The Long Road to Where I Am–Part 2

It’s been over a week since my last post. I have been working way too much. I am finding that these posts in my “The Long Road to Where I Am” series are both difficult and important for me to create. Meaning, they take a lot out of me, but I need to say these things. These “things” have been brewing for a long time and need to be expressed. I appreciate the response that I have received following my first post…keep those comments coming.

I want to clarify a few things, however. The last post dealt a lot with my journey through college. I would like to clarify where I am…now. First, I am no longer trying to de-gayify myself. It’s not possible. And, more importantly–even if it were possible–I have no desire to do that. I would even take it as far as saying that I was wrong for even trying to do that to myself in college. However, I do still believe the whole process of going through that made me stronger and more sure of myself. So, maybe I did need to go through it. Who knows…

Although I still consider my college days a struggle, I no longer consider being gay a sin. In fact, I no longer even think of my actions in those terms–sin vs. not a sin. My morality is not based on the Bible or any particular religious group. It is based on proven human experience. For example, murder is wrong because it has consistently been proven harmful to society (not to mention the individual being murdered). This is just one example. To avoid getting too philosophical, which may be too late at this point, I am going to move on. Which is where I am right now. The whole purpose of writing about my experiences is about moving on. I am mostly choosing to view that time of my life through humor. Because in life you have several choices: you can laugh, you can cry, or you can kick someone. And, right now, I am choosing to laugh.

My mantra has become “be honest, be honest, be honest.” And so, when I reflect on certain things in college, I have to say that I was a flaming queen. Very effeminate. At least that is what I was told my freshman year. And, when I watch the videos, I think I have to agree. You see, I was part of a touring music group called Impact Brass & Singers. We performed multi-media programs that consisted of a mixture of songs, skits, and slides (set to the music). Kind of like “Up With People.” It was during a rehearsal my first year, that one of the directors pulled me aside and said, “Brother, you are doing a good job, but can you tone it down a little. You are being a little too effeminate.” Whaaaaaat? (for the appropriate effect read that with a rising screech, a hand to your chest, a hand on your hip…get the picture??)

I worked really hard from that moment until the moment I began to come out at being masculine. (i.e.-lowering my voice, watching my hand gestures, trying not to purse my lips…) I am happy to say that I no longer edit myself like that. It does make for a much happier me. But, anyway, while we’re on the topic, I would like to discuss this a little further. It is interesting to me that although I hate the f-word, (no…not “fuck”… you dirty birdies. ;-)) there is a reason I was called the f-word a lot in high school. To those misguided homophobes, I was a fag. The interesting part is the denial of this on both sides of the fence. First, there was the my self-denial. Me trying not to be gay, “I can’t be gay,” etc. etc. And, then, there was the denial from my friends and family. Oh, Tyler….he’s just a special, sensitive, creative type…he couldn’t be a homosexual. Oh, but he could…and he is

This all supports my theory that people will believe what they want to believe. Despite all evidence to the contrary. And, you can’t really change that. They have to change it. Just like I had to change my beliefs about being gay. The perfect example of this is my family. When I came out to them, I told myself that it took me 24 years to come to terms with being gay; so, I would have to give them some time as well. And after almost ten years, they are in a much better place with it. I think most importantly, they actually believe it is true, finally.

Although, I am sensitive and creative, that’s not the only reason that I enjoy to watch Lifetime, television for women (and gay men), and I have a special affinity for musical theater…

The Long Road to Where I Am–Part 1

I have purposefully avoided blogging too much about my days at bible college. Or, about the process of my coming out. I know that a lot of people I went to school with read my blog. So, I’ve tried to avoid those subjects in order to make most everyone happy. But, I have to be honest, my college days not only were rife with personal strife; but also, they were rife with some seriously funny shit. Well, at least, it’s funny nowto me…anyway. And, I will get to that funny shit in future posts. I’m sorry to offend anyone. But, I’m writing these blogs more for myself than anyone else. 😉 I’m happy if you enjoy them, but this is therapeutic for me. And, I’ve got to tell ya that I love therapy. Sometimes…anyway.

Therapy for me is all about growth and self-improvement. And, I’ve always been a bit obsessed about self-improvement. I love the “idea” of becoming a “better me.” Despite all of my best intentions, though, I haven’t always been that good at actually seeing certain things through. For example, my bookshelves are full of self-help books. I especially love the “…for Dummies” series. I have “Nutrition for Dummies;” “Bartending for Dummies;” “MySpace for Dummies,” etc. etc. Most of them, as you might suspect, have been only partially read. I have ordered “life-changing” products from numerous infomercials. All of which, either have been thrown away, or are still in a corner waiting for that special day, when I will finally discover with great confidence that they do not solve my issues with working out. I haven’t truly succeeded in most of these attempts at improving myself–except for one. And, I feel like it’s the one that matters the most to me. I, with great effort, have come to terms with myself. Meaning…I love me for who I am.

It was several trips to a therapist during my fourth year of college that changed everything for me. I decided to go to a local pastor who was also a licensed therapist. You see, this was when I still believed that a person could change their sexual orientation. Let me clarify–I never have believed that being gay is a choice. Even while I was trying to change it, I didn’t believe that I chose it. Put the “nature vs. nurture” argument aside. Either way, I did not choose my sexual orientation. But, I used to believe that with enough prayer and counseling, it could be changed. Which is why I went to this particular therapist. I can’t say that I regret going; because, my few sessions with him really were a turning point for me. Obviously, this is not what he intended to do.

I don’t need to rehash my short stint in homosexual recovery. It should suffice to say that I have never felt worse about myself or about those around me than while I was with that therapist. Although, it did take me a little longer to officially come out, that was the last straw. It was after my second session with this pastor that I realized I wanted and needed to love myself. And, in order to do that, I had to be true to all of myself–which included being gay.

It’s also taken me a long time to admit it, but, I don’t regret going to bible college. I did for a long time, though. I’ve always thought that I would have been so much better off at a regular school–not having to “go through” all of that personal turmoil. I now believe that the experience of being a closeted gay man in that environment, although being tumultuous and painful, eventually made me stronger and more sure of myself. And, I should thank Ozark Christian College for that.

Meet My Children

The blog info in this video is outdated…please ignore the .blogspot address.

The Crazy Lady

It has been a crazy week. I flew 5 days in a row, which really is too much. It’s too much exposure to the flyin’ public. And, that can make me a little crazy. At the height of my week, I was standing in the jetbridge waiting for the passengers to deplane when this woman walks off the plane. She takes a couple steps forward, then a couple steps back. She does this several times as a look of confusion is plastered on her face. Then she says out loud, “Oh yeah, I didn’t bring the kids with me on this trip.” Oh, people.

This reminds me of another crazy lady named Phyllis. Phyllis is one of my co-workers who I really have no idea how or why she is a flight attendant. I think is has something to do with her driving her husband crazy and he wanting her out of the house…

When I was first hired 5 years ago, I was still living in Phoenix. And, my crew base was in Oakland. So, I had to commute to Oakland from Phoenix in order to start all of my trips. Because, I was new and needed to spend a lot of time in the bay area waiting for my trips, I had to get a “crash pad.” A crash pad is an apartment that 10-15 flight attendants will share and use only when they are in town in order to keep the costs down. There is usually one person who will sign the lease and keep everything “in order.”

This is where Phyllis comes into the picture. Phyllis ran the crash pad. And, here is why she is crazy…if she wasn’t crazy, then she would have been able to hide her strange behaviors. I think that “the crazies” don’t even know that their actions are weird.

Here is a classic conversation with Phyllis:

Day one in the crash pad–I am minding my own business, getting ready for work at the crash pad. I had taken a shower and was finishing getting ready. Phyllis approaches me with the strainer from the shower. It is full of black hairs.

Phyllis
-“Ummm, yeah, here at the crash pad we clean out the strainer after we shower.”

Me-“Phyllis, those aren’t my hairs…they’re black.”

Phyllis
-“Ummm, yeah, they could be pubic.”

Me
-(holding my arms outward to show her)”Phyllis, the carpet matches the drapes, I’m sorry, but, those aren’t my hairs…”

Phyllis-“Ummm, yeah…..”

Me-(I walk away still unaware of her truly crazy status)

Phyllis only eats live or raw food. Consequently, she spends a lot of time in the bathroom. It was never a pretty picture. I know this is true because my friend Kimmy accepted some of Phyllis’ “special green tea” one day. Let’s just say that Kimmy had a miserable 3 days. I don’t like she felt healthier, which is what the crazy lady said would happen if you ate like she ate.

The crazy lady liked to criticize everything that anyone else ate. She almost always started out by saying, “You guys.” Followed by, “you shouldn’t eat that stuff, it is full of all kinds of awful things…” Of course, she was referring to my vegetable stir fry that I bought from Trader Joe’s. Fairly healthy, from my perspective. Let’s not even talk about what would happen if we brought in fast food.

I may have been more prone to accepting her food advice if she didn’t spend hours in the bathroom; or, if she didn’t continuously have a strange green hue to her skin.

Of course, there are many more “Phyllis” stories to be told. Like the time she accused two of the girls of crawling through the back window of the apartment late one night… Or like the many times she would bring her 80 year old snoring husband Sid to stay at the “crash pad” with her…

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This post is dedicated to the many people who have survived Phyllis’ crash pad…especially my friends Nicholas and Kimmy, who were right there with me and have many of their own “crazy lady” stories…

Faster Than an F5 Tornado

Ok, so I just got home from work and boy, are my wings tired. It was such a hard trip (i.e.–3 hours on the tarmac with a plane full of LA passengers, waiting to take off on a 5 1/2 hour flight…do the math.) Once we got to LA, we still had to work one more flight. Whew. Since our passengers we were picking up in LA were 3 1/2 hours late, I was fully expecting them to be irate. In reality, they were too tired to show any emotion at all. Except for Mr. Jim Bob Rowdy, who was sitting in seat 10D.

Jim Bob Rowdy loved to fly and it showed. 😉 He on numerous occasions told me how much he loved my airline, followed by a “wooo hooo!!!!” and both fists in the air. At first, I honestly was a little annoyed–as were his fellow passengers, many of whom had just spent 8 1/2 hours on the plane. But, as the saying goes, “This airline can clear out a trailer park faster than an F5 tornado!” And, it’s true. I’m not being uppidy, I’m just sayin’… And, in truth, the guy was quite amusing.

I actually love these passengers. They are my peeps. These are the people that I grew up around. There is very little pretense with them. And often times, they have never flown, and don’t really know how to act on a plane. Which can be a real hoot. If the mullet, Jeff Gordon ballcap, and cut-off shorts don’t give you something to chuckle about, it’s just a matter of time before something blog-worthy is said. And, Mr. Rowdy was no exception.

I was passing out the peanuts, and offered him some. Verbatim, here is his response, I shit you not: “Shoot…I got no teeth. I can’t eat them peanuts.” It gets more realistic if you add slight drawl. My co-flight attendant and I spent the next ten minutes in the back galley recreating the scene. And, it just got better and better. I have decided that “Shoot…I got no teeth” is my new slogan.

True to Jim Bob’s nature, on landing he stood up, fists in the air, shouting,”wooo hooo, ya’all rock…yeah!” I just love our passengers…