I was the token gay guy at my all-boys Jesuit high school, the only openly non-straight member of the student body. Along with that openness came the inevitable slew of insults that stream from the mouths of conservative, Catholic young men. I was the "faggot," the "homo," the "fairy," the "cocksucker." Several times, a group of guys would walk by me in the hall, holding their books behind them to cover their rear ends, their "joke" being that I would try to rape them if their books weren't there to act as "butt-shields." On one occasion, one of my classmates accused me of "undressing him with my eyes" and punched me hard in the stomach. But worst of all was sitting through a semester-long theology course titled "Catholic Sexuality" and having to endure my teacher's ranting about the evils of the "homosexual lifestyle" and his avid support of gay-to-straight "conversion therapy."
Although I loved my high school (minus the homophobia), I was excited to leave. Boston College, I thought, would be a breath of fresh air. Located in one of the most liberal cities in the country, in the only state (at the time) that recognized same-sex marriage, and in close proximity to dozens of other colleges and universities where thousands of open-minded and gay-friendly students flocked, BC was the school for me.
I was so anxious to leave the red state of Ohio and enter the liberal paradise that is the Upper East Coast. Imagine my dismay when I came across these headlines: "BC ranked high on homophobia list"; "Administration cancels gay-themed dance"; "Leahy unwilling to implement gay non-discrimination policy."
Bummer, right? If I had found these articles sooner, I wouldn't be here in Room 202 of 90 St. Thomas More; instead, I would be seated now in a George Washington University residence hall room (my second-choice school and, as it turns out, one of the gayest colleges in the country). But it was too late to change my decision. Already late August, my non-refundable deposit had been sent to BC, and the Sheehan family minivan was packed and ready to make the 11-hour trip to BC for the seventh and final session of freshman orientation. It seemed I would have to endure another semester of hostility before I could transfer to GWU.
So, as you can see, my expectations were quite low coming in. I anticipated a repeat of my high school experience - more homophobic jokes and slurs, more anti-gay rants in class, more administration disapproval. Fortunately, BC defied my expectations. I've found that the students and faculty are overwhelmingly supportive of GLBT students, and that the administration, although far from being completely accepting, has made some great strides in making the University more welcoming toward queer students.
That's not to say we don't face our share of harassment. We still get called "faggots" every once in awhile. We still get gawked at when we dance at parties. We still see the "butt-shield" tactic employed from time to time. One of my roommates who very recently came out, called BC "worse than my home state of Wisconsin" when it comes to acceptance of gays. He said, "I heard so many negative and derisive comments in my first month here that I pretended to have a girlfriend for my entire freshman year." It's been said that the number of openly gay students here pales in comparison to the number of closeted gays; there may be some truth to the joke that BC actually stands for "Boston's Closet."
But you're really not interested in hearing another homo complain that we're always being discriminated against, that we need your sympathy and support because we're being treated like second-class students. No, you've heard all that before. If you're still reading this, you're more interested in hearing about the twisted goings-on of BC's gay community. You hear our lisps and see our limp wrists and you wonder, "What's the deal with those queers?" What do we do? What do we think? What is it really like to be gay at BC?
I can't speak for the lesbians, but I can tell you what it's like from the gay male perspective. For most of us, our initiation into BC's gay community comes before we even set foot on campus. In the summer before freshman year, my Facebook homepage would be filled with random friend requests from fellow first-year students, all eager to make new friends before ever meeting them in person. (I was the guy who ignored your desperate grab for popularity.) Accompanying those friend requests were "other" friend requests, sent by 36-year-old alumni, with attached messages containing something along the lines of "Hey cutie, welcome to BC" and always with a winking emoticon. Flattering, but very, very, very sketchy. These creepers had very craftily utilized Facebook's profile search to find "Men" who are "Interested in Men." These stalkerish messages were the first exposure I ever had to the BC gay community, and my innocent 18-year-old mind couldn't get over the sketchiness of the matter. I ignored all those friend requests and removed all those pokes and prayed that I would never encounter their senders in person.
After finally arriving on campus, the next logical step was to find fellow homos, which didn't prove at all difficult. We're not all walking stereotypes, but some of us are, and when you're a freshman looking for gay friends, the guys who talk like girls and wear designer jeans are usually a safe bet.
So you befriend these queers, merrily prancing around with them, attending GLC events, drinking girly drinks, going to drag dances, pissing glitter, until one of them breaks your heart. That's when you declare that all men are pigs and seek consolation from a member of the female gender. You seem to share such a special bond with this girl, you just connect so well with her, that you quickly adopt her as your "fag hag." Thus begins the closest and most meaningful relationship of your college years. You shop together, you go to every party together, you pick up boys together, you watch Project Runway together. Every boy you meet needs your hag's approval before you may pursue him, and she can't step out of her room on a Saturday night until you pick out her outfit.
With the adoption of a fag hag, you are now completely and irreversibly ingrained in BC's gay community. By this time, you've met all seven gay guys on campus, attended every gay-guys-only party, and drank at least a thousand appletinis. And although being gay here can sometimes be a drag (lame pun intended), I can't say that I'm unhappy. Indeed, I'm very happy to be here, happy to be myself and help break stereotypes, happy to add a little rainbow to this diversity-deprived campus, happy to be one of the few, the proud, the BC gays.
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