No Fear. No Shame. – Ron Canady
To be honest, it was like everyone knew I had a secret, but me. Like I was oblivious to the idea of being gay, me being gay. I had never been touched, molested, raped or whatever. People usually assume that’s how gays become gay, yeah that’s how it happens.
The thing is that’s not my story, but this is…
As a young boy born in Brooklyn New York, raised by a house full of women, I was naturally effeminate. Though my father was not present, I still knew he loved me. Now this is the story of a lot of black men and some gay men. I am grateful for how I was raised and my influences. With me being so young, I was like a sponge to these strong and opinionated women. Naturally I was raised to be masculine or a “man”, but somewhere along the line I missed the memo. The memo that said being anything but “masculine” defined who you are as a boy and a man.
Growing up I was always nicer and/or softer than most people. I was affectionate, sensitive, and always hugging people as I met them. I literally wore my heart on my sleeve, a child’s bliss. I never believed anything was wrong or different about me until my great aunt started calling me sunshine, for my smile. She would always say do not hide it because it is so bright and beautiful. Little did I know it would be perceived or associated when my sexual preference and orientation.
Once upon a time in a concrete city, was a boy who thought the world was nothing but happiness. With the passing of my Great Grandmother, it was time for something new. New school, new kids, and new me. I walked into St. James Catholic School, second grade class and was met with reality. The reality that you will be judged by what people perceive you to be. Being 7-8 years old, trying to make new friends, there was one thing that rang through the classroom that I would never forget.
“You’re a Faggot!!…”
I remember it like it was yesterday. Her words struck me like a bullet even though I did not know what the word meant, it hurt. I went home that day told my mom and asked her what it meant. She said, “two men who have sex with each other”. With that specific definition I ran with it, I clearly was not gay because I was not having sex with men.
That’s not where things ended but started. From that day on I was teased and harassed about my mannerisms. From third, fourth and fifth grade, this was my experience. By being an only child, I never felt like I could tell my mother everything I was experiencing. I just held it in for the most part until I couldn’t take it anymore.
The teasing and harassment found its way to me through my family. Lets be very clear, I am the entertainment and life of the party, no matter how chill I come off, I am a ball of energy at every family gathering. Dancing, smiling and happy at every moment or gathering that I attended. “Ronald, dance!!!!” True to form I would dance without even thinking about it. Butterflying and Harlem shaking all through the living room. One day something changed, and I stopped. It was Thanksgiving and I just was not in the mood to dance. One of my Great Aunts told me to dance, but I said, “no”. In her frustration with me, she called me a, “Faggot”. “Get up and dance you Faggot!!”, she yelled. That day, no matter how much it hurt I just watched tv. My mom walked over and whispered in my ear, “you know that’s not who you are right? Don’t listen to that.”
At a young age, I wasn’t sure what “faggot” and “gay”, two powerful words, truly meant and nor did I care. That is a lie, I did care, but I didn’t know how to articulate why I cared or understand why I cared, I did know it hurt me deeply. These experiences played a large part in my development as a gay black man.
After that specific experience my mother and I moved to Maryland. New Space, New people, same shit, and into middle school I go.
Girls still were out to get me or really liked me. Now, the guys were teasing me. I’ve never been a “small” dude, but I’ve always been a pretty good looking dude (its taken a while to get to this acceptance of self love). Middle school was interesting; I didn’t have friends in this new place, so I was a loner for the most part. The new kid, and the girls flocked to me. Most did so to be my friend or because they were interested, who knows. I didn’t even notice, I just wanted friends. But everyone had an agenda.
Of course this one girl, who just did not like me for whatever reason, called me a FAGGOT. To be honest it stung, but I had built up a little more of a tough skin. She even tried to get her brother to fight me, but it didn’t happen. We walked close enough to each other to kiss, but he kept walking and so did I. To say I wasn’t scared would be a lie, but I was cool with her brother and for whatever reason he never tried to fight me. Of course that was not the end, I had to go to high school and start again.
When I started high school, I was called gay almost immediately because I was a pretty boy. It ALWAYS hurt, but I had a good group of people who always reminded me of who I was. Four years of having to prove that I was not gay, that I was not into men or that I had never touched another man. I wore everything from baggy jeans to du-rags. I was becoming less of who I knew myself to be just to fit in. Fun, sure, but it cost a lot. It cost me time and friendships. One was my best friend at the time. He told me the Summer before my senior year that he was bi, no biggie. I didn’t care because that was his story and he was my friend. However; I was intrigued, I had questions. I wanted to know more. So I found out more. One experiment lead to another and lets just say, we had a secret.
I was jumpy at the thought of someone saying to me, “can I ask you something?” Thinking they would ask me about the two of us. That I would be outed. Truth be told, as uncomfortable as I was with someone finding out, I was happy with whatever we were doing. No one knew, and I was able to be sexually free with my best friend and it be okay. At least that’s what I thought. Someone found out our secret, and it spread like wild fire. Something I thought was just ours turned into the whole school knowing. Senior year is supposed to be the best year, you don’t have much to do. Sadly, it wasn’t so great for me. The friends I thought I had harassed me. They even made a song about me, it was up on myspace, if anyone remembers that. They told everyone, had people I went to elementary school with calling me and asking me if I was gay. Even after high school, during my first week of college, they were still calling and playing on my phone about me being gay or bi.
This had to be one of the loneliest times in my life. I was trying to figure out what school I was going to and finding out my mom was diagnosed with M.S. and then finding out who I am. Being an only child was so fun, (sarcasm). There was no one to talk to or no one to express my confusion of self. No one to talk about the fact that I think I may be in love with my best friend. I was thinking it’s a good thing, but also thinking it’s a bad thing. Two men should not be together. Especially from the religious house I came from. Every Sunday was church and Saturday and Wednesday too, all as a child. But that was still prominent in my subconscious.
High school was fun, but leaving on the low note that I did felt like shit. I felt confused and unwanted in a lot of ways, but mostly alone. One of my biggest fears is feeling alone, even though I like it too. I don’t like the feeling that comes with it because you can’t escape it. It sounds backwards, but it’s the truth. I’ve had to get used to being alone, but I have never liked it. Never enjoyed it.
Yeah, Walking this less traveled road is not something everyone chooses. Shit, I wouldn’t have chosen it, but I am glad it chose me. There’s a perception that being gay is easy, but it’s far from that. The battle with self can do more damage than anything or anyone can do.
At the end of the day, all the hurt and pain; though at those specific times was nowhere near enjoyable, did teach me a lot of lessons I don’t regret.
https://www.iamcanade.com/
Leave a Comments