A serious one.

As most of you know, I grew up in Buffalo, Wyoming. All in all there were about 4,000 people, give or take, that made up the entire population. Now this included TWO African Americans, about nine or ten Latino families, the Bask settlers that basically founded the area, and white-whiteys, which was probably about 98.2% of the people there. I considered myself part of the last group, but really, what does "white" mean? Who really knows what color their heritage was? I know there was some Native American, Scottish, Irish, (probably some severe in-breeding as well, when I look back on the town of Burlington Wyoming, where my Granny came from, and that curiously enough, I was related to each and every person in the area). My point is, I was raised in a predominantly white area with a lot of prejudices toward anyone different. Perhaps it's not that way now, because I'm sure the tiny town of Buffalo has grown a bit. However, old habits die hard, right? Still to this day I'm culturally challenged and that's because I grew up there, AND that my parents and grandparents had no qualms about using racial slurs...and until a certain age, (not too old, I am thankful to be able to say), I didn't even realize that type of thing was wrong.
Back to my point, being the one I'm trying to make. I pretty much knew all the kids in my graduating class by third grade. We quickly put each other and ourselves in a crude caste system depending on richness of parents, home locations, religion...etc. I look back and have talked to others about their childhood, and apparently, the BHS class of 1996 started early in being overly concerned about who belonged in what category.
As we all know for certain, kids are mean. I remember being in the fifth grade. I can't recall my teacher's name, but I remember her short hair, glasses, and southern accent. That it wasn't something I'd heard before, so it stands out. Anyway, a kid that was different sat across from me. We were seated at the same table of desks, much to my chagrin, because he'd been different since I met him in second grade. First strike against him? His name was Guy. Second? He had severe scoliosis and had to wear a big brace type thing every once in a while. The third strike was that he was effeminate. I'd never known him to be otherwise. He was friends with all the girls, very kind, and dressed...weird. He was very style conscientious...more so than a normal kid that age would be.
So, from second grade on, he was just known as "Gay Guy". I thought that he would be okay with this, because that's really all I had ever heard him referred to. We'd snicker at recess and talk about him and say he was gay, even though we really didn't comprehend what that meant. But somehow, I'm sure someone's parent had said something about Guy's difference, and that kid decided to pass it on to every kid within earshot. (Another reason parents need to be cautious about things they say in front of their children).
Back to fifth grade. I still didn't know exactly what Gay meant, but it didn't stop me from saying it to Guy daily. Anytime he was seated across from me or passed by me I would seize the opportunity to say something rotten. Besides, I had been teased mercilessly since the third grade about how fat I was, (a trend that would continue until I entered High School), so I knew what to say to make it hurt, and because I had been teased, I felt that I was truly justified in doing the same thing. (I'll remind you now that I have never claimed to be an immensely intelligent person).
One day, after many comments from me, I'm sure, Guy decided to take matters into his own hands. Which, what else could he do? He couldn't tell the teacher, he'd be a tattle tail. He couldn't cry, that would just invite more ridicule. He couldn't get mad and freak out, I would have pounced on that immediately, thinking that that would have been the best reward for my behavior, ever. So on the playground, after saying something terrible....I can't remember what I said, of course, but I can remember what he said. He looks at me, shaking because he's so tired of how mean I am to him and says, "Tomorrow you'd better not come to school. I'm bringing my knife and I'm going to kill you."
Needless to say, I didn't see that reaction coming. I immediately got this sick feeling in my stomach and I started bawling. If the tables had been turned, I would have been glowing from my verbal triumph. As it was I was scared, and sick and knew that I needed to talk to someone about it, but also knew if I did, I would have to tell them what I did to warrant that sentence that would ring clear in my memory twenty years later...and counting. After going home and going into my room, crying and praying because I was sure it was my last day of life, my mom came into my room and asked me what happened. Eventually, I told her. And I couldn't leave out the things that I said, because I figured it would be worse if she heard the whole story from someone else. She wasn't happy with me. I wasn't happy with myself, I was so embarrassed and ashamed, I almost welcomed the thought of dying. At least I wouldn't have had to face Guy and his knife the next day at school. So I told her that the next day I would tell him I was sorry, because I was. Mom asked if I wanted her to call his mom, and for some reason, I couldn't bear thinking that his mom would know the awful things that I had said to Guy every day. I just hoped that I could get rid of that sick feeling.
The next day, I went to school. I saw Guy, and he saw me, and I waited. I went to first recess, and was still alive. I made it to lunch recess, and somehow survived that as well. During last recess, I went up to Guy, and I said, "I'm really sorry for what I said...all those times. And I'm not going to do it anymore, I promise." Guy looked at me like I was crazy, and asked what I was talking about. At that point, I just stood there, and thanked the Lord for the next X amount of life I had left.
I actually kept my word, though. I didn't tease him after that. Sure, I was still teased, and I still hated it, and thought it was unfair. But I was truly nice from then on. Guy and I actually became really great friends, and stayed that way throughout high school. In our Junior year, he came out. He said he was gay and I really don't believe anyone was surprised. Yeah, he was still given a hard time by tons of people...especially guys, because as you know, Guy was attracted to all of them. Because he was gay. Whatever. My long point is, if I would have succumbed to the Buffalo Wyoming mindset, I would have never been friends with Guy. If he wouldn't have ever threatened me, I'd probably be as homophobic as most people I know. I would say especially here, but I think it's really everywhere. There are few truly tolerant people in the world. He wasn't what people accused him of. He wasn't some attention seeking flamboyant person that just tried to make you uncomfortable. He was kind. He was funny. There were many times that he saw me cry and he always made me feel better. I would have missed out on his friendship, and I would have missed out on one of the best parts of my adolescence. So I guess the point of this post is to encourage you to step outside of your paradigm when it comes to other people. I won't list the exact reason for this post, but I heard something today, and it made me sad...and it made me think of this past event in my life. I hope that some of it made sense...and wasn't perceived as me just telling you what a fabulous person I am, because I'm not. In reality, I have far more stories that end in my embarrassment or shame because I handled a situation without any compassion or thought. So enough preaching for tonight. I wish you all of you well, and happy, open minds.