Sometimes on my way home from work I see a young man walking. I would guess him to be somewhere around 19 or 20 years old.

He always walks very fast, like he's exercising. He's painfully skinny and quite feminine acting. He has a definite swish in his hips, his hands are always bent up at the wrist. If one didn't look closely, he would appear to be an ordinary teenage girl. A girly girl at that.

He always has headphones on, singing to whatever song he's listening to. Singing loudly, swishing his way down the sidewalk. I call him Boy George, because he kind of reminds me of the washed-up singer. But this kid has a lot more class – and courage – than George.

There's a high school about 2 blocks from my office. One day not long ago on my way back to Hell's Half Acre, I pull up to a traffic light behind a carload of teenagers who just left the high school. (Detention, no doubt.)

We're waiting for the light to change. Here comes Boy, walking swiftly across the street in front of us, singing along to his music. He gets about halfway across the street in front of the high school guys, when the driver pokes his head out the window and shouts, «You go girl!» Another one lets out a loud wolf whistle. There's a lot of laughter in the car. «Swing it, cutie pie! Swing it!» «I got somethin' for you to drool on, sweetheart!»

Boy turns his head briefly and glances at the cars waiting. I don't know if he heard the shouts and whistles, or if he's just checking the traffic. He gets across the street just as the light changes, the car in front of me burns rubber and fishtails away from the intersection. I think in the teenage, wannabe butch mind, this is supposed to be impressive. What's impressive to me is how Boy just keeps walking, swishing, singing, not knowing – or ignoring – what just happened. He's just being himself, displaying a kind of «Fuck You» attitude.

**FLASHBACK**

Ladies and gentlemen, here's a little trip down memory lane with our tour guide, Yip:

Years ago, a friend of mine and I are walking around the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City. Back then (and now, to a degree), the Plaza was known as a hangout for the homa seckshul crowd. A great place to window shop and cruise cute men. Is that why my friend and I were there? HELL yes!

A very, VERY butch looking woman is walking down the sidewalk. She's quite large, with a flattop haircut. Upon first glance, she appears to be a man. She passes us, going the opposite direction.

I turn to my friend, «I feel kind of sorry for people like that. I mean, where do you suppose she works? How does she get along in life looking and acting like that?»

«What?! You feel SORRY for her?! I don't think I've ever heard you say anything so selfish before, Yip.»

«Selfish? What do you mean? How could that be selfish?»

«Why should she behave and look the way YOU think she should?»

Wow. He was right, of course. I was being petty and selfish. That was a long time ago, when I was young and not real bright. (I'm still not real bright, just older.)

**FLASH FORWARD**

Ok, enough of memory lane. Here's the point:

A lot of gay people have the ability to «hide»; we may not be obviously gay in our manner. All too often, some of us DO hide our gayness for political or social expedience or power. We almost always hide if we're congressional Republicans who cast votes that keep gay people marginalized and use their lives as political footballs.

We almost always hide if we're ministers of the Gospel who preach how gay people are going against God's will, how we're going to burn forever in some eternal flame unless we «decide» to not be gay anymore. (The fire that burns, but never consumes, don'tchaknow. I've often wondered where this enormous lake of fire is. Some say it's near Tupelo, Mississippi, but that could be just an ugly rumor.)

Then, when these moral leaders are found on their knees in a men's room, they vehemently deny that they're gay. It's funny, really. And sad. These pathetic moralizers don't have the courage of what they SAY their convictions are.

They don't have the balls of someone like Boy, or the courage of that butch woman on the Plaza.

A lot of press has been given to T. R. Knight and Lance Bass lately because they've both come out as being gay. What is sometimes forgotten is that they were FORCED out. I wonder if they would out themselves if they had not been forced out by others. They hadn't come out previously, so I kind of doubt it.

But the butch girls and the nelly boys may not have any option. They are who they are, and God bless them. They really are – in some respects – leaders in our struggle for the rights everyone else takes for granted. They don't hide. Their butch or nelly affectations are right out there for everyone to see, with no apologies offered. A lot of them have taken on an attitude that if you can't accept them the way they are, then fuck you!

They don't try to hide behind fake marriages.

They may not dress in a way that's «accepted» for their gender.

They may not conform to whatever the societal standards of the day may be.

They may be disowned by their birth families.

They may be verbally (or literally) bloodied by the church, the same church that claims to love them.

Some of them may not make it to adulthood.

After a certain number of taunts, threats, maybe actual violence, who can blame them for having a fuck-you attitude?

I don't think it takes a lot of courage to come out of the closet if one is raised in the Castro, or Provincetown. There is the line of thought that it takes courage to come out no matter where one is raised, and that could be true. But it takes a hell of a lot more guts to come out if one lives in the Outback of America. The flyover states, where the nearest gay club might be 300 miles away, or the church may be the only place for social exchange.

I say silent prayers for the gay farm boy in North Dakota, and the young lesbian in Kentucky. I hope they make it, in spite of churches, ignorant families and closeted congressmen who continually try to deny them the rights every other American enjoys. Sounds cheesy to say I respect them, but I do.

I respect the drag queens, too. Even though none of them know the words to «I Will Survive».

(Do drags EVER know the words to the songs they do?! I think it must be a law that they CAN'T know the words. I have a friend who used to do drag. He says, «If you don't know the words, just mouth out 'sweet puffy watermelon' over and over.»)

The drag queens stepped up for our community when our government wouldn't. They were the ones to donate all their tips to AIDS service organizations. They were the ones to put on benefit shows for sick friends when our «leaders» wouldn't even talk about HIV infection…even when their best friends were dying of the disease.

Reagan and Rock Hudson come to mind. But Reagan was too homophobic – at least publicly – and Nancy was too busy selecting new White House china patterns to be bothered with «those people». They obviously didn't give a shit. But the drag queens did. They stepped up in the best way they could because we were dying, and they helped us Survive…even if they didn't know the words to the song.

So here is my toast to the nelly boys, the butch girls and the drag queens of the world. Keep on, people. And if someone doesn't like the way you act, well, show them your best Fuck You attitude.

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