It’s been
a little over five years since I
handed a
coming out
letter to my
Commanding Officer while serving
aboard USS Frank Cable in Guam.
He told me then that the policy
was going to die soon. He
sounded sincere. “You can change
your mind now,” he said somewhat
hopefully, “and take this letter
back.”
It was two
years into George W. Bush’s
second term. I just couldn’t
muster that much faith. My last
day was in Spring of 2007. Like
thousands of others, I gained a
“scarlet” DD-214 discharge paper
and was marked RE-4 (ineligible
for service) due to “homosexual
admission.”
I have
said repeatedly of that last
assignment over the years that I
felt wanted as a Sailor, but
unsupported as a human being.
It was lonely, even among
colleagues, and I eventually
broke down under the overlapping
stress of being gay and serving
in uniform. There were things I
simply could not explain to my
chain-of-command, my friends, or
even a military doctor.
When I
finally left, I realized that
despite my pain, I had become
numb to genuine emotions. Even
today, I struggle to connect
with real moments of joy,
sorrow, pride, and kinship. I
continue to fight back the
remnants of what the Navy did to
me emotionally – and that was
forcing me to compartmentalize
my own emotions and needs for
the sake of maintaining DADT.
As proof,
I offer this gem. I had a
former student who is now a
friend tell me shortly after I
came out to the Navy that she
never suspected. “I always
thought you were just an
asshole.” That was revealing to
me because until that moment, I
didn’t realize how much effort I
had put into not being
“suspected.” I worked hard to
be accepted by playing the
“normal” guy as best as I could.
So, maybe
it comes as no surprise to you
now when I tell you that after
repeal passed in December of
2010, I did not cry. I was
happy, but not overjoyed.
And when
the certification letter was
signed in July of 2011, I was
excited, but not overwhelmed
with emotion. And I did not cry.
When the
day finally came for repeal, and
the clock turned over, I sat
overwhelmed, but numb to the
consequence… I was busy
finalizing paperwork for
reenlisting and again, I did not
cry tears of joy.
Two days
later – when I stood on the pier
of a small dock in Baltimore and
let some officer I’d never met
administer the oath of
enlistment so that my paperwork
could be approved – I did not
cry.
At my
formal ceremony – when the man
who accepted my coming out
letter
administered the oath
again so that my friends and
family could share the moment
with me – I did not cry.
When I
received my new ID card, when I
put on the uniform for the first
time, when I received the
assignment I wanted, when I was
asked to be a co-lead of
OutServe National Capital
Region, when I found out I was
eligible for promotion to Chief
Petty Officer, when I
successfully completed
Fleet Week
New York with high
marks, when I
marched in
Capital Pride with
more than 20 other LGB service
members… none of these moments
made me cry. I was happy, but
nothing was able to wrest
control of those deep-seeded
fears about expressing raw and
unfiltered happiness… Until June
15.
I woke up
yesterday morning to see in my
Facebook feed a note about the
Secretary of Defense speaking to
LGBT troops and DoD civilians in
a
video
online.
Halfway
through the day, I watched it
twice. I was dumbfounded at
what I heard. It was a
statement designed to emphasize
the need for the fair treatment
and dignity for all service
members. It was wonderful, but I
did not cry… I was too busy for
that.
And after
an already long day, I sat down
at my computer (it was a slow
duty night for Navy reserve) and
watched it for a third time.
And a few small tears finally
fell. As I watched it for a
four, fifth, sixth and seventh
time… I listened carefully to
the words being spoken and my
new reality finally hit home.
I AM
accepted.
I AM
supported.
I AM
wanted by the Navy and by my
peers as a teammate.
The Navy I
left 5 years ago is now forever
behind me. There are still
challenges to be overcome, but
the military leadership, from
the very top, has now made it
clear in no uncertain terms that
they are there for me just as
they are for everyone else. THAT
makes all the difference.
There’s
still work to be done, but they
can’t change the law. I know
that. What they can do –
they’ve just done. They’ve set
the tone for professionalism,
dignity, and integrity.
If it was
at all possible… after I cried…
I became more proud than I have
ever been before; I became more
proud to serve my country.