Just Breathe--Anywhere

         My stomach was empty. Dan, my older brother, was celebrating his birthday. Our immediate family was present and jolly, but that didn’t offer me much escape from an unspoken fear and sense of detachment. But I hid it well. I still laughed when my shellfish allergy forced me to eat breadsticks and macaroni and cheese at Red Lobster. What 19-year-old wouldn’t feel disconnected after ordering off the Kids’ Menu at a large restaurant chain? Dan and I were completely different people.

         The disconnection ran deeper than my inability to eat a succulent king crab leg. The real reason for my silence stemmed from a distaste for Dan that had brewed for years. Most memories of him were traumatizing. He belched and blew his skanky chicken-wing or refried-bean breath in my face, held my once wiry frame down while precariously dangling a phlegm wad above my face, shocked me with his painful two-fingered “touch of death” to the middle of the chest cavity, and dunked me in the pool. The dunking went on for many summers in pools, lakes, and oceans. This culminated in a Florida pool, where his persistent “dunking machine” turned me into a folding chair and forced me to scream “I can’t breathe under water!” in a terrified and breathless tone between dunks. Maybe he’ll stop, I thought to myself. I wanted to make sure he knew, just in case he was that thickheaded.

         By the time dinner was over, my stomach was disgruntled, no doubt contributing to my negativity. My family was bubbling, stuffed to the brim with crab and lobster. I had a brick of bread and sub-par mac ‘n’ cheese in my stomach. The bitter cold of mid-March sent me shivering towards the cars in a rush. Dan wanted to drive home with me. My license was new. As an amateur driver, I was ready for criticism from him, something about not driving fast enough or badass enough. My imagination conjured up a terrifying image of becoming victim to the touch of death while behind the wheel and losing control, slamming into a median while my brother cackled menacingly.

         Dan and I were at a red light in Deptford. I was waiting for a green arrow to allow me access onto Route 55. The silence was expected. I never had much to say to my brother. There was a period when all I said to him were single-word answers to his questions. It wasn’t quite ten-and-two, but I had both hands on the wheel. Perhaps I was nervous. My brother made me antsy. My eyes were fixed on the red light when Dan casually said “So I saw your MySpace.” I thought to myself, so this is how the gay conversation will go.

         I once heard Dan say something along the lines of, “All gays should be put on an island by themselves away from everyone else.” When I was younger and my older brother was like an authoritative figure that had some sort of control over my life, that comment terrified me. My brother installs heating and air conditioning units. I understand now that he’s quite far from being a political and social superpower strong enough to put me and every other homosexual on a desert island.

         I can’t say that I dislike anyone enough to put them on a desert island. But I can shake my head at some people. My disapproval has nothing to do with sexual orientation and everything to do with ignorance, stupidity, and the perpetuation of unfair and incessantly annoying stereotypes. Embracing individual sexuality is a wonderful experience, and knowing that you have support from your family and friends is relieving, to say the least. I was lucky. Some people out there are still anti-gay. They would be exiled first for their ignorance and stupidity. Joining them would be those that perpetuate the unfair and annoying gay stereotypes. I’m talking about the ones that parade around with rainbow patches on their backpacks, manicured nails and waxed eyebrows, painful lisps and voices that just make you wonder. I’m talking about the ones that insist on creating their own community, a “gay community,” some sort of exclusive club. My only requirement for sexuality is the gender of the people you are attracted to. Smooth integration with other sexualities is the only logical approach to me.

         The rest of the car ride home was the end of the fear I always had around my family. Most of that conversation was a blur and I drove almost blindly, my mind racing. My short responses to his deeper questions were inadequate. He told me he was fine with my sexuality, that I was his brother and that’s what mattered, that he had never really known a gay person, unless they were blatant with their self-proclamations or gay tendencies. I suppose it was a Hallmark moment. He still plays the role of older brother, often using a sarcastic and cynical sense of humor. Dan still laughs whenever my family reminisces over my Mom’s longing to have a baby girl while I was growing inside her.

         He’s a jerk. Yet only one thing matters in our relationship, and I think Dan said it best. He’s my brother. I could hold his former narrow-mindedness against him and be bitter for life. But then I would be down a brother. We share more in common now. We started with discussions of South Park and Family Guy. We talked about music. But I’m not expecting us to go to every concert together. We both like beer and discuss our preferences. But we’re not at the bar together every weekend. We both find tattooing a form of art and expression. He has four and I’m about to get my first. But I don’t want us to watch every needle against each other’s skin. I used his copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass to write a report and I liked all the passages he underlined. I often forget he had poetry published. But I probably won’t be attending a poetry reading with him. I adopted his sense of humor, one that is rather prevalent in our ball-busting and reminiscing family. Are we really that different?

         I put my sexual orientation on my public MySpace page and hid it from my family. Perhaps that seems foolish considering MySpace’s accessibility. In the back of my mind I think I wanted it to be found. I never wanted to deliver a prolific “I’m gay” speech. I never have and I never intend to. My sexual orientation is a minute detail that should not overshadow anything else about me. I am perfectly content with “Sexual Orientation: Gay” living unobtrusively at the bottom of my MySpace page as all my more relevant and interesting pursuits or passions take center stage. That’s what connects my brother and me now. We like some of the same things and share the same sense of humor. And he can’t breathe under water, either. You have more in common than you think with just about anyone in this world, and if it takes nineteen years to find and build a relationship based on those commonalities, it’s worth investing the time into discovering them and deserving of a few pages.