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Homophobia Is Gay!

Homophobia is a complex thing. And believe me; I know this all too well being a homophobe myself. It started when I realised that I might be gay. I was still a teenager and being gay was something that other people did. Normal kids, and I was normal, tried to find out who was gay and write so and so is a lezzer on the toilet walls. Usually the girl in question wasn’t gay at all, she probably had short hair and Dr. Marten boots, but that was enough back then.
So I left the country and went to London to be gay in secret. I knew that I couldn’t possibly be a lezzer myself; I liked Laura Ashley skirts and white court shoes. I had a Farah Fawcett Major hair style and I wore make-up. I convinced myself that I definitely wasn’t one of those abnormal people who committed abominable sex crimes, all I wanted to do was to try it out once, and after that I could go back home and get married to a nice boy.
I was less than an hour in London when I bumped into some friends from home, so the plan died there. Then I went to Germany. I could get it out of my system over there. I didn’t bump into anyone from home until I finally ventured into a gay disco. It was in Berlin, but there he was on the dance floor: a guy from the street I’d grown up on. I couldn’t understand how he realised that I’d be there, but I knew I was caught. He didn’t spend the evening stalking me and taking photos of me to send to my mother, he was busy dancing and showing off his pierced nipples. But I knew he could only be there to spy on me (because I was the only gay in the village!) so I left.
Eventually I did meet a woman, but I couldn’t really connect, because after all, she was a lezzer, so she had to be slightly strange. We had fun, but I slipped out before breakfast in case I’d have to talk to her. It wasn’t long before I came back home and married one of those nice boys like nice girls do.
A few years later, when the really nice boy I married had run away with a lap dancer, a terrible thing happened: I fell in love with a lezzer. That means I didn’t score or get lucky or have a secret night of sordid sex (because isn’t that the only thing that gay people do?) No, I fell in love with someone who didn’t even love me back. In fact she thought I was a pathetic and patronizing homophobe. I became a political gay activist to try and win her heart. I didn’t get the girl but I became enlightened.
Last week one of my kids punched a guy for making homophobic comments. I’m not a friend of punches myself and luckily never received any during my years of delusion. I like the attitude of the new generation though, and I’m proud of my kids whoever they are. I’ll even accept them if any of them turn out to be heterosexuals…


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