Pivot Point

When did it all change?

What was the first thing to smack me upside the head and jam its fundamental truth (use real fundament) into my ignorance and prejudice?

That would have to be the book Magic's Pawn by Mercedes Lackey.

The weird thing is, I'd picked it up on spec at a book exchange at a library, along with Story of the Stone by Barry Hughart. Both looked interesting, I'd never seen either one, so I plucked them from the “take a book, leave a book” box in the Sci-Fi section. And my bestie at the time quirked a moue at me, saying, “Are you sure you want to read those?”

We didn't have terms like “demisexual” back then. We also didn't have terms like “gatekeeping” back then either, and let me tell you, said bestie was all about “curating” my sci-fi choices. Looking back, I'm absolutely positive she was panic-stricken that I'd turn into some kind of monster, like maybe a fanatical cult leader or something? And she was doing her surefire best to... I don't know, prevent me from becoming something baaaaad.

I knew at that moment, with those two books in my hand, that whatever she was afraid of, I was getting sick of it. Either out with it, girl, or shut up. We were already drifting apart, with me going to a small Christian college and her going to a large state uni. No, we didn't go the way you ever expected with that pairing. I was becoming more and more liberal and liking it, and she was becoming someone who'd rather pal around with her uni bestie and drop French phrases into conversation, n'est-ce pas?

Très bien, my dear, au revoir.

Both series had gay guys in them, and they were integral to the plot. They were the hero, or the chaotic force that drove the hero forward. I dove into both series, and to this day, they are some of my favorite books. I wore out copies by re-reading them and lending them out. I bought more, a set for just myself, and a set to lend.

This was the line: “This I think I have learned: where there is love, the form does not matter, and the gods are pleased. This I have observed: what occurs in nature, comes by the hand of nature, and if the gods did not approve, it would not be there. I give you these things as food for your heart and mind.” Thank you, Moondance. By that point I'd seen a gay dog give us the most betrayed expression ever when we teased him with an amazingly built male, then switched to the bitch the kennel wanted to breed him to. I knew it happened in nature. We're nature. QED.

And, like mine, I saw minds soften. And I watched the “gay community” advance to L-G, then the angst adding the B. And just when I thought I got my tongue wrapped around LGTB, the Q and + came along, and were folded into the rich panorama of the ever-unfolding human experience.

And some of the coolest kids I know became enby, or transitioned, and are still as awesome as ever. AJ, Vo, Tem, Max, all my love for leading the way, being brave enough to face it with all the acceptance or rejection you've faced, and take the lead against prejudice and political BS and everything. And still be vulnerable to let us dinosaurs tag along, to see what cool new things you discover.

Did I ever hate? I don't remember. I was a tween and teen, what did I know about feelings? I know the idea squicked me out. I have a rather active imagination, so any thought in the direction of the carnal realities of the rainbow just left me saying “ewww.” But, so did hetero sex. Had I known about being ace, I would have embraced it wholeheartedly and told my budding hormones to take a hike. You know what? I realized, what people do in the privacy of their own bedroom ain't none of my bidness, so my squicks can just zark off and get a pizza or something.

I do recall traveling to San Fran in '80 or '81, and wanting to hop out of the car and get to the beach, and my mother hollering for me to get back in, we needed to go, and I was so ticked off, it's Beach Time! And later her admitting the problem was the two men kissing on the sand wall. Didn't even see them; all I knew was Beach Denial. I think I had my priorities straight. Revenge is sweet, though – when we visited Blue Heaven restaurant in Key West about ten years ago, my parents and I and my hubby, the handsome waiters were all in local plays... and appreciating my dad and hubby, and Mom and I were chopped liver. Which had been left in the sun for too long. And considering my hubby looks like a particular porn star, it was especially amusing. We've gotten used to it by now, but poor Mom and Dad were quite uneasy.

I grew up one town over from Keith Haring's home town. My aunt and uncle would go to parties with him. The poor gift shop clerk in Key West just about fell off his chair when I identified the pins they were selling as one of Haring's designs, and I added it to the pile of souvenirs I was buying. I was there with my hubby, and we don't look like allies, so it was quite a shock that we were cool with, I don't know, proximity?

I live my life by three rules now: consenting, adult, discrete. Hubby and I don't mind the offers, but please respect the no, and it's all good.

And then I learned, via Dear Abby of all places, about demisexuality and sapiosexuality.

Me?

I'm a part of that glorious rainbow, not just an ally?

By now, I've gotten good at protection. I have the face and form of a babushka, just a few degrees off a Baba Yaga. At a con, when a newly-transitioned kid was terrified because she was in the prettiest handmade cosplay ball gown and fully out for the first time, I sat nearby like the force wall I can become, and silently dared anyone to try some crap with me first. (Amazing what attitude alone will do, just saying. A bunch of haters we saw approaching suddenly found somewhere else to be.) I've rescued people with nowhere to go after being kicked out in the middle of the night. I've taught “how to be a girl” classes, on everything from makeup to washing routines. I've verbally shredded haters, with logic, or Biblical verses in context, or science. I've done more, but that would be breaking promises, and I ain't gonna do that to a vulnerable populace when the political noose is tightening.

I wish I were Baba Yaga, because I would craft such a devious spell where the haters wake up with their genitalia switched. Deal with that, you hate-sacks.

Now, it's watching a friend who's struggled with their sexuality for years. As soon as Our Flag Means Death premiered, they realized what being seen truly meant. Being represented on screen, casually, not as a freak or a token or a casual nod to what some writers see as a fad. Just, there, in the script, integral, no effs given and no explanation.

It has been revelatory. I look forward to a deeper friendship as they learn more about themselves from a queer point of view. “Male” and “female” were quite binding to them, trapped half-in and half-out of a culture that hangs most of their raison d'être on progeny. Having shattered that particular taboo in my own culture, it helps to see more and more take control of their own lives, and not live for some virtue-signaling parental figure's hollow ideal.

I still have a problem with pronouns. Name change, well, being in the Society for Creative Anachronism (middle ages re-enactment group), that one I can get. We usually change our names to something more medieval-sounding soon after joining, though it's not necessary. I still glom on to the first name I hear, but it's gotten easier over time. Pronouns... I have to practice. I wish I could propose sweeping changes: everyone starts out as “they,” and you can choose otherwise when you register to vote. And in the meantime, you can try them on to see if they fit, like clothing. We laud actors when they adopt personalities for stage and screen, why do we get all bothered when it's someone we know?

I've begun to make very subtle rainbow beads out of light-colored pastels. I did this at a local event recently, where I was asked to demonstrate glass bead making. Let's say that the same-sex couples noticed, and suddenly we were a safe space. A friend who's at a ren faire puts out rainbow spinners for the same reason, and she says kids with strained looks on their faces come up regularly and ask to hang out for a bit, “because then my parents will leave me alone for a while, they won't dare set foot in a rainbow-marked space.”

If that's the case, consider my house painted with a rainbow-striped banner five hundred miles wide, in all directions.

I can't say it'll get better, but you'd better believe that I'm voting in the right direction come November. In the meantime, there's a safe space here, and if we each stake a claim, small pools of light join and become paths. If that means paths out of this country, so be it. Rainbow underground railroads sound like a fine plan to me.

If you've read my stories, you've seen I have love matches across the board. And pronouns. No, I'm not making a point. My characters tell me what their gender is, and I write with those preferences held firmly in mind.

All because I read a book, and it got me thinking.