By Laura Bagnarol 
I don’t remember exactly how old my brother was when that stranger casually walked by, looked at him with disdain, and uttered the word “f**got.” He was with my sister at Universal Studios in Florida. It was probably early to mid-2000s, and he was an adolescent at the time.
When they came home, my sister was incredulous and heated as she told me what happened. My brother was chill, seemingly unaffected by it. As my sister spoke, I remember being more concerned at the rage that had awoken in her and feeling grateful she didn’t end up unleashing on the stranger. My brother knew even then that this guy was the one with the problem, not him. Yet, like my sister, I felt perplexed, shocked, and angered that someone who didn’t know someone else could hurl such a hate-filled remark toward them. More than anything, we both felt so incredibly sad for our little brother.
The stranger who hated my brother for no reason was with two or three other men. It pained my outspoken sister not to say anything back, but she had to consider not only our brother’s safety, but her own. If this person could comment on this, unprovoked, based simply on what my brother looked like, what would he and his friends do if my sister retaliated?
To say my siblings and I are close is an understatement. The six of us can be hard on each other, but are also fiercely protective of one another. When this incident occurred, my brother had an effeminate style of dress, in that his clothes were more fitted. He basically did the skinny jean look before it became an accepted thing for men to wear. He is 10 years younger than I am, and I admired that he dressed the way he wanted instead of the way the world told him he should.
Years later, I was struck by something he said to me. “It would have been so much nicer to have grown up today instead of when I grew up.” It hurt me to hear this. My sweet brother—such a happy kid, always moving, entertaining us with his energy and antics, the boy I babysat, doted on, and ran after in church—had to endure groundless cruelty as a teen and young adult. And for what? It didn’t and still doesn’t make any sense to me.
My brother has a huge heart. He is creative, curious, empathetic, funny, and more. Why do people care so much about how others choose to dress, or about who they choose as a partner, or about how they choose to identify? Being gay or transgender is not contagious, and it can’t hurt us. If we don’t question why a person is straight, then why do we feel compelled to question why a person is not? Is the world a more accepting place today than it was? In some ways, yes. But in other ways, the answer is a resounding no.
I was recently out for a couple’s dinner when conversation turned to the transgender community. The wives (two of whom were teachers) were in an uproar about transgenderism being a “thing.” “I’m good with people being gay, but this transgender thing is total BS. If my son came home telling me he was a girl, I would kick his a** and that would be the end of that,” one said. They had big opinions about parents and schools that supposedly encouraged a certain way of being in children. I also work in a school and can attest to the fact that my colleagues and I never encourage kids to “be” anything, except their most respectful, kind, and best selves. We encourage our students to treat others the way they would want to be treated.
I didn’t disagree with kids waiting for gender-affirming surgeries, particularly younger children. I know kids who identified one way in middle school and a different way in high school. But those were not the kids seeking surgery. As I sat there at dinner, I felt the hate that often arises in discussions like these. The air was thick with it. You could hear it in their tone. See it in their faces. And although I was among friends, I felt alone, outnumbered, and helpless, like my sister had when faced with the bigotry of that stranger all those years ago.
The ride home was quiet. I felt so sad. Sad for all the gay and transgender kids out there, who feel this hate daily. From their teachers. Their peers. Their places of worship. Their parents even. And again, I found myself asking, Why is there so much rage when it comes to this community of people?
My brother was once engaged to a woman. He loved her deeply for many years. It didn’t work out between the two of them because he finally realized she would not make a good life partner for him. Their ideas about how to keep a home and grow a career did not align. Years later, when my brother told me he was dating a man, I wasn’t surprised. I knew my brother’s sexuality was fluid. I was curious, though, as to whether he fully identified in any kind of way. When I asked my youngest sister about it, she told me something so perfect and eye-opening, at least for me. “Michael is just attracted to people,” she said.
Such a simple statement that made so much sense. Aren’t we all just attracted to people? People who might have been born into a body that was female or a body that was male, or people who feel as if they have a female (or male) brain but were born into the wrong body.
If being transgender outrages you, listen to someone who identifies this way. If the thought of that makes you too uncomfortable, read a memoir by a transgender person. Watch a movie or documentary about the topic (Boys Don’t Cry and Will & Harper were both powerful). The gay community is a part of a larger one, and if you are truly “good” with the gay part of it, why do you struggle so much with the BTQ+ part of it? Carrying around anger is not good for anyone’s health, especially yours.
How does my brother identify? It doesn’t really matter. He was born into his beautiful brain and body. He is unapologetically who he is, just like you are who you are. I am so proud of the fact that, despite all the noise and nonsense, he has grown into this amazing person, still so full of love and kindness. I am grateful he feels this world is a better place for him and a more inclusive one, and that is why I cherish and celebrate Pride.
by BA Eubank 
by Shelby Spear 
