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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (May 21, 2010)
A Weekend in Gay Jerusalem I am a born-again gay. That’s what I consider myself, though I rarely declare so publicly. I grew up in a Pentecostal church. I started experimenting with boys in junior high and high school (experimentation be came standard practice). Right after gradua tion, I attended bible college, but got expelled - (shocking). Following my short theological stint, I came out to family; my friends (those not lacking in powers of perception) knew sooner. The caveat: my tiny bible college was in Northern California, a short jaunt inland from San Francisco. A closeted gay kid journeys to a city near San Francisco to “get straight.” Sweet irony. - My classmates and I often ventured into San Francisco. Our college leaders preached about the city’s sin and depravity, about lasciv ious homosexuals freely roaming the Castro (who were always recruiting). In my guarded, closeted queer mind, I allowed brief fantasies about joining. In large, insulated groups, we’d saunter past gays on Castro, balking at their openness, laughing at their flamboyance. I’d crave contact, but stifle it, hoping rejection would lead to reprogramming. To celebrate my last birthday, my friends and I spent a long weekend there. I’ve visited San Francisco countless times since bible college; I feel renewed every time. I’ve gone with friends, boyfriends—even family. This trip, however, felt different. As I arrived at the LADY ABOUT TOWN by D a n ie l B o rg e n As new and old friends merged. I considered the strange ways life strives for balance: life remains intent on forcing you to tackle /our demons. airport and headed into the city, I wondered why so many old memories surfaced. Why were my ghosts of closet-case past still so intent on haunting me? We stayed with a dear friend—and Port land native—in North Beach. Once settled, we set out to conquer the city, basking in the waning sunlight on Embarcadero before exploring bars on Folsom and in the Castro. I recalled similar treks during college, not ing how wholly different life was. I noticed countless (yes, countless) amazing men, but romance and sex didn’t register on my ra dar—a startling first. Instead, I pondered my dramatic paradigm shift. What might the old me think of the new one? How eas D o n 't G a m b le W ith Y o u r R ig h ts Lil Piggy says... "Got a mortgage question? Go to the b e st!" • Free C onsu ltation • No O bligation • No Fee, No Recovery ROBERT HOGG, CPA A Personal Injury & Criminal Defense Firm Mortgoge Broker • au«) w annui Call Us Now 5 0 3 . 223.1708 ily could I have become a George Rekers or ing peace with the past that still sometimes Ted Haggard? No matter the extent of my shames me. I don’t have everything figured deprogramming, no matter how fervently I out—absolutely not. But I do treasure brief, dismantle indoctrination, I fear the lifelong fleeting epiphanies. My souvenir: realizing that reconciliation comes when we bare all, quandary—did it work? Our second night there, an old friend everything, even if we fear the worst. The from bible college—we’ve remained close, people still standing around you afterward? he also made the great escape—met us in the Keep those. One souvenir I didn’t bring back: a torrid, city. After dinner, he and his wife joined us for a big gay night out. Folsom first, Castro brief love affair. When in New York last fall, second. I worried if they’d be comfortable at men swooned when I mentioned Portland—I queer bars. Yes, I’m out, but they’d never seen felt like a celebrity. In SF, many recoiled, me and my friends in full-fledged gay action. acting as if I ordered them to go face down Here lam , I thought. All this time, I'm still ter in Betty W hite’s dusty muffin. One friend emphatically observed throughout the trip, rified to mix past with present. Together, we traversed the gay scene. We “No one’s talking to me!” “No one likes me!” started at a club night we dubbed “Night of Despite my weekend-long obsession with a Thousand Bears.” Driving down Folsom, we chasing ghosts, I noticed, too. San Francisco witnessed an inconspicuous, live sex act on a is decidedly California. They own the sun Honda Accord. Horrifying, yes—of course no and have a monopoly on aesthetics. The trip one actually wants (or hopes) to watch that. certainly inspired me to want to renew my Still, I marveled. I imagined my younger self gym membership. But, for all of its forgivable haranguing, with my friend from bible college, shortcomings, that city will remain my first, about the sin. Oh, the sin! Yet here we were true, complicated love. this time, circling back around again, laugh And like most firsts, it helped make me ing, mesmerized for very different reasons. who I am, decidedly un-Rekers. The anti- As new and old friends merged, I consid Haggard. Completely Lady. J W ered the strange ways life strives for balance; life remains intent on forcing you to tackle Daniel wishes Pentecostals would stop leav your demons. While young, I sprinted away ing church literature on his doorstep and his car. from the gay, intent on escape. 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