Monday, September 05, 2005
A Lesbian In Training
God, there was a time when I really really wanted to be a lesbian. I thought I was. I felt I had been groomed for years to be this. You know, the way a PhD candidate can look back at his educational career, and easily spot the signposts along the way. Honors classes perhaps in high school, getting something published in a literary journal when you're still an undergrad. Graduating cum laude or whatever. There's a progression there.
I felt I had made these steps in my own progression towards being a dyke. I can look back and remember girls I felt attracted to in high school. I remember my first crush was on Elizabeth Taylor, with her incredibly beautiful dark looks and amazingly violet eyes. But I was also vaguely aware that I liked some of her leading men too, both on and offscreen. Luckily, I never felt this presented a problem for me. It never occurred to me to choose between my various feelings, to cast my lot with either the male side or the female. I didn't feel a need to worry about such splitting of hairs. I just was.
It never occurred to me in jr high and high school that I might be a budding lesbian. But other people were. I would get teased sometimes by other girls, who felt I was "different." I liked sports and was quite aggressive and good at them, in spite of being very very shy. Because of that I never dated, I pretty much was a lone wolf. I liked reading and read a ton, and did quite well in school which preoccupied me a lot then.
My parents were aware I had turned into quite a tomboy. I think they weren't quite sure what to do about me. Probably my behavior fitted both their expectations. My father probably would have liked a son in amongst the three daughters he did end up having, and I was the closest thing he would get to that. My mother probably encouraged the growth of that tomboy side of me as a way of getting back at my father. She wanted me strong and male-like to do battle with him, as her substitute. He and I were usually very tense with each other. She encouraged that.
Not a helpful environment necessarily for a girl to grow up in, but it ended up lucky for me. I had no stomach at all to be anything remotely like my parents. Mentally, I had probably already run away from home by age three.
By age 21, I was ready to leap further afield. I went to Europe with a friend, after saving up and working my first job that summer. Europe was the beginning of my real life. The things that were really already part of me would make their presence known, I felt, in this new and more sympatico environment.
I can even remember the exact moment and place I was at when I said, "Oohhh, so THAT'S what I am!" I was in the American Library in Paris, in the late 60s. Sometimes speaking French felt overwhelming, so I tried to escape by hanging out in "English" places. Like this library.
On one of the aisles, I discovered "The Well of Loneliness," but Radcliffe Hall. The classic lesbian coming-out story of its time. As I thumbed through the book, I picked up certain things about the heroine, who came across as a physically strong, masculine sort of woman who felt very isolated.
My identification with her was absolute and nearly instantaneous. The light went on in my brain big-time. I felt incredibly light-hearted and excited. I felt I knew who I was and where I was destined to go. Why did I happen to pick up that particular book and read through it? It was a lovely reflection of destiny at work, I thought.
The background to this discovery was my meeting a woman friend back in London with whom I became quite taken. I developed a big crush on A. Don't know why or how, but there it was. I didn't know what to do about it. I felt I wanted something from her, physically, emotionally, I wasn't quite sure. I felt all over the place in my feelings towards her.
So after making this discovery about myself in Paris, I left then to return to London, where I revealed my feelings finally to A. She took it all in, with a somewhat amused but careful expression. She had already worked through her "lizzie stage," as she put it. So there was not much for me here beyond our already developing friendship.
I remember as I explored London that summer, working there quite illegally I should add, I started checking out various gay groups. I invited A to attend my first gay function with me. She happily consented, eager to see me ensconed somewhere in the gay community. And she was intellectually a very open-minded woman.
But she made (the mistake?) of telling her uptight bitch of a mother, who of course promptly nixed her daughter going out with such a disreputable person as I was proving to be. A way for A to protect herself after all? Could be.
I was so eager to live up to my "new" identity that feeling mom's wrath didn't bother me one bit. It confirmed my feelings about being gay.
It allowed me to be a Rebel. That was cool in my book. Please ma'am, can I have some more rebellion, please please.
- - - - - - -
I felt I had made these steps in my own progression towards being a dyke. I can look back and remember girls I felt attracted to in high school. I remember my first crush was on Elizabeth Taylor, with her incredibly beautiful dark looks and amazingly violet eyes. But I was also vaguely aware that I liked some of her leading men too, both on and offscreen. Luckily, I never felt this presented a problem for me. It never occurred to me to choose between my various feelings, to cast my lot with either the male side or the female. I didn't feel a need to worry about such splitting of hairs. I just was.
It never occurred to me in jr high and high school that I might be a budding lesbian. But other people were. I would get teased sometimes by other girls, who felt I was "different." I liked sports and was quite aggressive and good at them, in spite of being very very shy. Because of that I never dated, I pretty much was a lone wolf. I liked reading and read a ton, and did quite well in school which preoccupied me a lot then.
My parents were aware I had turned into quite a tomboy. I think they weren't quite sure what to do about me. Probably my behavior fitted both their expectations. My father probably would have liked a son in amongst the three daughters he did end up having, and I was the closest thing he would get to that. My mother probably encouraged the growth of that tomboy side of me as a way of getting back at my father. She wanted me strong and male-like to do battle with him, as her substitute. He and I were usually very tense with each other. She encouraged that.
Not a helpful environment necessarily for a girl to grow up in, but it ended up lucky for me. I had no stomach at all to be anything remotely like my parents. Mentally, I had probably already run away from home by age three.
By age 21, I was ready to leap further afield. I went to Europe with a friend, after saving up and working my first job that summer. Europe was the beginning of my real life. The things that were really already part of me would make their presence known, I felt, in this new and more sympatico environment.
I can even remember the exact moment and place I was at when I said, "Oohhh, so THAT'S what I am!" I was in the American Library in Paris, in the late 60s. Sometimes speaking French felt overwhelming, so I tried to escape by hanging out in "English" places. Like this library.
On one of the aisles, I discovered "The Well of Loneliness," but Radcliffe Hall. The classic lesbian coming-out story of its time. As I thumbed through the book, I picked up certain things about the heroine, who came across as a physically strong, masculine sort of woman who felt very isolated.
My identification with her was absolute and nearly instantaneous. The light went on in my brain big-time. I felt incredibly light-hearted and excited. I felt I knew who I was and where I was destined to go. Why did I happen to pick up that particular book and read through it? It was a lovely reflection of destiny at work, I thought.
The background to this discovery was my meeting a woman friend back in London with whom I became quite taken. I developed a big crush on A. Don't know why or how, but there it was. I didn't know what to do about it. I felt I wanted something from her, physically, emotionally, I wasn't quite sure. I felt all over the place in my feelings towards her.
So after making this discovery about myself in Paris, I left then to return to London, where I revealed my feelings finally to A. She took it all in, with a somewhat amused but careful expression. She had already worked through her "lizzie stage," as she put it. So there was not much for me here beyond our already developing friendship.
I remember as I explored London that summer, working there quite illegally I should add, I started checking out various gay groups. I invited A to attend my first gay function with me. She happily consented, eager to see me ensconed somewhere in the gay community. And she was intellectually a very open-minded woman.
But she made (the mistake?) of telling her uptight bitch of a mother, who of course promptly nixed her daughter going out with such a disreputable person as I was proving to be. A way for A to protect herself after all? Could be.
I was so eager to live up to my "new" identity that feeling mom's wrath didn't bother me one bit. It confirmed my feelings about being gay.
It allowed me to be a Rebel. That was cool in my book. Please ma'am, can I have some more rebellion, please please.
- - - - - - -
