Gay monster

Where I’m from, a small town in the middle of nowhere, the same-sex attracted man was the bogeyman. He was constantly waiting to prey upon the hapless straights in their locker rooms, salivating at the prospect of converting them to the gay dark side with his munch. All things sinister and repulsive were his domain — report cards, emotions, curfews, and books, to name a few. All these things were homosexual, because they were bad.

If you were suspected of entity The Gay, you were met with proverbial torches and pitchforks. I was one such suspect, singled out for my swishiness, my lisp, and my admission that I kind of enjoyed “Breakaway” by Kelly Clarkson, a major tactical blunder. I found myself hiding in the shadows of the auditorium behind a stage curtain during lunch to avoid torment. I didn’t sense particularly powerful at the time, but the fact remained: People hated me because they were afraid of me.

Like many other youthful queer people, I rooted for the villains in Disney movies, who were often coded to have traits similar to mine, love Scar’s dripping sarcasm or Jafar’s fondness for eyeliner. The heroes seemed to have more in common with the people that made my life miserable. They always ended up i