If anyone needs a bright spot right now, I want to point out something that might seem obvious but means the world: we now have LGBTQ+ elders. It’s only recently that we’ve been able to see them...
Exemplary
If anyone needs a bright spot right now, I want to point out something that might seem obvious but means the world: we now have LGBTQ+ elders.
It’s only recently that we’ve been able to see them so clearly and hear their voices. In the past, too many of them were taken from us by the closet, disease, or suicide. AIDS alone robbed my generation of so many queer male role models.
The fact that any of us can now look out and see older examples of our identities is profound. We can follow in their footsteps, find inspiration and meaning in their examples, contemplate the power of their fully-lived lives instead of ones cut short or silenced.
The fact that we have queer elders at all is genuinely moving. It’s beautiful.
Now that I’m getting older (middle-age by straight standards, ancient by queer standards), I hope that I’m getting to be the kind of example I never had. I hope that younger people can look at someone like me and realize that a happy, fulfilled, and very queer life is possible. I’ve been with my husband for fifteen years now! FIFTEEN! What a wonderfully long, wonderfully gay time we’ve had together.
I hope they can see that I’m still clinging to hope even amidst our current storm. I hope they can see that, even when under attack, it’s still possible to maintain one’s dignity, conviction, and community; that love and joy are still possible alongside and even within suffering; that the callous coldness of the outside world can be countered at least in part with the warmth of connection — of being seen and known and understood, but also in seeing yourself in others.
This is why having queer elders is so important. I almost lost my chance at being one when I was younger — when I couldn’t see a future for myself, and all around me was darkness. The life I have now and the years ahead of me are an opportunity, and I hope that someone can look at someone like me and see something I couldn’t: a future, and a light in their own darkness.
I have two anniversaries in my calendar. One is for the day we got legally married. The other is the unofficial “we’re a thing forever now” date; a rather arbitrary marker for our relationship,...
I have two anniversaries in my calendar. One is for the day we got legally married. The other is the unofficial “we’re a thing forever now” date; a rather arbitrary marker for our relationship, and that is well over 10 years at this point. I was sitting down resting at a hiking trail a few minutes ago when I realized this. It’s overwhelming to feel so much gratitude when they aren’t there with you to give it to them.
My old job had me regularly interacting with the elderly. And I am so lucky to be where I live because it’s a great place for gay people, old and young. There were two times when I had the chance to meet an elder gay. One I can’t really confirm because it’s not quite polite to ask that in a professional setting, but the gaydar was ringing pretty strong. The other was an incredibly campy self-styled (and self-published) author who lived, of course, in West Hollywood. It really did feel like a blessing whenever I got to talk to him.
But we’re getting old too. Last night I put hair dye in my beard, and I’m already taking medications to prevent my hair loss from getting worse. My husband’s last birthday may entitle him to a few senior discounts.
If anyone needs a bright spot right now, I want to point out something that might seem obvious but means the world: we now have LGBTQ+ elders.
It’s only recently that we’ve been able to see them so clearly and hear their voices. In the past, too many of them were taken from us by the closet, disease, or suicide. AIDS alone robbed my generation of so many queer male role models.
The fact that any of us can now look out and see older examples of our identities is profound. We can follow in their footsteps, find inspiration and meaning in their examples, contemplate the power of their fully-lived lives instead of ones cut short or silenced.
The fact that we have queer elders at all is genuinely moving. It’s beautiful.
Now that I’m getting older (middle-age by straight standards, ancient by queer standards), I hope that I’m getting to be the kind of example I never had. I hope that younger people can look at someone like me and realize that a happy, fulfilled, and very queer life is possible. I’ve been with my husband for fifteen years now! FIFTEEN! What a wonderfully long, wonderfully gay time we’ve had together.
I hope they can see that I’m still clinging to hope even amidst our current storm. I hope they can see that, even when under attack, it’s still possible to maintain one’s dignity, conviction, and community; that love and joy are still possible alongside and even within suffering; that the callous coldness of the outside world can be countered at least in part with the warmth of connection — of being seen and known and understood, but also in seeing yourself in others.
This is why having queer elders is so important. I almost lost my chance at being one when I was younger — when I couldn’t see a future for myself, and all around me was darkness. The life I have now and the years ahead of me are an opportunity, and I hope that someone can look at someone like me and see something I couldn’t: a future, and a light in their own darkness.
That’s what the people in this article are.
Futures.
Lights.
May they glow: bright, bold, and beautiful.
I have two anniversaries in my calendar. One is for the day we got legally married. The other is the unofficial “we’re a thing forever now” date; a rather arbitrary marker for our relationship, and that is well over 10 years at this point. I was sitting down resting at a hiking trail a few minutes ago when I realized this. It’s overwhelming to feel so much gratitude when they aren’t there with you to give it to them.
My old job had me regularly interacting with the elderly. And I am so lucky to be where I live because it’s a great place for gay people, old and young. There were two times when I had the chance to meet an elder gay. One I can’t really confirm because it’s not quite polite to ask that in a professional setting, but the gaydar was ringing pretty strong. The other was an incredibly campy self-styled (and self-published) author who lived, of course, in West Hollywood. It really did feel like a blessing whenever I got to talk to him.
But we’re getting old too. Last night I put hair dye in my beard, and I’m already taking medications to prevent my hair loss from getting worse. My husband’s last birthday may entitle him to a few senior discounts.