A Word In Edgewise: Welcome to My Home! Come Right In!

I had an epiphany years ago, alone in a darkened room watching the (then-)new film, “Boys Don’t Cry.” Why is that person acting that way? Don’t they know how foolish, how dangerous they’re behaving? My mind rambled on, safe in my own room with the foreknowledge of what was to come; and then the lightning struck —

“And just why did you drink, hang un-chuted in a plane’s open door to photograph jumpers, drive your VW Bug to document an outlaw motorcycle club run? And…”

When a friend had asked a similar question, I’d replied, “I prefer to fear something concrete, in the moment, than endure that ongoing fear of …” well, I didn’t know exactly what, but it had always, always been there — until that movie moment. It was the fear of being untethered, homeless though I had a house, but who and where was I?

This remembered moment, watching the short life of Brandon Teena play out, dreading the inevitable, resurfaced as I read Upton Rand’s book on gay campgrounds (See this issue’s “Books” column.) In his own background, he’d felt the longing and emptiness of not having a “place” or a “family,” some certainty that there is a space where you will always be accepted, included, just be “yourself” with others even if not always in agreement on every issue.

What the author found — and shares — about his two visits to Freedom Valley Gay Campground in New London, Ohio, was healing camaraderie, friendship, trust — family, if you will. Of course, not all children, straight or gay, are cherished, since not all parents received loving acceptance as children.

How many times are children, little boys in particular, told not to cry, not to show emotion, to not to do this or that because they’d become weak or effeminate? Humans come genetically equipped to feel, but much promise is squashed in male children just as little girls are taught to be not too smart, too assertive. It’s amazing the race has accomplished what it has given that at any time half of the population is being forbidden to shine.

Rand self-describes as having lived most of his years pre-Freedom Valley “emotionally walled off,” and his amazement at suddenly, having entered the campsite, finding himself in a safe space, beginning to remove a brick here and there as he settled in, until he’d opened a portal broad enough to survey a brand-new world.

If this sounds hokey, suspiciously feel-good, consider how it echoes, if I may suggest, the very sentiments infusing Kenneth Grahame’s classic, “The Wind in the Willows.” Its tales of friendship, fellowship and home that have lived in the hearts not only of children but also grownups for well over a century.

To be neither forbidden to do something you want to do nor urged to try something you’d rather not, whether involving childhood piano scale practice or adult donning of leather accoutrements, is freeing! Time is a boon: time to think, time to try, time to engage with new acquaintances, time to just be. Brandon Teena had no such luxuries; their time ran out.

A plus in this electronic age is the ability to connect at any distance in a moment. Leaving camp needn’t mean separation from new acquaintances, notes Rand. Continue conversations, make plans for “next time,” and watch your friendships thrive.

Whether in a high-rise or a burrow by the riverbank, “Home” means security, coziness, and your space where you welcome friends with open arms. And about time!