by
Matt Jacobi
There are all kinds of bullying stories. It seems that everyone has a tale to tell, especially if they are gay. In some ways bullying stories are as common to hear as our famous coming-out sagas. Perhaps sharing our story is a way for us to bond together, to relate to each other, to show how far we have come. Are times changing? Are things getting better for kids in schools? Is the world becoming a nicer place where everyone is accepted? I would like to believe so, but there is still a lot of work left to do. There are certain things that we cannot control. Some kids are always going to be mean to others who are different. They may learn how to hate from all sorts of examples in life: parents, grandparents, peers, media, church, etc. What can we do? I think we must continue telling our stories, showing the world that we will not tolerate bullying, educating people that we are not lesser human beings. Our human rights should not differ from the person sitting next to us. With that said, I share with you my own story.
The first time I realized I was different from the other boys was in elementary school. I had no interest in sports. I talked differently: My voice was as high as a kite. I was incredibly scrawny and shy for my age. I gravitated toward hanging out with the girls, not just because I felt more comfortable around them but because I was not accepted by the other guys in my class. I did not have an athletic bone in my body, and I wore big black-framed eyeglasses that covered half my face. I dreaded gym class and despised anything that would mess up my perfectly parted hair. Talking about what girl was the hottest or what my favorite football team was did not interest me, and the guys knew it.
