Sometimes, our darkest moments are the only way to find out who we really are.
A year ago, I was on top of the world. As a white, Christian male from a wealthy suburban town called “The Woodlands,” I had gone through life believing I deserved all the good-fortune that had come my way.
The scholarships, the award-winning film and the money in my checking account were all the spoils of my own hard work and not anyone else’s.
Sure, I know other people weren’t as “blessed” or successful as me, but I thought this had nothing to do with being white, black, gay or straight – I thought success was all about my abilities, my work ethic, etc.
On an eerily quiet Friday afternoon, I met with a professor to discuss some complaints I had about a student organization. I had lost an officer election in what I thought was an unfair vote, and I was going to set things straight.
But a funny thing happened; this professor literally screamed at me. She cursed me out with every bit of profanity possible. I was so caught off-guard that I froze. I couldn’t get angry, I couldn’t cry – I went back to me dorm like a zombie.
This professor was right about me. She saw that I was selfish, conceited and ignorant. I had outcasted myself from this organization, because I preached that my success was due to my talent and hard work.
All I had really done was unpack the invisible knapsack, the advantages that a chosen few receive simply because they are white, straight, Christian males. I had succeeded thus far because the barriers that so many others endure did not apply to me – or, at least, not until now.
Several months after this encounter with the professor, I came to terms with being gay. I am still extremely fortunate to have grown up in a wealthy suburb and to have had the help of so many others. But now, I do get just a small taste of what it’s like to be different.
When churches band together to rage against gay rights, I know they are raging against someone like me. When people look away when I tell them I am gay, I get a sample of what it’s like to be excluded because of something beyond my control. I know that my home, Texas, will probably vote yes on Proposition 2 and thereby destroy my dream of ever being married.This is all just an extremely light version of the discrimination that other minority groups have to deal with every day – and, believe me, this discrimination affects millions of real people who just want to have a decent life.
Scott Ellison is a sophomore psychology major. He may be contacted at [email protected].
