My First Stand
As most gay men will tell you, fear is our greatest enemy, the amount of bullying, abuse and violence in gay history is well known and documented but at the tender age of the teenage years, I for one was not aware of it and I fought back in the only way I knew how – sheer luck. I was sitting outside the principal’s office, waiting on Mr Crane, the school’s guidance councillor. I wasn’t in trouble you see, I had left school after my junior cert for those who don’t know that was after my third year because I had this radicle idea of making it on my own without a higher education. My Mother god bless her was in “let them learn from their own mistakes” mood at the time and let me do it. I got work as a kitchen porter in a local hotel called “The Wexford Lodge”, it was neither a lodge or hotel, more a big guesthouse. I worked there for about three months and it wasn’t all that bad really, you know the type, a staff high on cocaine and a lust for each other that rivalled the Playboy mansion. They were all good to me, merely because I was a new guy that would finish all their work for them when they had better things to do i.e. each other. It tickles me to think that after I left the place closed down, a day later! Apparently it was in the works for a while because it wasn’t making money., all because the owner and boss was an alcoholic that wanted to do the door men rather than her job – but I like to think it was because of me, if anyone ever asks tell them it was me – don’t forget now!
There I was sitting on a plastic chair in a freezing hallway waiting for a teacher to tell me if I could or couldn’t return to school, it was fairly certain I could but these things need to be followed officially. While waiting and releasing my boredom by making up stories in my head that I would tell people if I was back in, you know, how I made loads of money, that I got promoted after just days I was that good but had to leave because I believe in education when walking towards me was Stephen. I hadn’t much to do with him for the first three years I was there but I knew him and his reputation. His entire family prided themselves on the fact that they were the real Irish country folk. The type that hate all things non catholic, non-Irish, non-straight. Not his fault that his family instilled qualities that a Baptist minister could be proud of, but he used it to their full extent that day. Walking on by, I heard a snigger and a whisper – the smell of sweat and stale urine wafted in the air, from him or the close bathrooms he just exited I don’t know, I choose to believe they were from him let’s face it as a man’s man, personal hygiene didn’t rank high on the daily agenda. “I said the fucking faggot is back”, in the deepest country accent and with a speech impediment that ran his words together it almost sounded funny! I watched in amazement as he left his grin on and sat down at the far end of the hallway outside his class, clearly thrown out for some type of disturbance, I looked away and though, Jesus Christ” this is what passes as entertainment in a school – to make fun of gay people with the word faggot – I thought at least they could have come up with something new and better but no faggot it was. I opened my mouth to retaliate, with what I will never know because at that stage Mr Crane came round the corner and said “Thomas, sorry to keep you waiting, shall we go in?”, waving at the office. Following him in I thought maybe this was a mistake coming back, but I was here now, I might as well hear what he has to say.
“Now Thomas as I understand it you want to come back to us?”, “Yes Sir, if I can”. He leaned forward in his chair, frowning as he did. I gulped, he looked like he was about to lecture me on the inconvenience of all the paper work and reintegrating into school life and that they weren’t sure about this. The office didn’t help much either, one of those white walls and brown desk and chair jobs with a huge filling cabinet in the corner, strangely no computer and a tiny little phone on the centre of the desk. “Of course you can come back Thomas, we would be delighted to have you”, I was in shock, it was no secret I wasn’t the greatest student, I had erratic behaviour and smoked and led others to protest against school rules. He even offered to let me go back to where I left off, meaning I would skip a year and go straight to the end year. I was tempted but I decided to go back into the current fifth year instead. You might ask why, but that was my first stand, it would take longer than a year to get under the skin and into the minds of all the “Stephen’s” in this school and I was going to do it – drag it into 1997 if it killed me. I thanked Mr Crane and told him I would be back on Monday, and that I would make him proud, I didn’t particularly want to make anyone proud but myself but I felt I had to. He smiled and nodded for me to go, I knew Stephen would be still out there. A little nervous going to the exit door I could feel his eyes buried into the back of my head. I turned, he seemed a little startled by the turn around, which caught him off guard, bonus for me. “Yes, Stephen I am coming back and trust me this faggot is coming back fighting – Bitch”, I smiled at him and left, I imagine he sat there with his mouth open or maybe he laughed but I felt I did my duty as a young gay man. I may have to teach the entire school that being gay wasn’t an abnormality or a disease and that it can be a strength, that day though I felt on top of the world for every faggot everywhere I had done something brave, stood up to a red neck teenager that couldn’t tell the difference between a homo or a hetero!
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