Craig's Story

One of the things I love the most about my apartment is the spacious walk-in closet in my bedroom. There's plenty of room in there for me to ponder over my scant wardrobe before deciding my couture de jour. I keep the door propped open all the time.

Such is my life as a gay man. It hasn't always been, as I am about to tell you.

From birth I was raised in the Jehovah's Witness religion. In a capsule, they believe they are the one and only true tenet. JWs have very strict fundamentalist regulations against just about everything -- especially homosexuality. Any sex outside of marriage between a man and a woman is completely forbidden. Following these rigid rules warrants salvation in their eyes. To wit: when Judgment Day comes they are convinced they're the only ones who'll survive and turn the earth into a paradise where they'll live forever without sickness and death. If you've made the mistake of opening your door to them on a Saturday morning no doubt you've heard their epistle.

It was 20 years ago this past Gay Pride I came out. I was 22 going on 23. The summer before (1982) my family had gone to Hawaii and I stayed behind. It was the first time I could actually spread my "gay wings" and explore the community. I met a guy who I brought back home with me and we proceeded to "practice homosexuality" 21 times over the next four days. He was from out of state, and we promised to stay in touch.

Not long after my parents returned (none the wiser to what had occurred under their roof) and I was sent to live with my grandmother as my father and I constantly quarreled. Fast forward to May 1983: I was downtown Minneapolis and for some enigmatic reason Grandma decided to go snooping through my personal things where she uncovered letters of my wicked "other life" as a (gasp!) homosexual including the past summer's gay fling. Naturally, her first response as a good Christian was to call my parents.

Upon arrival at Grandma's house Mother and Dad went through the rest of my things and confiscated every letter anyone (no matter who they were) wrote to me. Once they felt they'd obtained enough evidence they embarked upon their holy mission to track me down.

Imagine my surprise to when I entered First Avenue nightclub to learn my parents were there waiting for me. My father was in The Seventh Street Entry talking to a punker (probably trying to convert him) and told me Mother was outside waiting in the car, as there was a "family emergency" and I needed to come home immediately. Once I was in the car they started to drill me about my intentions towards our religious beliefs (Jehovah's Witnesses). Halfway home I figured they knew something. I was tired of living a lie and a double life, so I decided then and there to come clean. I affirmed their worst fears, solid in my position this is what I am and nothing would change me.

My parents offered to relocate me in another state, get me married, and sweep the whole thing under the rug. There was no way I could do that to myself and another person. After a month of pleading they turned me into The Elders (the leaders of the JW congregation I attended) who disfellowshipped (excommunicated) me and I was cut off from everyone I knew growing up, even my own family.

Sounds bad, huh? Well, to be honest, after all these years, being out beats being in by a landslide. If I was still in, I'd be a slave to that religion and most likely married to someone I did not love. I would most likely have attempted suicide several times. My personal happiness would be non-existent.

I know this to be fact. Thanks to the Internet I've been able to get in touch with several gay, lesbian, and bisexual former Jehovah's Witnesses who tried the straight life and failed miserably, hurting a lot of people along the way.

By leaving and coming out, I freed myself from a stifled childhood and a life of enslavement to the Jehovah's Witnesses. I could finally breathe and be myself. Although I was completely cut off from my family, it made me stronger as a person to be independent and make my own decisions.

Imagine those who stay in the closet. They're ten times more likely to be depressed, attempt suicide, suffer from low self-esteem (not to mention cruise Loring Park after hours with a baby seat in the back). Ever notice how much better gay men tend to age? When you don't hate yourself, you'd be surprised how much better you look.

I know this sounds more serious than I'd like, but I detest seeing anyone wallow in misery. I've yet to meet anyone who can reasonably justify being in the closet, especially in these times.

If you are having trouble coming out, I want to hear from you. Please e-mail me your story. I promise to listen.

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