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You can't muzzle this bitch
By Nic Garcia
ngarci20@mscd.edu

The month of June is reserved for Pride in Gaydom.

For the moment, I’ll spare you all the juicy details of how this came to be. I will, however, indulge in a little bit of an anecdote.

I won’t lie. Since I began writing my column focusing on the gay lifestyle, I secretly hoped for some hate mail, a confrontation on campus perhaps. The worst that ever happened was the occasional stare from a confused suburban breeder. You know the type, a straight boy, maybe 20 or 21, a flunkout from CU-Boulder who now lives with his parents in Littleton. They often take the Light Rail and are decked out in Hollister and Abercrombie. The collar is popped and the shoes never match.

That was until the last day of school the past semester when my dreams came true. I was in a meeting when the phone call came, so I was assaulted via message. I give the kid credit, most would have hung up, had they not met a real voice. Instead, he left me a two-minute message basically stating there was too much “gay” in The Metropolitan.

“I never thought I’d see so many references to gay people and fags in a newspaper…” he began. At first, I thought it was a message from a fan. But I was quickly set in my place when he said, “So I think you should stop.

“No one cares that you’re gay. Just like one cares that I like boobies!” He exclaimed.

The tragic mess went on to suggest that I no longer write my column. He opined it was a waste of our newsprint and his time.

I thought I’d relish in the moment. I thought it would fuel my fire. It did, a little bit, but more and more, I became sick to my stomach. I grew worried, and saddened.

At that point, I realized people do care that I’m gay. The anonymous messenger—who didn’t leave a return number—maybe cared the most.

The old adage goes, “I don’t care if you’re gay, just don’t act like it in public.”

Ouch.

Moreover, a new acquaintance asked, “Why do gay guys talk with a lisp? Why don’t you use your normal voice?”

Normal. Normal voice? Do you mean straight voice?

Those aforementioned knots in my stomach come back just thinking about it.

There were five of us fags in the room when the question was posed. After some debate, we concluded the lisp was in fact our normal voice. All of us being out and in the company of friends, we had nothing to hide. There was no reason for us to censor ourselves through topic or dialect. Sure, some of us were more feminine in tone than others, but by and large we all had a limp wrist in our voice.

Our voice is just that, ours. It is real. It is genuine. No more or less so than that of a Texan or New Yorker.

Not one to beat a bottle of glue, allow me one more story to illustrate my point.

My friend Mr. Nice Guy and I recently took a pilgrimage to Pueblo. There, we were drinking with my father and a few other friends of my brother.

I approached a new girl, hanging out with my brother’s best friend, and called her “honey.”
My father promptly corrected me. “She has a name,” he said.

I knew that. But what I didn’t know was why my father was trying to silence my gay tongue. Sure, his intentions were good. However, the term “honey” is as common in the gay world as “dude” in the straight world.

I’ve often heard people ask, why isn’t there a Straight Pride Day? “Where is our parade?” they ponder.

Their parade is everyday. Everyday when they’re not asked to keep quiet. Everyday when they’re not encouraged to use their normal voice. Everyday they’re not asked to stop calling someone “dude.” Everyday they’re allowed to breathe, speak, think and act as they are—straight—without repercussion and fear of being silenced.

Every time someone tries to stop my thoughts, my words, my actions, they are trying to stop me. When someone says no one cares that I’m gay, they’re saying they don’t care about me. When someone asks why I speak with a lisp, they ask why I speak at all. When someone tells me to stop referring to someone as honey, they tell me to stop referring to people, completely.

The more we allow society and ourselves to question our thoughts, our voice, our words, the more we allow ourselves to not be recognized. The more we lose, the more you lose.

Pride isn’t about being in-your-face-queer. It’s about being us and relishing in the fact that we do care, that we do have a lisp, and that we do have a voice.

And we won’t be censored – or ashamed.