Posted on 03/23/2017 6:46:46 AM PDT by pabianice
As a man, I want all the things that men are supposed to want. I want to be a gym-rat, eat steak for every meal, drink a raw egg, crack open a beer on a Sunday and watch the Patriots with my guy friends, etcetera, etcetera.
Except, I hate all the things that men are supposed want; all of them.
Growing up, I was always a little overweight. I’m pretty sure the last sport I played was tee-ball, which I quit before I even entered the second grade, and my middle and high-school careers were full of the arts and theater. My voice was high pitched, I sang in the school choir and nearly every single one of my friends were girls.
I remember in fifth grade, I invited all the “cool guys” over for my birthday party. You know, the coolest kids who played pee-wee football and farted on each other because they thought it was the funniest thing to have ever happened.
And even in high school, while my male classmates were hitting the gym, making the varsity sports teams or dating the prettiest girls in school, I was swimming in the pool with my t-shirt on.
My whole life I’ve felt like I’ve tried to fit into this mold of being a “typical guy,” even though I’ve never felt totally in-tune with my own masculinity or physical appearance. Shrouded in a storm of pubescent angst and confusion, I spent much of my childhood being angry because I just wasn’t “one of the guys.”
I remember always trying to speak in a lower tone of voice, avoiding saying “s” words because of my lisp and remaining explicitly aware of any flamboyant motions that I made with body. I consciously reminded myself not to move my wrists, cross my legs or do any other things men “didn’t usually do” out of fear that people would think I was, dare I say it, gay.
Because I’m not gay, I’m bisexual.
The other day I was having a conversation with a few people who I’ve known for a while, but was never super close with personally. We began speaking on the topic of relationships and heartburn immediately set in, as all I could think was, “just act straight.” But my plans were foiled when someone asked if I was gay.
The fear that I have always had of being perceived as gay is rooted in the systemic societal norms that label queerness as negative. No one ever makes fun of or accuses someone of being straight.
But it was within this fear that I saw the naïveté, the blatant insecurity and the unfairness to myself and others for being shameful for a piece of my identity that I did not choose or would ever want to change.
So when they asked, I responded, “I’m bisexual,” to which they responded, “I knew it.”
Why did they know it? What was wrong with me? How could I have hidden it better? I came out to a few of my friends and my then-girlfriend during the fall semester of my junior year, and they were all accepting and supportive of what I had shared.
But this felt different.
In this instance, I felt forced to share a piece of myself. A piece that is so personal, so important and so fundamental in how I act, what I wear, how I think, how I lead, how I work and how I build my relationships, that I felt it was all wrong.
I asked them, “How did you know?” to which they said, “I could just tell. I mean, do you see your hair in that picture?” as they pointed to a photo of myself from freshman year that was hanging on the wall.
I’m big enough to admit that the haircut was bad, but how was that one thing so representative of such a large piece of my identity? Most, if not all people have hair at some point in their life, so what made mine gay? Or bisexual? What makes anyone’s hair gay? Hair has no gender and no sexual orientation. As far as I know, it’s just keratin.
This incident was not meant to be hurtful, but I still walked away feeling hurt. “People are so sensitive nowadays,” they claimed. Was I being sensitive or a “snowflake?” I came to the conclusion that the answer, undoubtedly, was no.
For as long as I can remember, people have questioned my identity. The way I talked, with every pronunciation of a word beginning with an “s” slithering into their consciousness, planted some sort of seed of femininity into their perception of me. The way I dressed did the same, as my pants were supposedly too tight, even though the last time I checked those people weren’t the ones wearing, buying or feeling comfortable in them. The way I lead has also been questioned, because maybe if I had been taller with a deeper voice, and maybe if I wasn’t so “confrontational” or “pushy,” then I could lead how a man is supposed to lead.
To all this I have one thing to say: get over it, get over yourself and adjust.
No one has the right to police a piece of your identity, nevertheless call you out and plant a seed in your head, making you think that there is a single thing wrong with the way you are. We do not choose how we enter the earth. We do not choose our biological sex, our skin color, our eye color, our hair color, our gender, our sexuality, our economic status or our perception of what it means to be a man or woman.
But what we can choose is how we act, react and educate ourselves regarding issues such as identity. I label myself as bisexual because I feel the need to identify as something, but that by no means is to say that gender and sexuality should have limits, and they should certainly never have expectations.
So don’t believe for one second that you have to masquerade as something you’re not. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for who you are. How you choose to identify is your choice, and who you disclose that information to is your business.
And for those looking for a secret formula on what you need to do in order to guess or learn about someone’s identity, here it is: don’t be an asshole.
Robert Rigo is the Collegian Editor in Chief and can be reached at editor@dailycollegian.com.
I’m cooking a bison (which I killed and gutted with my bare hands) over an open fire built on the hood of my muscle car.....
Sounds GREAT!
I’m ready for my second beer, back in a minute...
Robert Rigo is the Collegian Editor in Chief and can be reached at editor@dailycollegian.com.
...................
Robert Rigo uses a lot of personal pronouns. Which is the root of his problem.
“We do not choose our biological sex”
Bunkum. Years ago before Internet I read in a book on psychological disorders of a young man born way back in the Ozarks.
His mother died in childbirth and he was raised by men, never saw or had any contact with women.
Drafted in WWII, the military doctors noticed something “different” about him so they gave him the tests to see if he was homosexual.
They showed him photos of sexy women, NO reaction.
They showed him photos of naked men, NO reaction.
Scratching their heads, one doctor looked at his history of upbringing and tried something different.
He showed the young man a photo of a young heifer cow.
INSTANT SEXUAL REACTION!
I believe you were born a man or woman, but outside influences can cause problems.
Remember the old story of homo men who were raised by the “Maiden aunt”?
Years ago it was shown baby boys were treated different from baby girls, even in the hospital where boys were wrapped in a blue blanket and baby girls in a pink blanket.
Maybe something is also “imprinted” in the baby’s brain we don’t know about, or are afraid to find out.
I just looked at his FB page. He looks a little like the All-American boy: freckles, mop of hair, big smile. He’s a very talented photographer. I don’t see how anyone would necessarily see him as gay or bi-sexual. I think you all are correct in that he probably lacked a father to model masculinity for him. So many young men probably feel as lost as he is.
Kids desperately need their dads involved in their lives. When our oldest was younger he spent his time with me - my husband was then a teacher and coach, kids would go days without seeing him every week. He was not the typical little boy as he wasn’t aggressive, couldn’t throw a ball and preferred quiet activities. All my friends had girls so that’s who he played with.
Around the age of ten he joined wrestling (dad was the high school coach) and so began to spend more time with dad doing guy stuff. At 17 he is as manly as manly can be-three sport athlete(successful due to hard work and determination, not natural talent) really does drink raw eggs, and loves extremely rare and bloody steak.
If I had been a single parent who knows how different he would have turned out.
The author has a warped view of what being masculine is.....
It’s also very obvious he has significant mental problems yet wants everyone to accept his issues as normal.....
Without for sure. Steak needs no additives to dress it up. Let the juices flow!!!
BURRP!
Who would want a son, a husband, or father like this person? Only another maladjusted soul.
“open fire built on the hood of my muscle car.....”
Dang! You must have bought that wax they used to advertise on TV where they lit lighter fluid on the hood. With any luck you probably ordered before midnight and got the extra can for free along with the shamwow.
Read this through carefully, and I’m still not sure what the author is unhappy about.
"perhaps he should try a little more steak, than tube steak..." LOL, Yup!
Bisexual is just a fancy word for "faggot."
I get into work every day at 0630 and the first thing I do while I go through the office email is make my breakfast in the microwave ...
A Polish sausage sandwich with hot German mustard and one or two whole pickled jalapeno peppers ...
Ahhhh... the breakfast of champions!
I’m about to head for my local diner for some chicken-fried steak and eggs. Mmm.
He’s any sexual. POS example of a man.
Black coffee and cigarette for me. While parallel parking my stick shift car. Hey, I’m on a diet.
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