Twenty years ago I took the bold – some might say inappropriate – step of telling a friend that he was gay and that he would never be happy until he accepted who he was.

Peter (his real name) was an undergraduate at the University of Vermont; I was a graduate student at Middlebury College. I was out to everyone. He wasn’t even out to himself. He played sports, dated girls, and was extremely good-looking.

When I told some straight friends about my suspicion that Peter was gay, their reaction was predictable. “You just wish he were gay” and “You think everyone is gay” – the usual retorts straight people recur to when a gay person suggests that a “straight” person might be gay.

Needless to say, Peter didn’t appreciate my advice. Guys in the closet, guys whose entire persona and psyche are self-defined as straight, don’t want to be told they’re gay, especially by a gay guy.

Not surprisingly, I didn’t talk to Peter for 10 years, although I never stopped thinking about him. Thanks to a little detective work, I discovered that he was living in Denver. It just so happened that I had friends in Denver so I planned a trip to visit them, and I called Peter and asked if he’d be willing to see me. He reluctantly agreed.

During our visit, Peter was distant – uneasy. He seemed less tolerant of my homosexuality than he had been in the past. I understood why. It was obvious that Peter was struggling with his sexuality. As is often the case, the struggle pushed him even further into the closet.

Our visit lasted a couple of hours. As we were leaving, I gave Peter my cell number and told him to call me if he ever wanted to talk. “Don’t expect me to call you and tell you I’m gay,” he said.

Four years later, the phone rang. It was Peter. From the moment he said, “George,” I knew why he had called. After a few minutes of small talk, and sensing an uneasiness in his voice, I said, “So what’s going on, Peter?”

“I’m gay.” I’d be lying if I said that “I told you so” didn’t run through my mind, but this moment was far too important to Peter. “And how do you feel about that?” I asked. “Good, for the first time in my life.”

Peter confessed that he had struggled with his sexuality most of his life. From the time he was in high school he knew that he was gay. He also knew that he lived in a society in which gays are treated like second-class citizens. Peter had a very supportive family, but like many closeted gay men and women, the what-ifs were more powerful than the desire to accept who he was.

What if his parents didn’t approve? What if his friends rejected him? What if he got kicked off the soccer team? What if he got kicked out of his fraternity?

Peter agonized for years over the same what-ifs that millions of gays and lesbians agonize over every day, the same what-ifs that hundreds of SMU students agonize over.

Consider Andrew. Andrew (not his real name) is a student at SMU and member of a fraternity. He’s also gay and closeted. SMU journalism student Ben Briscoe wrote about Andrew in an article for the Dallas Voice, an article that examined SMU’s No. 14 ranking by the Princeton Review in the category “Alternative Lifestyles Not an Alternative.”

Not exactly a ranking that SMU should be proud of, but I’ll write about that in another article. According to the article, Andrew is so afraid of people finding out he’s gay that he suffers from panic attacks. “I’ve seen these [fraternity] guys around gay people,” Andrew told the Voice. “They tease them beyond belief […] I know they would never accept me.”

Like Andrew, instead of coming out, Peter hid his sexuality. He spent his twenties and early thirties trying to be someone he wasn’t. Hopefully, Andrew won’t do the same thing.

Unlike many closeted men, Peter didn’t act out violently or recklessly. He didn’t become a gay basher. He didn’t turn to anonymous and risky sexual encounters. Instead, he threw himself into school, earned an MBA, landed a good job, and worked his way up the corporate ladder. But he had no one to share his success with.

Until he met Steve (not his real name). Steve played baseball for the Colorado Rockies. Peter and Steve dated secretly. When the relationship started to get serious, Steve was offered a multi-million dollar contract. Peter decided he couldn’t live the “this is my roommate” lie so he broke off the relationship and joined a support group for men coming out of the closet. Steve got married.

After the phone call, Peter visited me in Dallas. He wasn’t the same man I had met 15 years before. He still liked sports, still liked to snow ski and mountain climb. He still had a baritone voice. But there was an aura of contentment around him that I had never seen before. He was finally free.

Today Peter is on the board of a national gay rights organization. He lives with his partner, whom he plans to marry. His parents, siblings and coworkers have embraced him and his partner.

During a recent conversation, I asked Peter if he remembered our conversation from 20 years ago. “I think about it every day,” he said. “I just wish I had listened to you then.”

No one should have to go through what Peter went through, what Andrew goes through. Doors on campus that display ALLIES stickers are safe zones for gay and lesbian students. The faculty and staff in those offices are available to listen when you’re ready to talk.

George Henson is a lecturer of Spanish and foreign languages and literatures. He can be reached for comment at [email protected]