As someone of a particular age and type, I’ve come to earn some of the names given to me over the years.
One, in particular, is the word “fag” or “faggot”. In all seriousness, I do self-identify as a faggot. I’m an over 60 gay man. As a child I was called effeminate, a girl, sissy, faggot and so many others. It wasn’t just the local neighborhood kids, either. It was by my own brother and relatives. It was harsh, it was cruel, it was hurtful. It made me feel like I was an oddity and that I didn’t belong.
Not then. Not now.
This reminds me of a time a few years ago. It was right after I had gotten a contract job as an email developer at Travelers in Hartford. We were living in Windsor then, and that was the same time that the plant hoarding thing started. It wasn’t really hoarding, it was just an advance collection. Everything was thriving and healthy. I wanted to being a few small cuttings in to put on my desk. I told Bryan that I wanted to become that eccentric older gay guy who bakes breads and has plants on his desk.
He laughed. I genuine happy laugh. “What do you mean ‘become”? You already are, and, that’s why I love you.”
It made me cry.
So, being a faggot is important to me. It’s who I am.
And, by calling myself this, it takes away any power from anyone else trying to use it as a weapon of pain. The wound is deep, the scabs are thick scars, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can call me that’s going to cause me pain.
1″ leather tile with “FAGGOT” stamped.
Finish coat with nickle pin bar.
Other tile pins and triangles available with words such as FAGGOT, GAY, FAG, QUEER, DYKE, and LOVE IS LOVE Custom options available, reach out via the CONTACT page.
