Three Straight Friends Asked Why I Took So Long to Come Out of the Closet

Three sets of straight-guy eyes turn, boring into me, genuinely intrigued.

Dudes were perplexed.

Wait, what had I said to make them so focused and interested? It was like the classic record-scratch moment, as if the music and conversation in the lively bar went silent and the entire room had turned its attention to me.

My brain did a quick rewind. What had been said?

Me — But I didn’t really come out fully until I was 27.

Clark — Why? Why would it take you that long?

Kai and Jerod’s necks then turned with a slow, loud creak and suddenly three straight, 30-something new friends were staring at me, deeply intrigued, their eyes saying —

Yes indeed, what the hell, Joe? Why would it take someone that long to come out? What was the problem?

It’s 2015, Obama is president. I’m age 42, and these three new friends are all younger by a good eight or nine years.

I’m mystified. They’re showing surprise. My mind does the math — so they were teens when Clinton was president in the ‘90s. Hmm, had that much changed between my teen years and their teen and college years, to the point that being gay was just no big deal for their age group, that they can’t even comprehend external forces that might keep a guy closeted?

This is a sign of progress, no? Something to be celebrated. Granted, these three are working-actor types, much more progressive and open-minded straight guys who themselves are also taking a road less traveled, pursuing the less-accepted, not-always-financially-viable showbiz route.

We’d met in a voiceover weekly workout group in Los Angeles. I’d accepted their invite to an ongoing late-night happy hour hangout after a workshop months earlier and now we thoroughly enjoyed one another’s company.

What was this feeling, this camaraderie? It had been years. Not since my theater days had I gone out for a drink and decompression session with my peeps after a long rehearsal, the chance to dissect every cast member and every backstage romance. With these guys, though, it was all about Marvel, superhero movies, video games — you know, the heavily-discussed differences between the recent Captain America versus the video game, versus the 1990 version, versus the director’s cut. (These details are apparently important, people!) Apparently?

Mainly I just sat there with a drink in my hand, nodding, wondering, is it possible that eight or nine years in age could make this much of a difference in pop culture knowledge and interests? They were intense and so into it. They’d introduced me to sit-down, role-play board games like Catan and Citadels, then to the backlog of Game of Thrones seasons I absolutely needed to catch up on to stay relevant. I was barely keeping up, but loved it. I was now part of a group and we supported one another with voiceover audition advice, gripes and opportunities.

They knew I had a partner, so to them I was just that slightly-older, veteran voiceover gay guy.

But now I’m in this loud bar, I’ve mentioned my general coming out story and they want details. They want to understand.

What to say? Why did I stay in the closet for so long, you ask?

Do I tell them about my deeply Catholic, rosary-praying mother and her comments about homosexual evil? Is it worth mentioning being age ten when AIDS arrived on our nightly news, how the reporting on “the gay cancer” suggested it was only a filthy gay issue? What about the images of those wretched gay sinners dying in hospitals alone because “they’d brought God’s wrath down upon themselves” with this disease?

It wasn’t exactly something to aspire to. No other alternatives were presented.

Do I recount how my last name is actually pronounced “gay” and how grade school tormentors made it obvious gay was a negative thing?

Is it too much to explain how the first guy I slept with used the phrase, “I’m not gay, I’m not heterosexual, I’m just sexual,” and discouraged me from coming out?

Do I explain to Clark, Jerod and Kai that there were no gay role models on television other than those playing the role of deliberate buffoon like Billy Crystal, Jim J. Bullock or maybe Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly on game shows?

Do I mention the 1989 episode of Thirtysomething where advertisers pulled out because it showed two men — not even kissing, not even touching — in bed having a conversation? How about the giant overreaction backlash to Ellen’s coming out still eight years later?

A constant barrage. This is subversive. This is pushing an agenda. This is always second-class and a lifestyle choice to be avoided if you can.

Can I help them understand how lucky they were, that they’d been encouraged to learn about dating, infatuation and puppy love as high schoolers, and in public — making mistakes and learning by doing? And that most of my gay peers couldn’t start to learn these important lessons until their mid-20s and only in secret at a gay bar?

Do I detail the time I was on the cusp of coming out but then saw the movie And the Band Played On on DVD and witnessed a main character dying of AIDS because a supposedly monogamous partner hadn’t been forthcoming about his sexual exploits, and how I’d thought —

“If this is what being gay brings, count me out.”

How about that time in 1998 when I was finally ready, but then learned Matthew Shephard was beaten and left to die on a fence?

Can I properly capture the confusion of how successful sex with some aggressive girlfriends allowed me to reconsider my sexuality and believe I was bisexual, to even actively contemplate marriage since apparently I was able to “pass,” even though I only actively fantasized about guys?

So much to explain. But as I look into their eyes, those authentic, inquisitive and welcoming straight eyes, I’m also doing a little victory dance inside. Wow, look how far we’ve come. Perhaps Will & Grace or those less- stereotypical gay couples depicted on Six Feet Under and other shows have indeed cut through the noise and educated people like these gents.

Was it possible these guys encountered out-and-proud gay students in their high schools and colleges? Had they in fact befriended a few, done projects with some, even had a best friend come out to them?

Whatever it is, however it happened, this is progress. There’s hope. These lovely guys can’t even imagine why a man wouldn’t speak his truth and be out and proud. I love these guys and I’m grateful they’ve been sheltered from the hate so much that they don’t even realize it was ever there, they don’t even think it was an issue.

— November 8th, 2016 —

I’m numb and trying not to throw up. Like so many, the rug’s been pulled out from under me. My fellow countrymen have elected Donald Trump to the presidency. It’s approaching 2 a.m. and now it’s technically the 9th. I climb into bed with a weight on my heart, longing for sleep.

The phone lights up. A text. It’s Clark.

Just checking to make sure you’re safe. Saw that a lot of gays were in West Hollywood to celebrate Hillary’s expected victory but now blowhards in giant pickup trucks with American flags are driving up and down West Hollywood streets, taunting gay guys, looking for trouble.

I hope you are careful or are home safe.

How beautiful that Clark thought to check on me. But also, how sad.

Now they know. Now he knows.

Those same guys, the lovely and innocent ones who asked me a year ago why a guy might ever have reservations about coming out, might be about to witness some hate and violence in public for the first time in their lives.

I stifle a sob.

Their bubble has burst.