KarMel
Scholarship 2008
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Special
Judges Award “Fairy
Tales” and “Buddy Roll” By
Anonymous |
Desciption of Submission:
“Fairy Tales – Written poem about Gay pride + gay
rights and the necessity to ‘break’ the silence surrounding homophobia.” – Anonymous
“Buddy Roll – Written poem about the effects of
coming out or my relationship with my dad.” - Anonymous
Why Karen and Melody Liked It: We liked that
it showed the struggles of being gay both with society and with-in ones own
family.
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Fairytales Silence kills. Still, stagnant, silence shatters our society like
Mathew Shepard’s skull, ties us to a fence in the middle of Silence is compliance that
refuses to ask why, and this is why I am speaking. This is why I am here, screaming aloud ‘I’m allowed to be proud to be queer!’ Because I’ve spent too many
years of MY life inside a closet because YOUR mind was closed. But your homophobia gave
me claustrophobia and now I’m out… to get my happy ending. Once upon a time, Kindergarten fairytales
told me that in order to live happily ever after, I’d have to be a knight in
shining armour and save the damsel in distress. And middle school texts
called this practice “safe sex.” Now I watch as the rest of the world hugs, and
falls in love and holds hands, but I can’t? I’m gay. “Oh..
You’re gay? Well…that’s okay. Just be careful that you don’t catch AIDS.” Okay, thanks. Ya know, I had NO
idea… NO idea that it was YOUR responsibility
to tell ME that my sexuality is a disease. Please, tell me more about
myself. Tell me more about safe
sex. Please, take the safe sex
condom and put it over your head, so that you QUIT FUCKING BULLSHIT! Do not tell me how to have
sex safely while you rape me of the little common sense we have left in this
society! We are NOT taboo. HIV is NOT the same thing
as LGBTQ. We are more than rainbows. We are more than friends
of Dorothy. More than date rape drugs
and drag queens, listening to We are a nation… of rich,
poor, blacks, whites, Asians, We are a nation, that
spans the whole globe, but we are a nation without a home… for which we have the right to. And we have the right to
love! We bleed just like you. We are NOT taboo. We are you. Let’s not turn humans into
second rate citizens. We are a movement… that is discriminated
against every day, every single time you hear
someone say, “Don’t be such a fag!” or
“That song is so gay.” Excuse me, don’t be so pathetic that
you limit your vocabulary to hatred of human sexuality when you run out of better things to say! We are a movement, that even some of our own fellow members say does not
need to happen… It does. Because My name is DOUG. NOT FAGGOT! And this is not easy. It wasn’t always easy for
me to stand here and say, “I’m proud to be gay.” Proud to be “out.” until I saw that this
isn’t about your fairytale
stereotypes; this is about real people
falling in love, and trying to live happily ever after. This is what I’m after. This is what I am. This is why I’m here, screaming aloud how I’m
PROUD to be queer, because I had to break my
silence wide open: This is the fairytale
ending that I’ve chosen! Buddy Roll You see, my father and I
have always had this unique relationship. Living on opoposite ends
of the country for most of my life, we’ve been limited to a 1 or 2 visits,
in-person, every year and phone calls on Sunday nights… to see how I was, to stay in touch, to see how his son was growing up. And he always had this
nickname for me: His “Buddy Roll.” “What’s up, Buddy Roll?!”
he’d say. I still don’t know what
that means, but it felt good to hear anyway. And… for as long as I can
remember, my dad and I have always
done this thing on the phone where, right before we hang up we count to 3… Because when I was a kid,
I didn’t wanna say good-bye to my Dad… so we’d be like..”1..2..3…okay, bye Buddy Roll, by
Dad” just to stay connected for a few seconds longer. But now..my
dad and me, we don’t count to 3. Dad, you don’t even count
to me! But rather, now I count
the years since your voice has touched my ears. Because you’ve always been
but a voice, inside my head, and I’ve always been a boy more or less. Now..
the more the less fills my chest, the less I hear your love. But Dad, I’m saying now that for as long as I can
remember you were there, and not at all. Your long-distance calls
never taught me how to ball. How could you expect my
white mother to show me how to be a black man? How can I change my last name
from Honegan to something that I know? Dad, your forgotten son
needs to grow! Dad, I grip this pen, like
shaking a stranger’s hand, or learning how to ride a
bike, or learning how to fight, or the way I gripped my
cellphone that cold, November night, when I told you that I was no longer a boy, but rather, a man who loves men, finding to be someone’s “Buddy Roll” again. I remember that phone
conversation being awfully quiet on your end. And now ever since then, our conversations end
before they begin- “Hey Buddy Roll… Alright,
1, 2-“ Don’t. Don’t even count. Don’t call me your Buddy
Roll. You can’t. You can’t call me anything
at all, if you never even call me, Dad. |