KarMel Scholarship 2004

“Making Minorities into a Majority”

By Kelly Muscolo, CA

Desciption of Submission: “This is an autobiographical piece where I explore the hardships I’ve been through because my mother is a lesbian. The main theme in this work is that eventually, if you try hard enough and demand to be heard, you can make a difference.” – Kelly

Standing in front of the classroom behind the podium, I patiently waited for the teacher to finish calling roll so I could get started on my homophobia presentation. It was 6^th period on a Friday afternoon, and I could sense anticipation for the weekend from all four corners of the room. Not only were the kids excited about their weekend plans, but they were also happy that today they wouldn’t be analyzing literature. A guest speaker would be holding class that day, meaning no homework, and even better, no thinking. As I finished organizing my materials, I looked around the classroom and saw young, vulnerable, and impressionable faces. I decided at that moment that I wasn’t going to waste my hour with the kids’ attention. I was going to make an impression on them that was going to last a lifetime.

The English teacher scribbled something on his desk, leaned back, and nodded at me. Taking this as my cue to begin, I cleared my throat and smiled at the class. “Hi,” I said, “My name is Kelly, and I’m with the Gay-Straight Alliance. I’m here today to explore homophobia with you and hopefully break down some stereotypes encompassing LGBTQ people.” I looked around the room, hoping to see enlightened faces. Instead I saw a girl with her head on the desk, another girl staring at the clock, and a boy beginning his next masterpiece with scrap paper and a chewed-up #2 pencil. Even the teacher seemed disengaged. This may be difficult, I thought to myself, but hey, it’s not a challenge I can’t take on. Hell, I’ve been in tougher spots. Besides, that’s why I’m here. I began to reflect on how I got in this particular situation. It seemed so much had changed for me in the past couple of years.

I was now living in the non-traditional family which had caused me much heartache growing up. From the time I was a child, I was taught through my experiences with my peers and other adults that gay people were bad. I didn’t really understand this, because to my knowledge my mom was just like any other mom, but as most children do, I accepted what I was told without much hesitation. Even my father, who had been married to my mother for 12 years and knew her very well, described her lesbianism as a “sickness”. Although I now understood the origins of my mother’s different sexuality, I still wasn’t sure why everyone hated it so much. Making the assumption that any child living in the fairly conservative Simi Valley would do, I was led to believe it was simply common knowledge that homosexuality was wrong.

I remember that as a child of about 8 years old I would go down the street to play with the neighbor girl, Shannon. Shannon and I had been friends for a couple of years, so I decided telling her my secret would be okay. Rolling the ball down the driveway towards her, I said, “Hey, Shannon?” The serious tone in my voice aroused some suspicion. She furrowed her eyebrows and stood up, dusting the back of her pants off. Walking over to me, she cleared her throat and asked me in as just a serious tone what the matter was. I smiled a little and said, “It’s not a bad thing. It’s a secret.”

“A secret?!?” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. When you’re 8 years old, nothing is better than a secret. It’s the ultimate test of faith – the proof of a real friendship.

“Promise not to tell?” I asked sincerely, almost hoping she would say no. If she said she couldn’t do it, I would be off the hook. But what 8-year-old tells the truth when a secret’s at stake?

“I pinky promise!” she replied, hooking my finger in hers. She eagerly awaited the juicy gossip.

“You know my mom?” I asked. My mom was rarely around me, let alone my friends. She lived in the Bay Area, where I thought all the people like her went for salvation. Shannon continued to smile, and nodded fervently. “Well, she’s a lesbian,” I said, cringing at the sound of my own statement. Shannon’s smile remained on her face, although her eyes squinted a little.

“What are you talking about?” She squealed. “Isn’t that some type of poisonous fish?”

“No,” I continued, “It’s a …” at this moment Mr. Carmill emerged from the garage, gardening scissors in hand.

“Daddy!” Shannon laughed, “Kelly just said her mom’s a leppion!” His face hardened.

“A what?” he asked soberly. “A lesbian?”

“Yeah! That’s it!” she giggled. “A lesbian!”

“Shannon, come inside right now. Kelly, we’re busy – go home.”

I wasn’t allowed to play with Shannon after that day. She wouldn’t walk with me to school anymore, and she would avert her eyes every time we met each other on the playground. Although I wasn’t certain that these unusual conditions had anything to do with my last conversation with Shannon, I figured that more likely than not this was the case. It was at that moment I realized that in order to maintain my friendships, I’d have to be extremely selective with whom I told my secret.

I went throughout my elementary school and early middle school years feeling my mother had betrayed me. When she came down for Christmas or my birthday she would bring her partner Sue with her. I was always ashamed to be around them both when others could see – I didn’t want to have to explain or defend her. After several incidents of where I had tried in vain to restore my mother’s honor, I chose to avoid the subject entirely.

One place where I felt a little more at ease with the fact that my mom was a lesbian was at her home in the Bay Area. I had been spending summers at her house since I was in the 6^th grade, and I enjoyed the change in living environments immensely. Although initially it was tough leaving friends in Southern California and being forced into summer camps where I knew nobody, my outgoing personality gradually made it easier for me to make friends at my summer home.

Attending a sports camp in Berkeley, I met a girl in my grade (who is still my best friend) named Nora. She was a basketball player, like me, so we hit it off from the start. Because I felt she was a fairly open-minded girl and lived in Berkeley (where I was sure there were at least 15 gay people), I decided to open up to Nora and talk about my unusually configured family.

Upon hearing that my mom was gay, Nora uttered an “mmhmm,” and continued dribbling the basketball she was playing with. I was shocked. Why wasn’t she flipping out?

“That’s cool with you?” I asked, opening my eyes a bit wider.

“Huh? What’s cool with me? The fact that your mom’s gay? Yeah Kelly, God, whose parents aren’t?”

Feeling she had exhausted the subject, Nora passed me the ball and got down in a defensive stance. “Bring it!” she demanded, smiling. I took Nora’s cue and didn’t press the issue. “You’re going down!” I cried out, my voice almost cracking from complete joy.

Later that night during dinner I told my mom and Sue about my unusual experience. They didn’t seem to be surprised, which surprised me even more. “Are you saying that people here don’t care that you’re gay? It’s like, okay with them?” My mom looked over at Sue and smiled.

“No, sweetie, not everyone up here is okay with it. But generally speaking, the Bay Area is a more liberal place. People are usually more open to diversity and accept it with less hesitation.”

My eyes grew wide. It was at that moment the seeds were planted in my brain that living full-time in Northern California might not be as bad as I would have expected. Hell, it might actually be worth seriously thinking about!

I did finally decide to move to my mom’s house. By this time I had finished my first year of High School at Simi Valley High, and the move was to be in mid-summer. It was a huge risk I was taking, but I had fallen in love with the more open-minded atmosphere of the Bay Area and was willing to risk a few difficult transition months for 3 years of being able to be openly supportive of my mom and the gay community.

One of the biggest misconceptions I had moving to live with my mom and Sue was that everyone in the Bay Area was gay-friendly. Although my mom and Sue had told me that nowhere all people would be accepting of homosexuality, I still expected everyone I’d meet to be as comfortable with the gay community as Nora was.

Upon arrival at my new High School, I enthusiastically joined the Gay-Straight Alliance. There was no such thing at Simi Valley High, so this was an amazing opportunity for me. As I acclimated to my new school and living environment I made friends within the GSA who believed in the same things I did – promoting equality of all people regardless of physical, mental, or sexual differences, and educating the community inside and outside of school ways to bypass prejudices and general homophobia in order to become more open-minded and open-hearted individuals.

The GSA always had something going on. The first year I was involved we did so many activities we had to elect GSA officers! Taking the Publicity position head-on, I not only got to inform our school what the GSA was planning on doing, but I also got to make new friends who were other GSA officers. Some of the major things we did to promote understanding of gay issues and equality were the Day of Silence, a Middle School teach-in, and Freshman Class teach-ins. Each of these activities worked in a different way, targeting different ages of teenagers and challenging them to see through the eyes of those who are attacked because of their sexuality in our community.

However comfortable I was promoting the equality of the gay community when within GSA activities, supporting my mom and taking a stand against homophobia when I was on my own was a different story. Although technically I was living in the Bay Area, Lafayette defied the liberal tendencies of the Bay Area and was pretty conservative. In addition, the student population of Acalanes was about 95% Caucasian, so diversity wasn’t something my classmates knew much about. I was the only person I knew of to have gay parents. Even though the friends I was making would not shun others because of stereotypes or prejudices, telling them about my mom was a difficult task.

After a basketball game in 10^th grade, one of my best friends now, Alex, ran over to my two moms and me.

“You played really well, Kelly!” she said, nodding her head up and down.

“Thanks! So did you! Have you met my mom?” I asked, pointing to one of the women standing next to me.

“No! Hi Kelly’s Mom! I’m Alex. It’s nice to meet you!” She responded, smiling and shaking my mother’s hand.

“And this…” I continued, “Is my step mom, Sue.”

“Hi!” she said to Sue, and then turned back to me. “Is your dad here too, then?” She asked.

“No. My dad and step mom from Southern California aren’t coming to watch a game of mine for another couple of weeks. But when they’re here I’ll be sure to introduce them to you!” I responded, smiling and nodding my head.

Her bright eyes dimmed a little and a confused expression grew across her face. By this time my mom and Sue had left the gym and were walking to the car outside. Alex looked outside at them, and turned back to me. “I…don’t get it…” she stammered.

“Oh, no, it’s cool. My mom’s gay – that’s her partner, Sue.” I held my breath, hoping for a positive reaction.

“Kelly! Why didn’t you tell me that? I feel so stupid now!” She thought for a moment. “Are you okay with that? I mean, you know, that your mom’s like a lesbian?” She hushed the word “lesbian” and craned her neck towards my ear.

“Of course I’m okay with it, Alex. She’s my mom. If I had a problem with it, I’d have to get over it pretty quickly, huh?” I laughed, and was relieved to see her do the same.

“Yeah, I guess so. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow!” She shouted, jogging over to her mom and dad on the other side of the gym. I waved after her, and then made my way outside to my parents.

It was nice to have such a warm response from Alex after I dropped the bomb. Her positive reaction made it easier for me to be open with who my parents were with other classmates who didn’t know me too well yet. This was fortunate, because my moms weren’t the type to hide away because they weren’t the societal norm of parents. They showed up to all of my basketball games, were involved in my track meets, and went to every Open House or other school function parents were welcome to attend. After a while, because of this constant exposure to gay people, my classmates and their parents were forced to accept that even people in Lafayette could be gay.

I used to think other GSA member who didn’t have an immediate tie to the gay community were lucky because they could leave their responsibility of promoting acceptance of gays behind them after they walked out of our lunchtime meeting every Tuesday. They could promote equality for gays when it fit their schedule, like when there was a GSA activity that didn’t interfere with their sports or social life. They could use being in the GSA on their college resume and talk about it in the yearbook and at the same time chose not to think about it when they heard a homophobic slur in the hallway or saw somebody being picked on because of their supposed sexuality. I wished I could leave my responsibility to protect my mom the way these other kids left their responsibility so easily. I wished that the fight to promote equality of gays in our society wasn’t a battle that hit so close to home. I wished that I could simply take a break from this incessant struggle to make our society a more understanding and accepting place.

Now, however, it’s clear to me that the weight I’ve borne by fighting this never-ending battle has made me a stronger individual. I’ve learned that standing up for what you believe in may be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done, but it may also end up being the most rewarding.

At the beginning of my mission of making the world a safer place for people like my mom, I felt as if I were a spec among billions of giants, with a great message but with no way to get it heard. I started out by making a peep, hoping to get at least on giant’s attention. The peep didn’t work, so the next time I spoke, I stomped on the ground, clapped my hands, and screamed as loud as I could. As one giant turned towards me to see what all the ruckus was about, I felt myself grow and great confidence began to stir in me. With that one giant’s attention, I continued to wail and demanded more and more attention until I had a small group of giants listening to me. The more the giants heard me out, the more I grew.

With a new surge of energy building up in me, I looked out among my class for the day. There was no way I was going to let this opportunity to enlighten today’s youth pass me by. After all, these freshmen have their entire lives in front of them. By making an impression on them now, I just might be able to prevent them from being the people later on in life who make life unbearable for the gay community. I rethought defining the acronym “LGBTQ” and instead asked, “Do any of you know the story of Matthew Shepard?”

I was once afraid to mention that my mom was a lesbian. Now I demand the attention of Middle Schools and Freshman English classes every year, exposing them to a new way of thinking and demanding them to give diversity a chance. I know I may not be able to fix this problem this year – I may not even be able to fix this problem next year. But before I’m done, I’m going to find a way to make the minority of people who are supporters of the gay community into the majority of people, and damn it, I’m going to do it.

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