Remember a few years ago: the book
Bowling Alone? It was about how our
culture has changed from being one of people getting together in the form of
bowling teams, social organizations, bridge clubs, etc. to one made up of a
bunch of losers going alone to bowling alleys, sitting in coffee houses by
themselves, and playing solitaire. I guess that’s what the book is about. I
actually haven’t read it. Perhaps the author, Robert D. Putnam, should write
about
how people don’t read books.
Maybe it’s true that people don’t join groups as much as they used to. But
when it comes to queer folk, I see people searching for community like a man
in the desert looks for palm trees.
For example, I recently met this guy from a small town. We’ll call him Tex.
Well, he doesn’t fit anyone’s stereotype of a gay man—he’s kind of rough
around the edges, unpolished, pure country. He told me how he’d been out for
over 10 years, but he had never felt a part of a community. Not that he
hadn’t tried. He went to Pride. He went to the bars. He joined the local
GLBT group. But none of them were right for him. He simply didn’t fit. He
saw no likelihood of that changing.
But Tex met a man who told him about the North Star Gay Rodeo. Tex went, and
it was as if he had come home. Since then, he’s become involved as a
volunteer, and follows the rodeo around from town to town. He’s made
friends—good friends.
I think humans are flocking animals, and doubly so for queer folk. Growing
up different, trying to make sense of ourselves while we muddle through the
muck of the greater culture, means we know how important it is to find
others like ourselves. We hear it in our stories: “I felt different”; “I
felt like I was alone, the only one.”
For me, every time I am invited to a wedding—at least this side of
Massachusetts—I am reminded that I am different. Every time some yahoo
politician says I don’t deserve the same rights as everyone else, I feel
different. Every time I meet someone new who assumes I’m straight, I know
I’m different.
This is one of our shared experiences as a distinct GLBT culture. I don’t
think a heterosexual would say about being straight, “I thought I was the
only one.”
In response, we create ways to get connected. The result is that there is a
group for everything. And I mean everything. Into gardening? Check out BIG
(Boys Into Gardening). Like getting outside? Check out Outwoods. Mostly
into running? Got you covered: Check out Frontrunners. Politics? Check. How
about being a lesbian senior or a gay Jewish teen? Check and double check.
Looking for a book club? A writer’s group? Toastmasters? There’s all that
and more. No matter what your affinity or interest, there’s probably an
organization for you.
Still, we live in a straight man’s world. No matter how many groups there
are, it still takes a little savvy to find them. For those not yet involved
in the community, it’s hard to know where to start. It’s no surprise that it
was a while until Tex found the rodeo. And to meet him is to know how
important it was to him that he did.
That’s why I’m writing this column.
My goal for “For Whom the Bill Tolls” is to find my flock. In each column,
I’ll bring the reader along, as I visit various community groups—from the
smallest little meeting in the back of some coffee house to the largest
organization with a mission statement and a board of directors. Along the
way, I hope the groups I write about will be able to find new members. And I
hope I can help people like Tex find their home.
As a companion for the column, I’ll highlight a few events coming up in the
near future. I’ll include a couple of my favorites at the end of my column,
and the rest I’ll put up on my Web site at
www.forwhomthebilltolls.org. If you’re planning an event, or have a
group you’d like people to know about, drop me an e-mail at
bill@forwhomthebilltolls.org.