Category Archives: Portland, Oregon

James, Student, Portland, Ore.

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

James, in his own words: “Hmmm, well I don’t like the word gay anymore because this question is derogatory. You wouldn’t ask someone what it means to be black or poor, or whatever. But since you asked, I’ll do my best to answer this question. I don’t think it means anything in particular. I mean, being gay does present challenges and obstacles just like every other minority or in some cases the majority experiences. It’s definitely not easy at all, and it still challenging, but for guys of my age group or older it was a lot harder for us when we were teenagers trying to figure ourselves out then it is for someone who’s a teenager now just coming and trying to figure themselves out. With 19 states now allowing gay marriage, it’s meaning more then it used to. Being gay means that I am just like everyone else. I’m no different then anyone else who isn’t gay, but I feel that it makes me appreciate life more and strive more to achieve my goals than others who aren’t. The way I see it we are just another group of people, that’s it.

Well, I’ve definitely had a lot of challenges in my life and because I’m gay I’ve had more then most straight people from my experience. I had it hard growing up in school and had a particular hard time making friends because I didn’t conform to the gender and valued norms of my time. As I got older I felt isolated which made it hard for me to feel confident to achieve the best I could. I felt limited and held back because I didn’t feel like I was accepted for who I was(before I came out).

After I did I was tied up with discrimination and hate because of who I was. It was hard for me to keep a job or housing because no one(not even my own mother at the time) would accept me, or want to give me a chance because I was gay and stigimized in to being a failure just because I wasn’t living up the expectations that were being shoved in my face. It got better as the years went on and as the laws around the country are changing it’s easier for gay people to be themselves and live their lives. But even with all this new found acceptance, there will always be some degree of challenges and limitations that gay people will face because this world is still full of hate and discrimination. Our fight for equality will be over.

(My coming out) was rough to say the least. I came out 4 months after I graduated high school because I was too afraid to come out during high school. I came home after a long day at work and my mom was in my room on my computer playing games, but had also gone through my search history. She asked me about it and I just said we should talk about it later because I was tired and wanted to rest. The next day we had “the talk” for about an hour and after I couldn’t stall it anymore, I fessed up. After I told her we didn’t speak for about 2 months and I had to deal with my family calling me to confirm, but most of them were very supportive, well my sisters anyway, and my dad only said that he wanted grandchildren. Side note: he passed away in 2009 so he wouldn’t have lived to see them anyway because I don’t want kids anyway.

But my two older half sisters were the most supportive and understanding of me while my mom and younger sister were more closed off. My mom used to write me letters harassing me and telling me how much of a failure I was and that she wasn’t going to allow me to influence my younger sister. I wrote her letters back a few times and then just stopped, and after I stopped, she also stopped. It took about 6 years for her to come around, and we get along now, but I still hold those memories in the back of my mind every time I think about this question.

What advice would I give my younger self? Hmmmm well I would definitely cover my tracks better and then when the time was right and I wasn’t still living with her I would have told her that I was asexual and not interested in men or woman, nor was I interested in having children. Then I would have told here that I was gay, and if she didn’t like it then she didn’t have to, but I wouldn’t be in her life anymore. I would have said that if you can’t accept me for who I was then she never did really accept me and that she’s not a true Christian. I would have said that she failed in being a loving accepting parent and I’m better off alone and to have a nice life. I wouldn’t have yelled or screamed. I would have said my piece and left it at that.

I would also give younger guys just coming out to not go through life always gaining the acceptance if it’s not there to begin with. Always do you and worry about yourself because at the end of the day the only person who has your back is you and even family can stab you in the back. Don’t rely on others to support you if they can’t accept you for who you are. Only surround yourself with people who love and support you.

–Blessed be.”

“”To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already 3-parts dead.”
–Bertrand Russell”

Jim and Ben, Twins, Portland, Ore.

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

Jim, in his own words: “I always knew that my brother and I were very different people. Even though there was an expectation that we’d grow up to be similar, we always expressed different tastes in music, pursued different interests and reached milestones at different stages in life. However, despite our differences—and petty sibling arguments—we’ve always been very good friends and have relied on each other for support and rarely followed advice.”

Michael, Artist/Writer/Designer, Portland, Ore.

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

Michael, in his own words:“It’s easy to forget where you came from. What I mean is, it’s entirely possible to forget formative events, or the face of your favorite teacher, or the name of your child (I’m looking at YOU, mom). But one thing you never, ever forget, is your “coming out” story, if you have one. This usually reflects the time and circumstances you grew up in, and my story is no exception.

It’s the fall of 1991, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Yes, jerk, there is electricity and running water, and yes, New Mexico is a state. Despite Nirvana’s Nevermind just having been released, Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 is still in heavy rotation on my Walkman. I own all the cassingles from it. I’m still mourning for the last Star Trek movie to feature the original cast, The Undiscovered Country, and my future boyfriend is probably being born (long story).

My boyfriend at this ancient time in 1991, however, is sweet, kind Max, who also happens to be my first boyfriend. He’s pretty great: awesome musical taste, handsome, really funny. We meet in freshman acting class and instantly connect through our mutual interests of Drakkar Noir and making out. He tolerates my Star Trek obsession the best he can. I mean, like, you know how some nerds are sexy? Yeah, I wasn’t one of those. Max was also with me when I get drunk for the first time from half of a Bartles & James wine cooler. Good times.

So the Big Event happened at the dinner table one night. I had moved out to go to school at UNM, which stands for the University of New Mexico (but is secretly the University Near Mom), but it was a couple miles from our house. Both my parents were enthusiastic smokers, something I didn’t think about until I moved out and then came back to visit. What. The. Hell. is that smell, guys? Why is there a chest-level cloud in the house? And why is grandma wheezing so much?

I don’t remember what we were eating, but I do remember it probably wasn’t Mexican. Despite my latin roots (on my mom’s side), I never developed a love of Mexican food. I had been hanging out with Max more and more, and had brought him over to meet my parents a couple weeks before. I also don’t remember what my parents and I were discussing, but I do remember as the meal ended my mom finally broached the subject: “Michael, is Max bi?”

The needle could not have skipped harder on the record as I set down my fork and looked at them. I imagine that I was cool and collected, but in reality I probably looked like a deer in headlights as I stammered “Uh, no. Of course not.” There was a long, long pause as they just stared back at me. I decided it was now or never.

“Yes. Yes he is. And so am I.” I didn’t bother correcting them at the time that he and I were gay, not bi. Maybe asking the question this way was their way to soften the blow for themselves, that maybe for them me being bi was like being “only half gay”. In any case, they both went down the “We still love you, you’re still our son, nothing has changed” road. And honestly, on some level they must have already known. I learned their real reactions later: my mom, being a director of an HIV-advocacy organization at the time, and friends with several gay artists, took the news all in stride. My dad, being the son of a Lutheran minister, privately struggled with it, but put on a supportive face. Why? Because he loved me, and he realized that love was evolving.

I’m lucky. Now, 20-some years later, I’ve turned 40. Both of my folks are amazing and supportive. My dad asks me how my boyfriends are whenever I’m dating someone, reads my posts about the shitshow that is my dating life (pro-tip: if a guy is ignoring you, it secretly means he is ignoring you). My mom tries to fix me up with literally every gay man she meets. But in the end, I’m fortunate. There are a lot of queer women and men out there whose tale is a lot different, whose coming out story is more fraught with pain and outright rejection than mine. There are people who don’t even have a coming out story yet, because of circumstances in their lives.

I look forward to the day that we don’t even need coming out stories, that it’s just universally accepted that we love who we love. But for now, we have these stories, and slowly but surely, the stories will get better and better. Let’s share them.”