Who Has Gay Friends?

Occasionally I'll hear someone discussing homosexuality and something along the lines of "I have lots of gay friends, but..." will enter the conversation.  At one time, I also had lots of gay friends, but no longer.  That's correct, I just said it.  I no longer have any gay friends.  Does this bother you on some level?  Do you feel that perhaps I'm being too harsh?  Why not have gay friends?  Everyone has gay friends.

Over the years I have had friends from every walk of life.  Drug dealers, doctors, pornstars, preachers, millionaires and migrant workers have all been my friends.  I've had friends from all over the United States and all over the world, friends from every culture and religion, friends from every classification you can imagine and some friends who defy any classification.  The only thing that binds them all together is they were my friends.

Let's talk about some of the specific friends.  Melissa was a young woman in San Diego, married to an abusive husband.  She had an interesting story.  At the age of 12, her mother sold her off to be a sex slave.  The couple that bought her started selling her services at age 13 and continued to do so until she ran away at 17.  This didn't happen in some remote country, it happened right here in the United States.  She was 23 the last I talked to her, living in Kansas and still trying to get out of her abusive relationship.

Oscar was an artist in San Diego.  He had enjoyed a successful career and had traveled extensively.  He lived a mostly quiet life, spending most of his time with a small circle of friends.  I was honored to be invited to an art show he put on at his house for his friends.  There were perhaps 50 people in attendance and Oscar was deeply touched by everyone's attendance.  He took his own life two weeks later, before AIDS made him too sick to enjoy life.  The art show was the last item on his bucket list, because it was most important to him.  The other two items were a champagne hot air balloon flight and a gondola ride through the canals of Venice.

Deb was a big girl.  Originally from Oklahoma, she had moved to New Mexico.  After serving an enlistment in the Army, she traveled around seeing the country and trying to decide what to do with the rest of her life.  Her car broke down in Albuquerque and by the time she could afford to fix it, Albuquerque had become home.  When I say big, I'm not trying to dance around calling her a BBW, or Curvy, or even Thick.  She stood about 6'2" and was a very solid 280#.  Put her in a uniform and she would have fit in quite well with the offensive line of any NFL team.  I ended up being the photographer for her wedding.  She looked great in a tuxedo and Lenore had a beautiful white wedding dress.

Sid was a former VP at Sony.  He grew up in Brooklyn and got his first real sales job at the age of 16.  He never graduated high school and never attended college.  He worked his way from the bottom to very near the top.  He had great stories about extended trips to Japan and to the USSR.  We met when I moved him from Oakland to Las Vegas, where he promptly adopted me.  Several months later we got together in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida where he invited me to join him, his wife, his daughter and her family for dinner at Buca di Beppo.  The next day Sid, his wife and I took a road trip down to Marathon where he treated me to lunch and more stories from his amazing life.  He died from a brain embolism three months later.

David was an online friend in San Diego for over three years before I was invited to visit him, along with four others, at his apartment.  There had been a flood of rumors about David.  He was gay.  He was in a wheelchair.  He was in the Witness Protection Program, etc.  He was very intelligent and was an excellent writer.  He wrote an incredible first hand account of the Chicago Riots at the Democratic National Convention in 1968.  He got caught up in the confusion and ended up beaten and jailed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  David suffered from severe agoraphobia.  He was terrified of going outside or being around strangers.

These stories aren't meant to be sad and they aren't intended to impress.  They are an attempt to show that friends are who they are.  I don't think of my friends by the category they fall into.  I don't have short friends and bald friends and black friends.  I have friends.  When talking about me do any of my friends say "he's one of my tall friends" or "he's one of my story telling friends"?  Can't I at least be a cute guy friend?  No?  Damn.

In our minds, we don't classify our friends.  When deciding how to spend a day we don't say "Hmmm, do I want to go out with some gay friends or some straight friends?".  If we don't label our friends in our thoughts, why do it in our speech?  Having gay friends does not give any special insight in what it means to be gay, just as having tall friends doesn't make it easier for you to reach the top shelf.  If we can learn to stop labeling our friends in our speech, then perhaps we can start seeing all people as just people.  Each is an individual and each should be judged as an individual.

Let's stop worrying about what people are and try to learn who they are.