Cal Thompson's big gay Mormon book

The book. It's coming. It's been too freakin long.  The smartest thing I did was to involve another opinion.  This is from the Intro:

Introducing Sister Julie Martin

If you met me at Church I probably wouldn’t stand out as any one unusual. Like most of you I struggle with my weight, worry about my children, love and support my husband and try to get my visiting teaching done before the last week of the month. I don’t always get two prayers in a day, but I try really hard to at least open my scriptures before I start cleaning up the breakfast dishes. And, I have a son who is homosexual.

For years before Sean officially came out, there were lots of signs that should have alerted his father and I to the fact that something was up, but we didn’t want to see them or even think of it as a possibility. And when at last we were confronted with the real undeniable truth, my world fell apart, crashing around me like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle that had suddenly been turned on its side

I love my son with all my heart, and yet I did everything in my power to rescue him from this homosexual thing. I argued with him, bribed him, threatened, teased, mocked and harassed. I justified these behaviors because I felt I was trying to save his life and protect our eternal relationship as a forever family. In the process I nearly destroyed my relationship with him. Eventually I had to accept the fact that there was nothing I could do to change Sean or make it all better.

I carry this secret pain inside of my heart every day, and I mourn the loss of my dreams and desires for him. I try hard to understand the choices he is making in his life, and have learned great lessons in patience and hope. But mostly, I just love my son, and I hope that however this story plays out tomorrow and for the eternities, this will be enough.

There are a lot of mothers and fathers just like me - I am finding out - trying to faithfully raise their families in righteousness while struggling with a child who’s chosen a path away from the safety of the gospel. Many good obedient moms and dads mourn and pray for kids who have become addicted to drugs, alcohol or other sexual sins, and it’s hard to stand helplessly on the sidelines as our loved ones use their gift of agency to make choices we think are foolish and that will bring them pain and sorrow not just in the long-term – but today and tomorrow.

Parent’s who have children who are homosexual, can feel particularly isolated. There’s a perceived dark shadow associated with homosexuality that is difficult to break through, and a sense of secrecy that forces us to keep our child’s problems safe from the judgment and censure of those around us. “Sure Sean, you can bring one of your friends to the ward pool party, but please choose one who looks more…well, one who doesn’t wear a tight tank top…okay, and … no PDA, and I am not talking about your palm pilot.”

My objective in writing this book is to share the things I’ve learned over this journey, perhaps save other parents some of the needless heartache I’ve suffered through, and maybe share comfort with those who are hurting.

Homosexuality and being Mormon can be a difficult thing to manage but it is not anywhere near a death sentence for you, your loved one or your family. So take a pill.

BYU -- Land of opportunity for a gay Mormon

This was the first real gay essay I ever wrote. It was bold for me and a little salacious though that was never my intent. I turned red as I looked through it again an hour ago. It was my first real attempt at aggressively taking charge of my life in writing, and I thought it was time for a re-visit.
Most everything I know about the gay lifestyle I learned at Brigham Young University. I don't blame the university. I don't blame the people I met there. I saw an opportunity that hadn't presented itself before -- one that I had apparently been looking for for quite a while -- and I made a choice.

It's not like there was a class or a club - though I hear there's one now with its own Facebook page. There wasn't a paragraph of my "Welcome to BYU" pamphlet that included gay as part of the Cougar experience. My first gay interaction as a consenting adult was with a guy I met when I came to Provo for higher education.

The Smith Field House was the place. I sat on a bleacher completely unanimously and watched guys play. They smacked each other, they ran each other over. The grabbed each another and wrestled. They touched each other, and I thought I would pass out on the spot. It wasn't just that young men were enjoying each other. There was something more to it. There was so much familiarity.

Later I figured that these intense relationship had to do with missions and same experiences and in guys usually a part of a minority suddenly swimming in guys who believed like they did; An instant brotherhood. 

I wanted to be one of them. They were contemporaries, my Mormon friends -- or guys I wished were my friends -- who looked at me (if they looked at me at all) as some guy doing homework in the bleachers.

At the end of my first year at BYU I discovered that the men's rooms were the places to meet guys who were looking for... whatever I was looking for. There was graffiti that pointed the way, and some of the writing on the wall made it really clear what the author was looking for.

So I sat there and waited for some signal from the guy in the next stall. I got all the signals I wanted, but I didn't know what to do. I figured it out quickly. We were all fast learners.

There is is. That's how I started. In a men's room at a church school. I was a fool more than a naive. Regardless, I became a regular.

It wasn't until months later that I heard that guys were picked up, and by that I mean that they were arrested or kicked out of school when undercover cops made their own kind of contact. I was lucky. Later, I was experienced enough to know when I was being played. So I didn't find myself in that horrible position of being outed as it came to be known, by an undercover cop.

I once was caught by someone I figured was a professor who interrupted a beginner in a tryst. I just sat there looking at my shoes until he left. I couldn't bear to look up at the man scolding me for fear that I might be recognized or that I might recognize him.

Once I made a connection with a guy. Looking over the stall I recognized him as a fellow music major who was a friend of mine. I was horrified. I believe to this day that he recognized me, though there was never an acknowledgement. This was my first obvious foray into leading a double life.

You would think that these few experiences would have kept me "clean and sober" as it were, the fear of getting caught, would discourage me from involving myself in the behaviors.

No. It didn't make me do anything but to be smarter and careful and look for other places to find what I wanted -- and there were plenty of other places.

You find what you look for. Down deep I don't know what I was looking for at that time. But I found it at BYU

Thank you hater! (NSFLivingroom with family or people you'd like to see again or home teachers)

I have never been a fan of I-am-not-a-fan mail. If I read something I don't like, I either stop reading it or I seek out the publication and give them appropriate feedback -- if I feel strongly enough. I can't imagine me ever using the kind of language she refers to in this song. 

Thanks to the lovely and chipper Isabel Fay, I now have a little ditty to sing when I get hate mail -- and boy do I get hate mail. Earlier in my life, as some of you may know, I would have been happy to take these recent and descriptive suggestions that I currently collect. People love to give me feedback. My life has changed however and I am not as adventurous as I once was.  Nor am I as flexible.  

Of course, the language of this song is a little cheeky, but I love me a cheeky lyric.  If you can tolerate an f word or two spoken in love, this may be the happy song of the week for you.  If not then just read.

Let me be clear.  This is not a Sunday School song - even in an edited version.

Hello Hater Song

Well hello friend!
Mister Insightful
Thank you for your comment on my little Youtube clip!
Most people say you’re cruel and spiteful,
But you’re right, how do I sleep at night? And I am a massive pr--k.

They call you hater --  well they’re just jealous
Your constructive pearls of wisdom give me thrills I can’t deny
How will we know 
if you don’t tell us
We could improve our Youtube channels by "effing off and dying”?

Some might say you are a…
Sexually aggressive, racist, homophobe, misogynistic,
Cowardly, illiterate, waste of human skin,
But I say: thank you beautiful stranger.

I love the way you don’t upload things
You know we’d be too dazzled by your cinematic vision
But you’re there on every comment string
Where you teach us, just like Jesus but while wanking like a gibbon. (If I knew what this was I would probably have to edit it as well)

I’m really sure that if I met you
You probably wouldn't rape me like you promised that you would.
We are like “that”; I really get you
You’re right about that laughing kid, he is a total “c---”.

(Samba instrumental)  -- Because every song should have a samba instrumental

You wished me cancer and misspelled “cancer”
But I know that it’s a metaphor. You hope that I will grow,
Just like the tumor you hoped would kill me
Inside the ---- on which you said you’d also like a go.

You said that girls shouldn't do funny
But you’d ---- me double hard and let your mates go after you.
Oh what a line you lovely honey!
Are you on e-harmony? Oooo! I’ll join the queue!

Some might say you’re a…
sexually aggressive, racist, homophobe, misogynistic,
cowardly, illiterate, waste of human skin,


Repeat and fade.  No, really.  Fade.

Please forgive me the song, but I have a rather large point.  Is anything worth being this kind of hateful?

I R chipper

I received this e-mail and I thought I would answer it on the blog:

I really enjoy reading your blog.  Among the moho blog authors I've read, you stand out as on of the more "chipper".  I see a lot negative self-examination among mohos (myself included) yet you seem maintain a very positive attitude despite what some might see as trying circumstances,. Do you agree?

If so, to what do you ascribe this? The gospel?  Your faith?  Prozac? (You mentioned it in some blog entries.) Other?  All of the above?

I hope it's not an offensive question.  I ask as a peer who has much to be thankful for and knows better, yet feels life is pretty much a waiting game at this point.

Thanks!

-A reader

I have been told this before, that I am a "happy guy". I think it is due to that fact that I am... get this, a happy man.  I have dealt with a lot of stuff and I have come out on top so far.  

This is not to say that I don't look at things I have done in the past and cringe, and want to pass out from embarrassment or shame.  

If they show a video of my life, someone is going to have to severely edit this motha' before general audiences sit down for a viewing. I could end up being the Harvey Keitel of the afterlife.

There were easier ways...

I have really screwed up.  And maybe that is why I smile.  I have seen the other side.  I see a bit of it everyday still, and I try to walk past it to something different, something of my choosing.

I have chosen to give up stuff in exchange for other stuff that I wanted more.  The choices I made set well with me.  I feel good about them.  And while I am feeling pretty good about choices I have made, I also feel good about letting others make different choices without trying to convince people that my way is the only way.

Frankly, if you have read a little of my writing, my way is a little bizarre so you might want to try it another way to arrive at your own, unique and joyful result.

There were days I spent around bathrooms and locker rooms at BYU, or waiting for someone to pick my up from the police station -- or on a good day being in priesthood meeting with all the real guys knowing that I would never really fit in.

Well, I fit in just fine, thank you, and I am pretty happy about that.