For those of you who don't watch Grey's Anatomy one of the characters Callie, recently "came out" to her father. After initially rejecting her, he returns with a visibly uncomfortable Catholic priest in tow, to, in her words "pray away the gay."
And it bought some memories back, formative memories. Which I finally feel comfortable sharing here. If only, to remind us all to be compassionate and tender with those we love.
After we moved from our small country town in NSW to Perth I went to a Catholic girls convent school. Retrospectively, this was not the right school for me, but that was where I went.
When I commenced high school it wasn't an easy time. I didn't ever really "settle." My problems were compounded when I was 14 when a student I had been at school with for a number of years, began spreading a rumour I was a lesbian. I can assure you, being a "lesbian" at a Catholic convent girls school isn't easy. The problem gets worse when you aren't, in fact, a lesbian. I wasn't especially interested in boys (that came later!) but I was definitely not interested in girls.
The rumour meant smirks behind my back, conversations that would cease whenever I entered a room and very little in the way of friendship.No one wanted to partner me at sport, after all, I was a lesbian! And, clearly, being a lesbian meant I would inevitably at some point want to assault the girl I was talking to. At least that was the prevailing attitude.
As with all rumours, it ebbed and flowed.
Sometimes going to school would be awful, other times I wondered what would happen if I just walked out of school and never came back.
The few friends I had were loyal and unswerving in their support of me. To them, it didn't matter what I was. I'll always admire their courage in the face of the prevailing attitudes at the time.
Interestingly enough, it never occurred to me to tell my parents. I think I was afraid of upsetting them or even disappointing them. I wanted my parents to be proud of me and this certainly wasn't going to be a way to achieve it.
Things came to a head about 18 months later. I had returned to school after having my appendix removed. I was feeling tired, vulnerable and sore. Another student who I had always admired quietly told me, let's call her * Shannon* had been spreading "those" rumours again.
Something inside me snapped.
I remember clearly going into my mother later that day to tell her I didn't want to go to school anymore, that Shannon had been telling everyone this stuff about me and I couldn't carry on like this.
My mother remained calm.
It wasn't until a DECADE later I discovered she and my father had gone down to the school the next day white faced with fury to demand to know how this had gone on for so long.
The next day she suggested I visit the Head teacher. Now in my day (God I sound old) the Head was a remote, unapproachable creature, kind of like God used to be to me.
But I plucked up the courage, made the appointment and went. It was an enduring source of mystery how she already seemed to "know" what I was there about (solved some considerable time later when I discovered my parents had been in)
The odd thing was this though.
The minute I made the decision to confront Shannon and the rumours, everything did a volte face.
Suddenly, public opinion was supporting me. Suddenly, Shannon was the one being ostracised for bullying me.
Suddenly, I started to feel better.
The Head Teacher was great and the rumours died down after her terrifying assembly, which they made sure I was absent for where they lectured on the perils of gossip.
*Shannon* and I ended up on the debating team together a couple of years later and there was a reconciliation of sorts.
But the story doesn't end here.
At University a few years later I heard along the grapevine, yes rumours again, that *Shannon* had "come out."
I remember not being able to sleep the night I heard that news.
This girl had made my life a living hell for years.
Years.
Had caused me to be a social pariah.
Had made me question everything about myself.
She was gay?
I called her.
Of course I called her.
It was a tough conversation for us both.
But it was true.
She was.
And still is a lesbian.
Me? Not so much :)
The key lesson I took from this experience is that anyone who is aggressively homophobic is usually struggling with their own sexuality. I think my experience is called "projection." As in, I have this problem, but don't want anyone else to know about it, so hey, let's put the spotlight on someone else!
The second formative experience was when a dear, sweet male friend at uni washed down multiple panadol and died an agonising death because he too was gay and neither he, nor his family could cope with it.
He taught me compassion. At the time I didn't know he was gay. It wouldn't have changed things if I had known.
I still miss him.
Over the years, many of my students have "come out" to me. I think I have been their trial run before they told their parents. And I have loved each and every one of them. Because we can't pray away the gay.
And I don't believe we should.
The beliefs I have are based on support and compassion and if I can make life easier for any of my students or even my own children, then I'll be there.
Praying for them as the people they want to be, regardless of their sexuality.