Comfort With Conflict: My Big Gay Bus Drive

Most of the time, I feel safe in my adult years.  Most of the time, I
feel freedom from prejudice and homophobia.  Every once in a while, I
get a reminder of where I have been; from where I have come; pit stops
along this road.  Recently, I walked into a privately owned retail
shop after work…to make the stop along my way home as part of my
self-care; to debrief some thoughts from my heavy work day; to let go
and take in some of the current market product.  
















I was not a hardcore Boy George fan when I was younger, but the retailer was playing “Karma
Chameleon” in the overhead speakers.  It was a pleasant moment for me
to hear a familiar older tune, and I stayed a little longer than
normal with a sound that took me back to more happy moments from my
school days.  At this point, another patron approached the service
worker to negotiate aloud some product pricing, and I thought the
retailer seemed dismissive of (what I had gathered to be) the regular
patron.  Suddenly, this difficult client said aloud, “Isn’t that song
by Boy George? Ugh, I don’t like this music, because he’s a gay.”
Admittedly, I can be quite outspoken about sexual diversity; about
being an ally; about psycho-educational “teaching moments”; about
correcting the subject-as-object mistake of calling a person “a gay”.
Moreover, I can be a most sincere advocate about safety.  

Simply put, I did not feel safe, so I left the establishment…and I have not
returned.  In-the-moment, my mind had been debating between outing
myself; being an ally; stating I felt offended; wanting to call this
customer out on his own misbehaviour; wanting to ask the retailer why
this kind of behaviour is acceptable when I am witnessing another
person step on my rights…and feeling comfortable to walk along an open
sidewalk and still get home safely to my family life, without looking
over my shoulder as how another person’s possible homophobia could
harm me.  I am not a tall man, but this other customer was…and he was
loud, outspoken, and I questioned how reasonable he could be.  I call
this “wisdom”: Knowing when to pick my battles.  I flashbacked to my
previous days of youth: To when “Karma Chameleon” was a popular song.
I was part of a small group of peers where we all met up for lunch
everyday at school.  One peer was Melinda. She was cool.  She was
tall, strong and self-assured.  We had met through mutual friends.
Not-so-happy-moments outweighed some of my years with a personal hell
of internal battles and self-doubt resulting from a consistent
community-culture of homophobia.  

Conversely, I felt mostly safe in my modest group of break-time friends.  
Outright, I did not talk about my deeper inner thoughts concerning my sexual diversity.  
I am sure that each friend had brought up my gender and purported sexuality at least
once with me along the way, but I never remember Melinda making it a
subject or an issue.  Melinda gave me her photo at graduation, wishing
me luck with my future.  Intermittently, we were lucky to stay in
touch for many years (although we both moved around).  I spent one
evening at Christmas break at her home.  I may not remember every
detail of that whole evening, but I do recall she served pop and
salted potato chips, and she made me feel safe and comfortable.  

I recall the Halloween we spent together a following year.  I will
always remember Melinda was always smiling.  I came out to her in my
twenties: It was a non-issue and a non-debate for her.  She was ever
gracious and kind to me, and still taught me some tips on self-defence
and how to protect myself when I had moved to my great new
metropolitan.  She accepted me, and simply put, she was happy I was
happy.  The first year I discovered Facebook, I was online every day.
Melinda and I often private-messaged each other.  Melinda kept
particularly in contact with me regularly after my Mom died.  I was
hurting, and she was amazing with me.  

I had moved again, and eventually, maintaining my regular Facebook contacts trickled.  
This past week, I heard that Melinda died.  What a terrible loss for us
all, her family and friends.  Her obituary’s picture is the same print
she had given to me at graduation.  It was surreal for me to see the
announcement and her picture. I am proud our paths crossed many times
along the way, and her life’s energy had a marked effect on my
self-esteem and world outlook.  

I recall one of the last things she wrote me was how she likened her life’s road to ‘driving her own bus’;
and ‘if someone doesn’t like the ride, they can get the heck off her
bus!’  That wonderful, wonderful Melinda; we grew up listening to
“Karma Chameleon”, and to me, she always seemed so self-assured along
the way. The legacy she left for me has been to claim my own driver’s
seat, and take charge of my life; to smile and laugh, even when I am
cynical.  She also taught me to stay safe, to protect myself; to be
wise about my battles when I stand up for myself and when I back down
(even when I detour through a small store on my way home from work). I
will miss you, Mel.  I will keep driving my own Big Gay Bus: I am
driving with “Safety First”, and I will keep driving as long as I can.
(by MICHAEL BEST to DOSmagazine)