Henry

Henry, age 6

Birmingham, Alabama (1986)

This picture of me and my (also gay) twin brother Andy was taken at our grandmother's house. We would always fight over who got to wear the silky shirt. I'm on the right in the shirt, and Andy is on the left in the heels.

This picture and time of my life brings back great memories, because my grandparents didn't care about our differences. They just wanted us to be happy and to be ourselves.

We were both big fans of Care Bears and My Little Pony. 

My sister had an ET doll and Godzilla figure that would shoot its hand off. But Andy and I pretty much stuck to our stuffed animals and Rainbow Brite dolls.

Speaking of stuffed animals, I came out to my teddybear at 5.

But our older sister actually came out before we did, so she helped break our parents in. 

I like to say we all helped drag our parents kicking and screaming into the 21st century! LOL!

For younger gay kids reading this, I would like to tell them that I thank God every day I was born a homosexual. It has helped me to grow as an individual and learn so much more about myself at an early age.

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Mark

Mark, age 6
Centralia, Washington (1968)

My first grade teacher Mrs. Carlson wrote on my report card:
"Mark is a very sensitive child, wants attention, and needs reassurance. 
He expresses himself very well through his artwork, is quite creative, and has quite a flair for play-acting. He really puts himself into it and does quite a good job." Great insight on her part, as I have become a professional entertainer. 

Mrs. Carlson could also see I was gay, and 'Sensitive' was another 1960's American code word for homosexual. 

She also knew I had no friends in a town full of kids. It was hard to miss them chanting 'Finley Faggot' during recess, or from over her fence on an occasional weekend visit. 

She opened my world to the fine arts by way of the local library. The works she put in front of me all had the same theme - the misunderstood overcoming their adversity to shine greater than ever before. 


Not having friends, I lost myself in reading, listening to records, and stamp collecting. Then my maternal grandfather gave me two amazing gifts: a spinet piano and a 12-inch black & white television. Thanks to him I poured myself into practicing my piano and recreating scenes from the movies I watched at night.

I couldn't catch a ball of any kind, but I could do a great Mae West and W.C. Fields routine complete with a chorus of "Willie Of The Valley." Soon it was quite clear to my parents that my 'creative flair' was not simply a phase.

I'd love to say that it was all sunshine and lollipops after that, but I'd be lying. 
The rest of my childhood was nothing short of a living hell. 

But at age 10 I was in my first play (a community theatre production of an old English melodrama), and I stole the show. I had finally found the one place I was happy and content. Not to mention safe from the constant torment that was the rest of my adolescence. 

Some would say that I escaped into my own private world with theatre. 
But I would say it gave me the chance to escape and join the world! 

As an adult, my performing has taken me all around the world on many wonderful adventures. It was not easy growing up 'different' in a small town in rural Washington. But I am forever thankful that Mrs. Carlson gave me hope that happiness was possible!
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Sawyer

Sawyer, age 5
Boise, Idaho (1998)

I remember in kindergarten I'd bring my "Star Wars" toys to school and trade them with the girls for their Barbies. This is not to say that I didn't love "Star Wars." In fact, I loved it so much that I received duplicates of almost every toy available for birthday/Christmas gifts. And that made it possible for me to have a Mermaid Barbie with color-changing hair AND a Star Wars Disk Shooter!

When I'd spend a night at my grandma's house, she'd always let me safety pin a towel around my waist. Or wear one of my grandpa's t-shirts with a belt, as I liked the way it felt to spin in circles and have the fabric billow out.

My grandma was, in fact, the first person to inform me that gay people even existed.

One time, we were looking through a People Magazine and she told me the women in a photo were Rosie O'Donnell and her girlfriend.

I asked, 'Girlfriend? Like they're in love?' and grandma said "Yes" with a smile. That short conversation gave me the courage to get through high school and come out to my family soon after I graduated.

Honesty is the best policy, I say.
Today, I don’t hide myself anymore and people love me for it.

I still love to wear XL t-shirts around my apartment, because it reminds me of the ball gowns and red-carpet looks I used to work at my grandma’s house.
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Wendell

Wendell & Rick, age 3 and 5

Brownsville, Texas (1955)

Here's my brother Rick dressed as Davy Crockett's wife Polly and I'm dressed as his husband Davy. He carefully draped cloth over his head to make lovely hair and wore a bath robe for her beautiful dress. He placed a piece of white cloth on my head (which is supposed to be a coonskin hat) so I could be his husband.

I decided Davy needed a nice dress also, so I tied a belt around a brightly colored pillow and placed it in front of me as a skirt. Then we added Ricky's prized "Tiny Tears" doll as our darling child to complete the picture.

When Daddy saw us, he was not interested in taking a picture, so Ricky sent me to do it. I was the baby and still Daddy's favorite, so talked him in to it. I waited until my mother had had a few cocktails and then went in to convince her to get Daddy to take these pictures. 

He was willing to take my picture but did not want to take Ricky's.

"But you have to," I told him. "He is my wife. Davy loves Polly very much."
Daddy thought this was very funny and took these pictures.

Later we saw a faux coon skin at the store and I was asked if I wanted to try it on. I did, but when I felt the tail I freaked out and started crying. When they asked what was wrong, I said: "He killed that cat!"

In 5th grade I broke with Davy Crockett for good when I wrote a school report about the U.S. government's policy of exterminating buffalo to destroy Native American culture. I also discovered that Davy was an alcoholic murderer and racist who killed a black man and got away with it, claiming he was too drunk to know what he was doing. I titled it "DAVY CROCKETT WAS A MURDERER!"

My teacher was a bit nervous about this. 

She gave me a good grade but made me change the title.

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Click here - "Born This Way: Real Stories of Growing Up Gay" book
Click here - "My First Gay Crush Blog"

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