, there is no real way to know who fully and honestly accepts it until homosexuality hits home. My mother used to tell me that it was perfectly okay, whatever I turned out to be. She said that it ran in my family, that two of my cousins were gay and she still loves them very much. She said that all the time, and I used to deny it. “I'm not a lesbian, mom, God!” She’d annoy me so much because she’d say it every day. It was almost as if she’d thought I was a lesbian, or if not, like she wanted me to be. I was afraid of what she’d say to me when I told her, and I had reason to be.
I came home one day from school, and I knew that I had to tell her soon. It was may 16th, and I had only figured out that I was in love with Her the day before. I didnt want to wait; if I got too far into a relationship without telling her I was aware that she would be angrier than if she just found out later. I came home as she was getting ready to go to the gym, and told her.
“Mom,” I asked. “How would you feel if... if a boy asked me out?”
Mom immediately got that wary face, as if asking herself whether or not she was about to scream at me, depending on my explanation. “Why, did someone ask you out?”
I really didn’t want to tell her straight out, I was so scared, I just couldn’t do it... “Just hypothetically. What would you say?”
“Well,” She began. “I’d want to meet him first, and he’d better not have any kind of intentions.”
I couldn’t handle it, I had to go into detail. I closed my eyes and blurted out, “What if it wasn’t a guy? What if I wanted to go out with a girl?”
“What,” She got a scary face that I couldn’t really describe. It was as if I was a small child and said an array of curse words in front of her. “Did She ask you out?”
“Well, not really,” I tried to be quick to respond so that she couldn’t cut me off and jump to any kind of conclusion like she always did. “We just kinda both felt that way, and, I wanted to tell you bef-”
“No.” She interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
When I tried to tell her that she was just saying no because she was another girl, she decided to use the excuse that I was ‘too young to be in love,’ so I was defeated. I couldn’t argue with her unless I wanted to get angry enough to start packing. I was already in tears, so I decided to drop it. But as much as mom continues to insist that its not because I’m attracted to a girl but because I’m not sixteen yet.
So, having experienced what I have, I really think that acceptance is never really honest until it is put to the test. People can always just say that they accept gays as equals, and even if they think they mean it, as soon as they see it in front of them, they end up showing how they really feel about it. Some prove that they really do think its totally okay, but others end up enshrouding a false sense of acceptance to reveal a layer of ignorance and disrespect unknown even to themselves. The difference is shown, simply put, by the choice of the ‘aww!’ or the ‘ooh!’
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