It Gets Better Read online

  I’m not sure if braising acts as a metaphor for the story I want to tell; perhaps in the way that something rigid and tough breaks down and becomes something tender and rich? Was I rigid and tough as a teen? Am I tender and rich now? The metaphor needs work.

  But the idea is there: As a teenager, I was really repressed. Whereas some repressed teenagers become angst-ridden and sullen, I was the opposite: I was a manic sack of nervous energy. Fidgety, jokey, always hiding behind my humor, I sat mostly with girls at lunch. My freshman year, in PE class, I was bullied by this guy Nick and his friends who, strangely, called me “Alfredo” and harassed me in the locker room. Once one of those guys, Eric, who worked at the local grocery store, helped my mom to the car with her groceries. Unbeknownst to her, he was my bully. When she told me she met this nice boy from my PE class named Eric, I was mortified.

  Needless to say, that was a tough year. And though high school got slightly better, I never truly felt like myself. It wasn’t until college that things began to get clearer, that I began to realize that there was a truer me, within the me that everyone else knew.

  But first, let’s make some polenta. I bought my polenta at the farmer’s market, and using a recipe from Lidia Bastianich, I started the polenta thirty minutes before our parents arrived, stirring it throughout the first hour or two until it thickened up, adding mascarpone and Parmesan cheese at the end to make it a little more intense.

  And intense is a word that definitely describes my junior year of college.

  By then, I’d found an incredible group of friends in Rathskellar, Emory’s improvisational comedy troupe. It was in Rathskellar that I first learned I didn’t have to be “on” all the time, that it was important to be introspective, and that being gay really wasn’t that big of a deal. By my junior year of college, I’d made several gay friends. And it was at that point that I’d gotten tired of fielding questions from my family about why I didn’t have a girlfriend and if I knew any nice Jewish girls and if any of them were marriable. Around this time of year (it was near Halloween), I came out to my closest college friends (I was so nervous, I couldn’t say the word; I told my friend Travis I was a “h . . . h . . . hemophiliac!”). And then I told my parents.

  Let’s just say it didn’t go very well. There were intense, emotional phone calls, awkward trips home, visits to a terrible therapist who tried to turn me straight, an explosive night at the dinner table where my grandmother said: “Why can’t you just marry your friend Lisa?” To which I replied: “Because she doesn’t have a penis!” It got ugly.

  But then it got better. That’s why Alex’s comment was so on the nose; because things seemed so harrowing back then, I couldn’t imagine that we’d ever turn a corner. But we did.

  It happened when I met Craig.

  This was years later, in 2006. By then, I’d gone to law school and hated it; I’d had my first boyfriend (a sweet guy named Michael, who I dated my senior year of college); I’d been to Atlanta’s gay bars and gay pride parades, I’d lived with a lesbian and I’d taken classes on sexuality and the law. Then I moved to New York to go to dramatic writing school at NYU. And at my favorite coffee shop, Joe, I spied a cute guy who was there writing with his friend.

  That guy ended up looking at my Friendster profile. Remember Friendster? You could tell who looked at your profile, so I wrote him an e-mail. Turned out he went to NYU, too, for film school. We decided to meet in the school lobby and to walk to dinner.

  That first night we each tried to convince the other of where we should eat (I fought for Momofuku, he argued for something else) so we settled on a place neither of us had been to: Lucien, in the East Village. I ordered the cassoulet (note to future daters: don’t eat beans on a first date). We went, afterward, to the Anyway Cafe, where they serve infused vodka. We had the black currant.

  Things only got better from there. We saw plays, went to museums, we ate the flying saucer-sized chocolate chip cookies (possibly the best in New York) at the Levain Bakery.

  And then I formally introduced him to my food blog readers when I burned my mouth on a soup dumpling at a Chinatown restaurant, New Green Bo. I called him “the new man in my life,” and my readers flipped out. Someone wrote: “Whee! You finally told us who you were kissing!” And someone else wrote: “Thank God you finally came out!”

  That was almost five years ago. And so that brings us to the dinner.

  My parents, over the past few years, have grown to really embrace Craig. How could they not? I think when being gay was an abstraction, it filled them with fear and dread, but when there was a concrete person there, it all made sense. And so now whenever I call home, they ask after Craig (my grandmother always ends her calls with: “Send my love to Craig!”) and they always include Craig when they take me out toto dinner or to see a Broadway show. When my parents went to Barcelona this summer, they bought both of us watches.

  And so when I told them that Craig’s parents were coming to town at the beginning of October and that I wanted my parents to meet them, my parents bought tickets to fly here just for that. And that’s why I made this dinner.

  There are no pictures in this book, but if there were, you’d see everyone in the first “getting to know you” moments. We’re drinking champagne and even my cat Lolita’s hanging out. (I call her “my cat” because Craig hates cats. It’s his main character flaw.)

  For the first course, I served my dad’s favorite, Caesar salad. I went heavy with the garlic and the anchovies, because both my parents like it that way. They loved it.

  For the entree, I plated the short rib on the polenta and topped it with a gremolata made of horseradish, lemon zest, and parsley. And for dessert, I served a flourless chocolate cake from an old issue of Gourmet magazine.

  By the end of the night, the families had bonded and we made our plans for the next night, when we’d all journey to one of our favorite restaurants, Blue Hill Stone Barns.

  That night with Craig and both of our families was proof that it gets better. If you’re reading this and you’re a gay teenager, take heart. It might seem like your life is a cold, depressing TV dinner, but I’m here to tell you that your future, if it’s anything like mine, becomes a Michelin three-star restaurant. All you have to do is wait.

  Trust me.

  Adam Roberts is the creator of the food blog The Amateur Gourmet (www.amateurgourmet.com), which was named one of the World’s 50 Best Food Blogs by The Times (UK) in 2009. Roberts is also the author of the book The Amateur Gourmet (Bantam/Dell) and is currently writing a cookbook for Artisan Books, which will arrive in Spring 2012. He lives with his boyfriend, filmmaker Craig Johnson, in the West Village, New York.

  WHAT I WISH I KNEW

  by Ivan Coyote

  VANCOUVER, BC

  I grew up in a small town called Whitehorse, Yukon, way up in northern Canada, and went to a high school with about 350 kids in it. I come from a gigantic Irish Catholic family, and my parents and most of my aunts and uncles had gone to the same school before me, and my little sister and most of my thirty-six cousins attended the very same school after I did. I graduated in 1987, and could not get out of that school and that town fast enough.

  I didn’t come out in high school, even to myself. I kissed my first girl about one month after my nineteenth birthday, and then burst out of the closet. One of the things I was always conscious of was that not only did I have to deal with the consequences of being queer in a small town, so did my family. My little sister and my cousins had to deal with the homophobia that splashed off of me and hit them, too. It made me realize that I was not the only one in my family who suffered because of the bigotry of others. Some of my family did, too, even though they were straight.

  Now I am forty-two years old, somehow. I am a writer and musician and performer, with seven books and three CDs out. I am a full-time working artist; I spend most of my time on the road, touring North America and Europe. I love my job.

  I still go back to high schools, this time a
s a writer, to do readings. Even though every time I walk back through those big glass doors and into a high school, my mouth goes dry and my heart starts to pound. Even though every time I see gangs of teenage girls gathered in knots around lockers in the hallway, I still feel that old familiar ball of fear start to curdle in my guts. I visit high schools because they are still scary places for me, because they remind me of my own sixteen-year-old self—the misfit, the girl who walked and threw and danced and played hockey like a boy. The girl who none of the boys wanted. I go back into high schools to meet all those kids like me, to shake their hand and look them in the eye and let them know that they are not alone, even if they don’t even know who they are yet or haven’t accepted it or learned to love that part of themselves that I do. I see them and know them and love them because of who they are, not in spite of it.

  I wish I had met someone queer when I was sixteen. Someone who was not ashamed of who they were, someone who I could talk to. It probably would have made my life a lot easier. I would have figured myself out earlier, and loved myself better sooner. It is too late for me to speak to my own sixteen-year-old self, so instead I want all of the misfits and weirdos and artists and queer kids to know a couple of things I wish someone had told me back then.

  It does get better. It does. But it is up to all of us to make it better, for ourselves, and for others, too. Always remember that working to make your school safer for queer students, or bisexual students, or gender nonconforming students, is not a selfish act. Creating a safe school for yourself will only lead to a safer school for everyone, and everyone deserves a safe place to learn in. Not feeling safe at school can seriously affect your ability to access your own education, which can impact you for the rest of your life. When you work to make your school better for you, you are doing your school, and everyone in it, and everyone who will ever be in it in the future, a gigantic favor. Never forget that.

  You deserve so much more than to just be tolerated. You deserve to be loved for exactly who and what you are right now. This is, of course, a double-edged sword. This also means you must return the favor. Learn more about racism and sexism and ableism, too. You, unfortunately, are probably already well aware of how much homophobia can hurt, inside and out. Learning more about how different kinds of oppression work and where they intersect will help you build better bridges with others and create a safe and respectful school culture for everyone. Bullies are almost always outnumbered by the bullied. We just need to organize.

  Remember that not everyone is able to come out to everyone all of the time. Some of us cannot come out to our parents yet, or our colleagues at work, or our teammates, or even our friends. It is okay to know who you are, and keep it private, if your own safety requires it. This does not mean you are any less queer or radical or cool than the guy with the purple hair and the rainbow stockings. It just means that he has different circumstances than you do.

  It is getting better. There are lots of us out there who care a whole lot about you, whether it feels like it sometimes or not. I am one of them, and I will never stop coming to high schools to meet kids just like you. Until I stop feeling scared every freaking time I walk through those front doors, I will keep working to make all schools safer for all of us. I promise you that.

  I know that school is still a fucked-up place to be queer. Parents and teachers and counselors can do all kinds of things to try to stop bullying, but ultimately, no one can protect you from all the little cruel ways that other people and society and the media try to force you to conform and to fit into their little cookie-cutter ideas of who you should be.

  But I want you to know that as I look around myself right now and see the amazing people and artists and parents and activists around me, I see people who took chances, who are brave and honest and unashamed to be themselves. All the best people I know right now were once misfits and weirdos and homos and artists, just like you and me. That is exactly what I love about them.

  Ivan Coyote is the award-winning author of seven books, four films, and three CDs that combine storytelling with music from some of Canada’s finest independent musicians. She has written a column for Xtra! magazine for ten years, and also performs a one-hour anti-bullying show in high schools across the continent.

  FREEDOM FROM FEAR

  by Michael Feinstein

  LOS ANGELES, CA

  Each of us is born into this world with unique gifts, talents, personalities, and preferences. There will always be those who do not understand or accept those who are different from what society perceives as the norm. Yet, fundamentally, we are all the same. While we dream of a time and place where we will be accepted for who we are, we must also learn to cope with the pain and problems that our uniqueness presents here and now. It’s important to remember that there are others everywhere who are like us and will love us for who we are.

  When I was growing up, I often felt lonely and isolated because I knew that I was different from everyone around me. At the time I could not imagine that there was a single soul who would understand. The fear of revealing my feelings was great, and while I knew that my parents loved me, I also felt that even they would not understand. The erroneous messages I had absorbed made it clear that I was not “normal,” and thus, I knew I had to hide my dark secret. Little did I know then that there were people just like me all around, many dealing with their own issues and hiding in their own ways because society made it difficult to do anything else without fear of consequences. It is fear that keeps us from being who we are. When we go through the step-by-step process of dealing with our fear and finding a support system, things can start to change. It is amazing how even the small step of reaching out to another person for help can begin a process of unlocking what is inside us. Finding the right way to do so is not always clear or easy but it is possible. Through the help of friends who saw things in me that I could not see in myself, the tide started to turn and I slowly began to gain more self-confidence. As my confidence grew, I developed clear inner intentions and the ability to ask for guidance to help me reach those goals, something that helped me tremendously along the way.

  Today we live in an extraordinary time. Society is changing, but with change comes resistance. Those against change and acceptance know in their souls, underneath their prejudice, that there is nothing that they can do to stop the inevitable. This realization frightens them and makes them fight harder to try and suppress us. It comes down to their fear against ours.

  The sooner we get past our fear and look at who we are in our souls, the sooner we’ll be able to realize a future where we can all live in harmony. Deep in your soul is a voice that is clear and sure. This inner voice transcends what our thinking mind dictates—a mind not born of our own wisdom but filled with the opinions and judgments of others. Take time to contemplate your inner self, to discover your soul; this inner voice can be heard through self-contemplation and meditation. And know that you are truly beautiful from the depths of your being, because loving yourself is the greatest gift you can experience! What others perceive and say is illusion as far as your true self is concerned.

  Do words hurt? Deeply.

  Are aggression and violence going to disappear? Someday.

  In the meantime, learn to distinguish between the falsity of fear and ignorance, and your life purpose to evolve in love and peace. And remember, you are never alone.

  Michael Feinstein is singer, pianist, and historian who has been nominated for five Grammy Awards. His PBS series Michael Feinstein’s American Songbook was recently released on DVD, and his latest CD is titled Fly Me to the Moon. Feinstein serves as artistic director for the Palladium at the Center for Performing Arts in Carmel, Indiana.

  A MESSAGE FROM PRIME MINISTER DAVID CAMERON

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  We all know that growing up can be difficult. But for young people who are being bullied life can feel incredibly hard and lonely. So there are two things I want to say to anyone out there who is being given a hard
time because of their sexuality.

  The first thing is to talk to someone about it. You don’t have to struggle on, dealing with this on your own. There are so many people out there, whether it’s your mum and dad, your teachers, family, friends, people who care about you and who want to help you. Speak to them and you will feel so much better.

  The second thing I want to say is that Britain is a diverse, open, tolerant place. This is not the sort of country where we label people for being different. Just look at the massive progress that has been made on making this country more fair. Today, same-sex couples can have their relationships legally recognized. People in our armed forces can be open about who they are. Equality laws are fighting discrimination at work and in society.

  Now, of course, there is more that needs to be done, which is why this government is working hard to tackle homophobic bullying and drive it out of our schools. But overall, Britain is a place where you can be who you want to be and we should celebrate that.

  So take heart from the kind of country we live in, our values of fairness, responsibility, and decency, and what that means for your future. And now, talk to someone, because if you do, things really will get better today.

  Author’s Note: If you’re in the United Kingdom and need some support, Stonewall can point you in the right direction. Free info line: 08000 50 20 20.

  David Cameron became Prime Minister in May 2010. He leads a Conservative/Liberal Democrat coalition government inspired by the values of freedom, fairness, and responsibility. Prior to becoming Prime Minister, David Cameron was elected leader of the Conservative Party in December 2005 on a mandate to change and modernize his party. Before he became an MP, David Cameron worked in business and government. He was educated at Eton College and Oxford University, studying Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. David, his wife, Samantha, and their three young children live in London and West Oxfordshire.