Date: Thu, 23 May 1996 10:02:07 -0400 From: Ronald Chaplin Subject: A letter to my big brother (long) Friends, Another chapter in the continuing saga of the misunderstandings between me and my family. During a telephone conversation last week, my brother told me how disappointed he was that I "chose" to "become" homosexual. I dropped this letter into the mailbox yesterday. I post it here in case it can help anyone in a similar situation put their thoughts into words. Ron Chaplin Ottawa Canada Dear Gary, So you're having a heat wave? Count your blessings. Up here, we thought that winter would never end. Weekend before last, apparently we had snow (I say apparently because I was in London, Ontario for a Queer Christian retreat). Thankfully, "summer" arrived a few days ago. Victoria Day weekend was just gorgeous. And I think that "spring", in typically Ottawa fashion, lasted about two hours. I am glad to hear that my girls will be travelling to Belleville for June 1. It has been too long since I have seen them. I look forward to seeing them, and hearing their stories once again. Oh, to be in my 20's again! Such exciting times! But in my case, what deeply painful times as well. And this is why I am writing you this letter tonight. You took me completely by surprise when I phoned you last week to discuss the details of our gift to Mom and Dad for their 50th. You took me by surprise because I had called you to discuss arrangements for this party, for this celebration, of 50 years of marriage between these two people that I love so much. I don't know what prompted it. Was it that I mentioned that I would be travelling on to Toronto on June 2 to be a delegate, to be a PWA delegate, to the annual general meeting of the Canadian AIDS Society? Whatever the reason, I was profoundly shocked and profoundly saddened by what you had to say to me that evening: Ron, I am just so disappointed that you "chose" to "become" a homosexual. I do not agree with the choices you have made. I chose not to respond that evening because you took me by surprise. Of all the people in this planet, I thought you understood. You and Marjorie were the very first people I opened up to when I was going through my "coming out" experience in 1974. And you both showed me enormous support. What has changed? And if you think back, Gary, you will remember what that was like. I desperately wanted not to be queer. I wanted to be straight. And I prayed and I prayed to God. And my prayers were not answered. At least, as far as I was concerned at the time. This was the most desperate moment of my life. For several months, after I realized that I was not "bisexual" or "sexually precocious", but well and truly "gay", I fell deeper and deeper into depression. I thought my life was over. The only thing I knew about queers was the 1950's version of same. These were desperately lonely and twisted men, men who lurked in the bushes for "unspeakable acts", men who preyed on children, men who had no place in society. And so I sank into depression. For six weeks in 1974 I never got out of bed, except to go to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal to keep the hunger pangs away. I thought I had no future. I thought I had no life. All my dreams had been shattered. And in that desolate and forlorn and bleak place, I found the face of God, for the first time in my life. This is a story I shared with the prayer group at St. John's this evening. We were talking about the upcoming Feast of the Pentecost, about the coming of the Holy Spirit. And so I shared this story about how the Spirit has affected my life. God does not speak to me in words. But, if I can put words into what I felt, when I had sunk as deeply as anyone could go, when I had my vial of pills and my glass of water on my dresser, what God said to me was this: "Be still my child. You are my creation. Live, and love, as I have created you. I will be with you always." And so I have. Gary, I did not "choose" this. Who would? I have been beaten up at street corners, I have been physically intimidated in the subway, I have had beer bottles thrown at me from passing cars. Who would "choose" this? And what saddens me more as I write this is that these people, my aggressors, seem to have understood me more than even you. They recognized me as a gay man. You, apparently, have not. You watched me growing up. You, several times, expressed your concerns. Yet now, you at 48-years-old, me at 44, you think that I "chose" something. It has not been a matter of choice. It simply is. I am gay. I have always been gay. I will always be gay. For exactly the same reason, I "became" nothing. I simply am. Nothing changed. I am as I have always been. You are right in saying I made choices. I could have chosen to marry a woman, and to raise a family. And believe me, this is what I desperately wanted to do. I chose not to. For a reason. I could never have sustained a relationship with a woman. Why? I am not sexually attracted to women. I am enormously sexually attracted to men. I could never have offered to a woman what she deserved. I believe to have done otherwise would have been fundamentally irresponsible. What do I mean? To have married a woman would not have meant that I chose not to be gay. I simply would have been a married gay man. Over my life, I have met too many gay men and straight women who have lived in such relationships. With one or two exceptions, the marriages dissolved. Even when the marriage survived, there has been painful periods of deep distrust and feelings of betrayal. So I made the responsible choice. After my first homosexual encounter (at age 20), I broke off my relationship with Nora. One of the reasons that we continue to be best friends (and she was madly in love with me back then) is that she realizes I behaved responsibly, as a "real man". I could have chosen, I suppose, to continue my high school lifestyle, that is, to be a eunuch. I had no sex life in high school. Frankly, I just couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I couldn't understand the love songs. No woman has ever aroused such passionate feelings in me. No woman. Ever. Thank God I did not make this choice. I have experienced the passion, with other men. I have loved. Or I could have chosen simply to hide. I could have lived the 1950's stereotype. I could have become one of those men, married or single, who lurk in the bushes. This was a lifestyle choice I simply could not countenance. Do not pity me for having lived the so-called "gay lifestyle" (though I'm never certain what that expression means). I love my gay male friends. I treasure them, their touch and their love. What I have mourned, and I have mourned it deeply, is that I have no children of my own. I love and treasure children. And I think I would have made a great dad. This is one of the reasons I am so grateful to you and Marjorie, for allowing me to be "Uncle Ron", to change their diapers, to clean up their behinds, to feed them the pureed green peas, to watch them grow and develop into the lovely young women they are today. And why I am grateful to my friends who have allowed me to be, in exactly the same way, "Uncle Ron" to their children. There are four, not blood relations, who call me Uncle Ron, whose butts I have wiped and who play with me and love me. And I love them. I have watched them grow, in exactly the same way I have watched Amy and Laura grow. And I am grateful to their parents who want "Uncle Ron" to be part of their lives. Because they think I have something to teach them. And I do. Do not feel sorry for me, Gary, nor pity me. My life has been wonderful. It is true that I have felt moments of great pain. I have experienced homophobic violence, discrimination, and fear. I am living with AIDS, and have experienced these same things all over again. Yet, I would not trade my life with anyone's. Not with you (as much as I respect all you have done and accomplished in your life). That is your life, and your experience. It is not mine. And this is exactly what upset me so much. The question of my "choosing" to live my life as a queer is not a matter for "disagreement". This is not a political debate. You either believe me, Gary, or you don't. You either accept what I say, or you call me "liar". We can disagree about many things, many things which are very important to my life (and we have). We can disagree about gay rights legislation, we can disagree about the legal recognition of same-sex relationships, and the benefits attached to such relationships. This should cause me no problem. We live in two different worlds. And these are political debates. My entire career has been in politics. And, believe me, there is no one who respects differences of opinion more than me! But this is more fundamental. If you believe that I "chose" to "become" gay, you simply don't believe your brother, who has loved you despite all our differences, who has always regarded you as one of my strongest advocates. You either believe that I'm speaking the truth; or that somehow I have lied to you. I haven't lied. This is my reality. It has been a wonderful life. It still is a wonderful life. I have lived and I have loved in ways I never would have thought possible back in those bleak days of 1974. My activism within the AIDS Committee of Ottawa, on behalf of the Ottawa-Carleton Coalition of Persons Living with AIDS, on behalf of EGALE (Equality for Gays and Lesbians Everywhere) and within the church are so enormously rewarding. A gay friend of mine remarked to me over the weekend, "Ron, you're having the time of your life, aren't you?" I had to agree. I am. I have learned how to love, in my own way, as an openly gay man. And, in consequence, I find myself enveloped in love. I thank God for my wonderful "gay family" here in Ottawa, in Montreal and in Toronto. I thank God for my wonderful Christian family at St. John's church, which I regard as my biggest and best support group. I thank God for my former professional colleagues, who still call to check out how I am faring, and to pick my brain. I thank God for my AIDS family, all the wonderful people I have met at the AIDS Committee of Ottawa, at Bruce House, with the PWA Coalition, and through the Ottawa-Carleton Council on AIDS. If you ever want to experience "unconditional love", I would encourage you or the girls to volunteer some of your time to an AIDS service organization. It is quite simply incredible. In fact, the only group of people I seem to have any problems with these days is my biological family. This saddens me enormously. I have always tried my best to live out the lessons taught to me by Mom and Dad, and by you, my big brother. To be responsible, for myself and for my friends and loved ones. To live honourably. To make a contribution to society. To trust in God, and to treat everyone with dignity and with respect. I don't know where this leaves us, Gary. My first response to your comments to me was simply not to respond. I should not need to explain myself. I am your younger brother, and you know me better than most anyone on this planet. But I decided instead to reach out to you one more time, in the hope that you can understand. What we in the gay community, living in the midst of the catastrophe of AIDS, have learned is this: all there is is love. It has been a lesson hard learned, and we have all suffered enormously in the learning. It is in that spirit that this letter has been written. Pity us not. With all my love. God bless,