Masks
The other day in my basement I found my mission box. I saw the scrawl of my handwriting in black sharpie on top "Peter's Mission" and suddenly a wave of emotion came over me. I remembered putting all the things in there and sealing it up 3 years ago when I moved to Oregon. I remembered giving it to my parents to take back and store for me after my graduation in Michigan before I began the trek west.
I pulled back the thin, clear tape and opened the flaps. Then I saw what I had put there: my shoes, soles almost warn out from walking; 2 years worth of letters from family and friends; the missionary discussions; a plaque from my mission. I gingerly picked up a stack of letters and leafed through them, scanning the envelopes addressed to "Elder Peter Daniel Coyl" a flood of memories came back to me. I remembered being chased by a dog, being damned to hell, having doors slammed on my face, laughing with missionary buddies, the joys of sharing what I knew to be true, the tender feelings of the spirit. Looking at the envelopes and seeing the familiar addresses of the places I lived in Florida and Alabama I remembered people and places. I remembered the joys and the sorrows. I remembered the best two years of my life.
Since that day I have thought a lot about my mission and what it was like for me. I've thought about who I was and who I am. I've thought a lot about everything. I was happy on my mission. I had friends on my mission. We shared good times. We shared bad times. We shared things that I will never forget.
In this remembering and thinking I have wondered: if they really knew who I was would they still be my friends? Would all my other friends I have hidden from still be my friends? Would my family? If I took off my mask, if I bared my soul for them to see, would they understand? Would their true colors as friends be revealed? Like the layers of an onion being peeled back, would the acidity sting and burn? Would they recoil in fear or would they step forward to embrace?
I don't know, but here's to taking a chance. Here's to removing my mask. Here is to baring my soul.
My name is Peter.
I am a son, a brother, an Uncle, a Cousin, a nephew, a grandson, a friend.
I am a child of God.
I'm also gay.
The who's, what's, where's, when's, why's and how's don't matter. They are superfluous.
I am not defined by this. I am more complex than just one thing. The sum total of my existence is made up of many parts. But this part needs voice. This part cannot be silenced.
This part wants recognition. This part says "I don't want to be alone. I am sick of being alone. I am sick of hiding, wondering who will find out."
I am still me. I am still Peter. I'm still the guy who likes to read. I am still the kid who tried to start a Young Republicans club in High School. I'm still the guy who likes to travel. I still like mint chocolate chip ice cream. I'm still the guy you can call at 3 a.m. I' still the guy who will do anything for you, no questions asked. But now you see all of me.
I like boys. I cried watching "Brokeback Mountain". I've met guys off the internet. I like gap squarecut boxer briefs. I've gone to therapy. I like to go dancing at gay bars. I have crushes on some Hollywood stars. I like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."
I've shared this part of myself to a few friends over the years. They have, for the most part, been encouraging and supportive. My parents have been great about it too. I am sure some of you have suspected or wondered. Some of you might be shocked or wierded out. That's ok. I don't expect everyone to react the same way. However you react is your choice. You might not look at me the same way. You will have questions. You will have concerns. But I am still me. I have not changed, I have just opened up more.
I still believe what I taught to people, standing on their front porches in the hot southern sun. I still feel that deep in my heart, deep in my soul. It will never go away. It is seared onto my heart, it flows through my veins. The things I taught help me to understand that God created me, knowing full well what he was making, fully aware what challenges and difficulties it would cause me. He knew the hours I would spend wondering, agonizing, crying over this. He knew the heartbreak it would cause, the turmoil it would bring. He knew I would have to find a way, I would have to navigate the muddy waters and the stormy seas of life.
This is part of my journey. This is part of who I am. I don't know what my destination is. I don't know where this trek will take me. It's already taken me some places I didn't want to go, it probably will take me to more. But like any explorer, I have learned and I will continue to learn. I will see some beautiful vistas. I'll see some terrible storms. But that is all part of the journey. In the end I just hope I'll be happy and not alone.
I've taken off my mask. No longer hiding behind a carved image of what people want to see or a painted expression of what I think people expect to see. I know you'll want to take a look closely. You'll peer in and stare at what you have never seen before. You'll give me quizzical looks. That's ok. Just remember as you stare, my mask is on the table.
I've born my soul to you.
I’m Peter.
I’m your friend.
I’m gay.
I’ve shown you what’s behind my mask.
What’s behind yours?
I pulled back the thin, clear tape and opened the flaps. Then I saw what I had put there: my shoes, soles almost warn out from walking; 2 years worth of letters from family and friends; the missionary discussions; a plaque from my mission. I gingerly picked up a stack of letters and leafed through them, scanning the envelopes addressed to "Elder Peter Daniel Coyl" a flood of memories came back to me. I remembered being chased by a dog, being damned to hell, having doors slammed on my face, laughing with missionary buddies, the joys of sharing what I knew to be true, the tender feelings of the spirit. Looking at the envelopes and seeing the familiar addresses of the places I lived in Florida and Alabama I remembered people and places. I remembered the joys and the sorrows. I remembered the best two years of my life.
Since that day I have thought a lot about my mission and what it was like for me. I've thought about who I was and who I am. I've thought a lot about everything. I was happy on my mission. I had friends on my mission. We shared good times. We shared bad times. We shared things that I will never forget.
In this remembering and thinking I have wondered: if they really knew who I was would they still be my friends? Would all my other friends I have hidden from still be my friends? Would my family? If I took off my mask, if I bared my soul for them to see, would they understand? Would their true colors as friends be revealed? Like the layers of an onion being peeled back, would the acidity sting and burn? Would they recoil in fear or would they step forward to embrace?
I don't know, but here's to taking a chance. Here's to removing my mask. Here is to baring my soul.
My name is Peter.
I am a son, a brother, an Uncle, a Cousin, a nephew, a grandson, a friend.
I am a child of God.
I'm also gay.
The who's, what's, where's, when's, why's and how's don't matter. They are superfluous.
I am not defined by this. I am more complex than just one thing. The sum total of my existence is made up of many parts. But this part needs voice. This part cannot be silenced.
This part wants recognition. This part says "I don't want to be alone. I am sick of being alone. I am sick of hiding, wondering who will find out."
I am still me. I am still Peter. I'm still the guy who likes to read. I am still the kid who tried to start a Young Republicans club in High School. I'm still the guy who likes to travel. I still like mint chocolate chip ice cream. I'm still the guy you can call at 3 a.m. I' still the guy who will do anything for you, no questions asked. But now you see all of me.
I like boys. I cried watching "Brokeback Mountain". I've met guys off the internet. I like gap squarecut boxer briefs. I've gone to therapy. I like to go dancing at gay bars. I have crushes on some Hollywood stars. I like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."
I've shared this part of myself to a few friends over the years. They have, for the most part, been encouraging and supportive. My parents have been great about it too. I am sure some of you have suspected or wondered. Some of you might be shocked or wierded out. That's ok. I don't expect everyone to react the same way. However you react is your choice. You might not look at me the same way. You will have questions. You will have concerns. But I am still me. I have not changed, I have just opened up more.
I still believe what I taught to people, standing on their front porches in the hot southern sun. I still feel that deep in my heart, deep in my soul. It will never go away. It is seared onto my heart, it flows through my veins. The things I taught help me to understand that God created me, knowing full well what he was making, fully aware what challenges and difficulties it would cause me. He knew the hours I would spend wondering, agonizing, crying over this. He knew the heartbreak it would cause, the turmoil it would bring. He knew I would have to find a way, I would have to navigate the muddy waters and the stormy seas of life.
This is part of my journey. This is part of who I am. I don't know what my destination is. I don't know where this trek will take me. It's already taken me some places I didn't want to go, it probably will take me to more. But like any explorer, I have learned and I will continue to learn. I will see some beautiful vistas. I'll see some terrible storms. But that is all part of the journey. In the end I just hope I'll be happy and not alone.
I've taken off my mask. No longer hiding behind a carved image of what people want to see or a painted expression of what I think people expect to see. I know you'll want to take a look closely. You'll peer in and stare at what you have never seen before. You'll give me quizzical looks. That's ok. Just remember as you stare, my mask is on the table.
I've born my soul to you.
I’m Peter.
I’m your friend.
I’m gay.
I’ve shown you what’s behind my mask.
What’s behind yours?