John
Selig Bio
John R. Selig is a gay parent who raised his 26-year-old son. He works
in the advertising and marketing field and is a gay activist,
free-lance writer and photographer living in Dallas, Texas. He was
legally married to his partner in Toronto, Canada on April 17th by
Ontario’s first openly gay justice.
Selig was a member of the StopDrLaura.com National Steering Committee
and is currently engaged in the same-sex marriage battle through his
involvement with dontamend.com.
Selig has been written about in the Dallas Voice, Texas Triangle, Long
Islander, Dallas Morning News, Dallas Observer, New York Times, Newsday
and U.S. News & World Report and appeared on the Donahue and
Rolonda television shows and numerous radio shows around the country.
Selig has written and photographed feature articles for A&U
magazine and has written Op-Ed Pieces for the Dallas Morning News,
Arizona Republic and Mesa Tribune and articles for the Dallas Voice and
Texas Triangle.
Selig contributed profiles and photographs and was a Consulting Editor
to the award-winning book Uncommon Heroes: A Celebration of Heroes and
Role Models for Lesbian and Gay Americans, and was a contributor to the
book Telling Tales Out of School.
Currently Selig writes book reviews for ForeWord magazine and the
Lambda Book Report.
John Selig welcomes e-mail at john@johnselig.com.
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It was well past
midnight on a hot, humid Monday night in mid-July 1989. I had just
returned to our home in North Dallas after attending a baseball game
where the Texas Rangers trounced the Boston Red Sox. Not at all
interested in sports, I attended the game with a busload of co-workers
on a company-sponsored night out at the ballpark to be a good team
player by lending my support to office morale building. Still, it had
been a fun evening and I even won $100 based upon my prediction of Red
Sox runs scored during the seventh inning. I arrived home drained from
the heat and tired, as the game didn’t end until close to midnight and
the thermometer flirted with the100 degree mark throughout the game.
Upon
entering our bedroom, I noticed a note on the bed. My son Nathaniel was
at camp in New Hampshire for eight weeks and my wife wasn’t due back
home until the next day. Linda was away for two weeks chaperoning a
group of AFS foreign exchange students on their trip up to New York
where they would depart for their homes around the world having lived
with host families in Texas and Oklahoma for the past school year. We
were due to leave for Great Britain for a two-week vacation Friday
evening.
I
picked up the note with a puzzled expression on my face trying to
figure out who could have put it there. It was from Linda. Right away
something didn’t feel right. She wasn’t due home until the next day.
Why did she return home early? Where was she? I started reading the
note and all of a sudden my stomach was in knots and I started to
shake.
“I
came home a day early. I know you won’t understand this and will
probably be mad but I have checked into a hotel. I need some space for
a while to sort some things out. You won’t be able to get in touch with
me. I have left this note for you because I didn’t want you to worry
that somebody had stolen my car. Please try to understand. I need to do
this for me.”
I
panicked as the note fell to the bed from my trembling hands. Linda had
tried to get through to me for years but I had rejected her pleas to
talk. I loved her deeply but there hadn’t been much intimacy in our
marriage. She attempted to share her frustration but I clamed up
anytime she brought up the subject. She had left notes for me but I
froze every time I saw one. We had gone to a marriage counselor/sex
therapist a few years earlier. Linda worried that she wasn’t pretty
enough, smart enough or thin enough. We had both dropped a considerable
amount of weight on one of the medically supervised diet fasts that had
recently swept the country. Although we were both fit and trim our
physical relationship had not improved.
Though
exhausted, I didn’t sleep that night. I walked into the office on
Tuesday morning in a daze and was unable to focus on work. I called
home every ten minutes hoping beyond all reason that Linda would be
there. Somehow I made it through the day though I am sure that I didn’t
get a stitch of work accomplished. Sleep was almost non-existent again
on Tuesday night. Where was she? Why was she doing this to me?
I
returned to work even more strung out on Wednesday and again called
home repeatedly. Amazingly, nobody at the office seemed to
notice. Finally, around noon Linda answered the phone. I felt
relief that was short lived as I heard an edge in her voice that was
foreign to me.
“We
need to talk and your office probably isn’t the best place. I can meet
your someplace if you want.”
I
replied that I would come home right away. I rose from my chair and
walked out of the office without letting anybody know I was leaving. I
was in a trance. The twenty-minute drive home seemed to last forever. I
ran scenarios through my head of what I would say. Thank heavens Linda
was home. I was angry because I felt abandoned and out of control. I
was tempted to give her a piece of my mind for putting me through two
days of panic. However, when I walked in the door I just gave her a hug
and sat down. Then I listened, really listened for the first time in
our marriage.
Linda
poured out her heart about how unhappy she had been for years. She kept
hoping that I would change. After years of attempting to get through to
me she finally had given up. She had fallen out of love with me and now
she needed to take care of herself. The spark that was us had died for
her. I had a panic attack and started to sob uncontrollably for the
first of many times to follow during the next six months.
After
listening to Linda I admitted to myself and to her that I was a major
part of the problem. I realized that I had been depressed for years and
I promised her that I would go into therapy for us. She told me that I
needed to go into therapy for me regardless of whether there would end
up being an us. With or without an us I would be a happier person
once I faced my own dragons.
Linda
was shocked that I was finally taking ownership of my issues though she
admitted that it might be too late. She hadn’t been prepared for me to
own my inadequacies based upon my history of being unwilling to face
them in the past. She agreed to stay with me as we both entered
therapy, each on our own. We agreed to proceed with our trip to
England.
I
immediately called the counseling center covered by our health plan and
scheduled an appointment nearly three weeks later which was the
earliest one that I could get since we were leaving the country for two
weeks. The trip was awkward and strained. I was still in love with her
but she was distant. I was tentative in everything that I said or did.
What had once been a natural relationship was now a detached
coexistence.
Upon
arriving home I went to the counseling center and saw a psychiatrist
who put me on Prozac and told me it would probably take six weeks to be
assigned a therapist. Those long six weeks inched by. My marriage was
disintegrating right before my eyes and I had to wait six weeks to see
a therapist. I called the center weekly to see if I could get an
earlier appointment. They said that there wasn’t anything available any
earlier and if it got too bad that I should admit myself to their
hospital.
Fortunately
the effect of the Prozac ramped up over the six weeks so the chemical
component of my depression was brought into balance. As the
anti-depressant took effect I realized that I had been depressed since
my early teen years. My son arrived home from camp a few weeks after
our return from England and as far as he knew, life was normal. For me
it was anything but normal. It took every ounce of energy to hold my
fragile life together.
At
least I was able to focus on therapy once the Prozac kicked-in and I
finally had met with the social worker that was my assigned therapist.
After six or seven sessions the therapist told me that I had dealt with
my major issues and that it was no longer necessary for me to meet with
her.
Luckily
Linda and a life-long friend told me that I had barely scratched the
surface and both recommended that I find a different therapist. Linda’s
psychiatrist gave her a referral for me to a psychiatrist who upon my
first visit immediately ordered a complete physical and a battery of
blood work to among other things check to see if I was a therapeutic
level on Prozac.
As I
started therapy with Dr. Bruce Zik it wasn’t long before I admitted to
Dr. Zik that I was attracted to both men and women. I told Linda that
one evening when we were out to dinner but months later when I came out
to her it was apparent that my earlier comments hadn’t registered. I
had been totally faithful to my wife. As I told her, “What difference
does it make if I am attracted to all of the people on the beach and
not just 50% if I wasn’t going to do anything about it.”
As
therapy proceeded I faced my issues of depression and began feeling
much better about myself. My outlook on life was balanced for the first
time. I no longer lived in the on-going turmoil of inadequacy, failure,
self-hate and despair that had plagued me for the better part of
twenty-five years. My life was in flux but for the first time I knew
that I would somehow survive.
I
became a better parent in that I was less harsh in disciplining my
son. As I became more comfortable with myself I became less
demanding of him. Nathaniel and I grew closer by the day as Linda
maintained an ever-deepening distance from me. Her depression worsened.
Finally,
during Thanksgiving weekend Linda mentioned that she felt it necessary
for her to move out of the house and live on her own. She stressed that
her living on her own was the only way that she would be able to deal
with her issues. I spent the next few weeks trying to convince Linda to
reconsider her decision. I knew that if Linda left she would probably
never return.
Linda
moved out the week after New Years so that we didn’t ruin our son’s
holidays. Nathaniel was in the sixth grade. The news was devastating to
him, as he hadn’t noticed the turmoil that we had been suffering the
past five months. Linda found a small apartment just a mile or so
away. She worked out of our house and was able to be home when
Nathaniel returned from school each day and would stay with him when
business travel would take me on the road. She left for her place just
before I returned home from work each day.
Within
a few months Linda realized that our marriage was over. As much as I
wanted to try and rebuild our lives together there was nothing left for
her to rebuild. I couldn’t get angry with Linda because she had tried
to get through to me for years and I just hadn’t responded to her pleas
for help until it was just too late. I felt this terrible guilt and
sorrow about opportunities missed. I had married for life. There had
been no divorce in my family or amongst my parents’ friends. Linda was
my best friend and I realized that besides losing my wife, I was also
losing my best friend.
As
devastating as it was, the crumbling of my marriage freed me. I was
finally able deal with my sexuality in therapy. I had nothing more to
lose, as everything that really mattered, with the exception of my son,
had been lost. Dr. Zik was extraordinary. As the same-sex issue came to
the fore, I asked him two questions. First, I wanted to know if he had
much experience dealing with the coming out issue. Second, I wanted to
know if he was comfortable dealing with homosexuality. He responded
that he didn’t have much experience dealing with patients coming out
but that he was totally comfortable dealing with homosexuality. Dr. Zik
promised me that if either of us felt that he wasn’t adequately
addressing my needs that he would help me locate an expert who would.
As
Linda had recently begun group therapy I asked Dr. Zik if he thought
that group might be a good option for me to consider. He responded,
“Absolutely not!” His belief was that if I entered a straight group
that some members might be homophobic and they would try to convince me
that I wasn’t gay. If I entered a gay group that members would try to
convince me that I was gay. He reasoned that just because I had
feelings of attraction to other men didn’t necessarily mean that I was
gay. I could be bisexual or just curious. He thought that it would be
best for me to work through the issues on my own.
As
therapy proceeded, I admitted that my feelings of same-sex attractions
dated back to early elementary school and that they were not just
fleeting. They were strong. I never had fantasies about girls. I had
crushes on boys as early as the first or second grade and they lasted
all the way through school and into adulthood. By the time I was an
adult I had become better at repressing them somewhat. I rationalized
that all people probably had such feelings. Linda’s delivery of our son
had been a difficult one and my interest in sex after Nathaniel’s birth
quickly abated. I attributed my lack of sexual desire for her to
feelings of guilt over my getting her pregnant and thus I was
responsible for the difficulty of her delivery.
Dr.
Zik suggested that I not act out on my same-sex attractions until I did
more research. He believed that if I had a good same-sex experience
that didn’t necessarily mean that I was gay. If I had a bad experience
that didn’t necessarily mean that I wasn’t.
I
began to read just about everything that I could get my hands on. The
first time that I went into the Crossroads Market, the gay bookstore in
Dallas, I was certain that the camera crew from “60 Minutes” would be
outside when I left the store ready to shame me to the world. As I
began to read I started to find myself one book at a time. I wasn’t
alone in the world. There were plenty of other people like me. I was on
the way to finding inner peace that had eluded me for over 37 years. I
had found home!
I
was raised in Huntington, a bedroom community to New York on Long
Island’s tony North Shore. My parents were liberal believing that all
people were the same, regardless of religion, race or nationality.
However, they made occasional snide comments about fairies. I was aware
of two gay men in Huntington. One was an effeminate florist and the
other a lisping clerk at the local camera store. I wasn’t anything like
them so I thought I couldn’t be gay.
In
school I had been beaten up. I dreaded taking showers after gym class
as I was often pushed around. My lack of depth perception coupled with
my lack of coordination and my throwing a baseball “like a girl” made
me the last person chosen for any team. Rides home from school on the
bus had been torturous from elementary school onwards. Sometimes there
were fights and I always lost.
My
parents had tried to toughen me up over the years. I remember having
different mannerisms corrected as not being masculine enough. Dad had a
client who taught judo and I was pushed into taking private lessons
with him to help me learn to defend myself while I attended junior
high. I didn’t do very well and I dreaded each session. The lessons in
what I perceived as aggression were both foreign to my nature and
humiliating.
One
day the Judo instructor flipped me a bit too forcefully and as I
slammed into a floor matt the wind was knocked out of me. That was the
end of judo! Butch aggression died almost as quickly as the accordion
that I handed back to my mother after one lesson years earlier. Polkas
and martial arts were both banished from my life forever!
When
I married Linda my parents were relieved. They had been fearful that I
might be gay. They had never said anything to me about their fears.
Still I could tell that I wasn’t macho enough especially for dad. I had
spent time at family gatherings with the women talking about family
relationships and friends rather than in the den with the men talking
about sports.
I
meant the world to my parents and I hold nothing against them. They
sacrificed constantly for my wellbeing, often doing without so that I
could go to camp and participate in other opportunities that became
available to me their only child. They loved me unconditionally.
I
was off to college just one year after the Stonewall Riot. Had I come
out in the 70s mom and dad would have adjusted and I could have seen my
mom as a PFLAG activist once she had enough time to process the
information. Pity the poor soul who belittled her son! I can hear her
now, “Not with my son you don’t!”
Both
of my parents were dead by the time I came out in 1990. On the one
hand, it was easier for me as I never had to face their hurt. On the
other, I have grieved that my parents were never given the opportunity
to really know their son for the person I really am; we all lost out in
that regard.
As I
came to terms with my sexual orientation I shared the information with
Linda. She wasn’t homophobic, having attended a prestigious music
college. She had several gay classmates who were friends and was
accepting of her lesbian cousin who came out while during our marriage.
Still my news was devastating to her. The gay community and our culture
were foreign. As I became more openly gay she found me confusing and
frustrating. She didn’t know me any longer. She hurt.
Several
years after my coming out I learned that Linda had cried for weeks
after my telling her that I was gay. Linda questioned her own judgment
concerning how she could have been so wrong about me. If she erred in
trusting her instincts about her own husband, how could Linda rely on
any of her other assumptions in life? Our marriage appeared to her to
have been a sham and she had to face her anger and feelings of my
betrayal.
As I
came out of my closet Linda entered a closet of her own. How could she
admit this embarrassing news to her family, friends and others? She
felt ashamed as if she had done something wrong and feared people would
blame her or fault her choice of spouse.
When
I entered the gay community I had a plethora of support organizations
from coming out groups to gay parent groups. There were even support
groups for my son. Linda had nobody to whom she could turn. She
harbored anger towards my parents for letting our marriage go through
and resentment towards me for not facing my own sexuality before
marrying her.
Fortunately,
we never purposefully hurt each other and never used Nathaniel as a
pawn. In fact, the hardest decision that Linda made was that it was in
Nathaniel’s best interest to live with me. I had become stronger since
my therapy had begun and Nathaniel and my relationship was solid. She
barely had enough strength to get through the day at work and process
her own issues.
Linda
was then and remains to this day the best mother our son could ever
have. She suffered stern judgment from some for what was the most
selfless decision in her life to allow Nathaniel to live with me. Linda
lived five minutes away and spoke to him several times daily; they
visited constantly. Neither of us ever paid any attention to our
divorce decree. When Linda and Nathaniel were together whenever they
wanted to be.
We
shared the same attorney for our divorce; there was no acrimony between
the two of us. The child visitation boilerplate on the divorce decree
was 75% of the legal document. How sad that two people who at one time
were in love so often turn hateful during and after a divorce and the
children are the ones who suffer most. Nathaniel never had to worry; he
had two parents who were always there for him unconditionally. As the
years have passed we continued to co-parent our son.
Coming out to my son was my most fear-filled challenge.
I brought Nathaniel into the world and the last thing that I ever
wanted to do was add pain to his life. Nathaniel had been raised in a
home where from when he was two years old, foreign exchange students of
every religion, color and nationality were the norm. One never
knew what culture would be discussed at our dinner table with students
from every corner of the world. Both Linda and I have always stressed
that prejudice is one of the most disagreeable traits that any person
could harbor. Differences were to be celebrated, not feared.
When
Linda moved out we decided that it would be a good idea to have
Nathaniel see a therapist. He had a lot to deal with. First his mom
moved out. Next, the reality that his parents were divorcing landed on
his young shoulders. This was followed by the news that we would be
selling our home and would move into an apartment. On top of this we
ended up giving away his dachshund as the apartment that we moved into
wasn’t big on pets. Our primary concern was finding a place where
Nathaniel wouldn’t have to switch schools nor have to live far from his
friends. Pickings were slim. We felt that with all the stress facing
our son who on top of everything was on the verge of puberty,
counseling was a necessity for him.
As
Linda moved out I reconnected with a roommate from a semester abroad
program in Bruges, Belgium on which I had participated during my senior
year of college. My roommate Jim had become my best friend and he came
out ten years earlier than I had. We stayed in close contact for years
but after he came out he drifted away. In truth I had always been
attracted to Jim. He went through some difficult times after coming out
and had cut off most of his friendships out of shame.
As
it happens Jim’s lover left him the same weekend Linda had moved out of
our home. We reconnected instantly and were closer than ever. He had
visited me and Nathaniel and I him several times before I came out to
Nathaniel. Unfortunately Jim grew sick from AIDS and finally died four
years after I came out. His family remains dear to me ten years after
his passing. Nathaniel adored Jim and his lover who had returned
shortly after leaving Jim. Nathaniel knew they were gay. Still there
was a chance that Nathaniel might balk at the news that his dad was
gay. I feared that he might be unwilling to continue to live with me.
Nathaniel
was only a few months away from heading for summer camp when I came
out. I faced a dilemma. Should I come out to him before he left for
camp or should I wait until he returned home in August? There was no
question that I was going to come out to Nathaniel. I felt that timing
was critical. I wanted him to have enough time in therapy to process
the news before leaving for camp. On the one hand it made sense to wait
until he came home and had the entire school year at home to deal with
the information. However, I feared that Nathaniel might overhear me
speaking on the phone, He might run across a piece of mail, gay
newspaper, magazine or a book that I hadn’t put away or he might
overhear a comment made by somebody else who already new about my
sexual orientation.
His
therapist suggested that I should wait until the end of the summer.
However, when I relayed my fears to her she understood. What would
happen if Nathaniel found out a few days before he left for camp? That
could be devastating. So I decided to tell him five weeks before he
left for camp.
The
night I came out to my son remains etched in my memory. There is an old
adage that things happen in threes. This was a night of three big
events. When I got home from work Linda and a realtor met me at our
house and we signed all of the paperwork to list our home on the
market. I loved our home but couldn’t afford living there without
Linda. Putting the house on the market symbolized the finality of our
relationship ending and the onset of a new phase in my life. After
signing the paperwork Linda left to for her apartment.
I
sat Nathaniel down on the sofa in the den and told him that he had
dealt with a great deal during the past few months. I had one more
thing that I needed to discuss with him. I told him that I had no idea
how he would react to what I was going to tell him. I wondered out loud
that after I shared what I had to say whether he would want to continue
to live with me. However, I stressed that ours was a relationship built
on trust and that he could come to me at any time with any issue that
was facing him. If I expected him to confide in to me then I also had
to be able to be honest with him about my life. I reminded Nathaniel
that my friend Jim was gay and he said that he knew that. I told him
that after a great deal of work in therapy and soul searching I had
realized that I was gay too.
My
son’s response was, “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me
something really bad. If you think that I wouldn’t want to live with
you over your being gay then you don’t know me very well.” Years later
Nathaniel recounted the story to friends about my coming out to him as
having taken an hour. In reality it took three minutes at most. It
lasted an eternity to both of us.
I
had seen Linda’s father a few months earlier and he had asked about the
reason for the break-up of our marriage. He had inquired into whether
we had been having any sexual issues to which I had replied no. I hated
to lie but at that time Linda and I had decided not to share the fact
that I was gay with her family until we were ready. After I had my
discussion with Nathaniel, I called Linda’s folks and came out to them.
My father-in-law told me that he wasn’t surprised and had wondered if
that had been the cause our marital problems. Linda’s parents are
good people and though I haven’t seen them but twice since our divorce,
they have always been pleasant on the phone when calling to speak with
Nathaniel. I felt the need to get it all over with that one evening and
what an evening it had been.
As I
put Nathaniel to bed that night I poured a single malt whiskey into a
tumbler over two cubes of ice. It had been a prized purchase made in
Edinburgh during our trip to the UK the previous summer. I am not a big
drinker but if ever I deserved a good stiff drink that was the night.
My
son was able to discuss my sexual orientation with his therapist. He
admitted years later that absorbing the news of our divorce had been
more of a trauma to him than my coming out. As Nathaniel progressed
through school we had occasional issues to deal with such as who to
come out to and how to handle friend’s questions.
While
he was in junior high one friend spent the night. His friend knew I was
gay and asked Nathaniel, “Your dad won’t come into your room in the
middle of the night and do anything will he?” Nathaniel replied, “My
mom is a single straight woman and if we were staying at her place
would you ask the same question?” Nathaniel’s friend got it and that
was the end of that drama.
As I
navigated through the gay community I was fascinated by the new culture
that I had joined. In some ways I felt like a foreigner who had moved
to a new land. I read voraciously about all facets of the glbt
community and continue to do so. Within a few years I felt as if I had
gained a “Ph.D.” in gay studies. I became more knowledgeable about gay
rights, culture, history and politics than most of my gay friends who
had been out since their teen years. Soon I joined a variety of glbt
organizations.
During
my marriage to Linda I was oblivious to the amount of prejudice, hatred
and abuse facing our community and as I became acculturated to my life
as an openly gay man it didn’t take long for me to become an
activist. I was outraged by the plight facing glbt youth. I felt
an urgency to make life better for our community. That burning drive
remains.
Linda
went on to co-found straight spouse support groups in both Dallas and
New England. Before long we ended up in a variety of newspapers
including a front page article in the Sunday New York Times and on both
the Rolonda and Donahue shows. US News and World Report came to
Nathaniel’s high school graduation, in Scottsdale, Arizona, where I had
moved for fifteen months for his senior year in high school. The
magazine featured us as part of a story that they published concerning
kids raised by gay parents.
I
started writing and was involved in two gay book projects and in 2000
dedicated myself to the fight against Laura Schlessinger being given a
television show by Paramount. I became one of eight national steering
committee members with StopDrLaura.com. I continue to freelance write
for newspapers and magazines and am actively involved in the fight for
same-sex marriage as an activist with dontamend.com.
As I
read that note from Linda nearly fifteen years ago with my hands
trembling and my stomach in my mouth I could never have imagined that
on April 17th of this year, at the age of 51, that I would legally
marry the man of my dreams in a ceremony in Toronto, Canada performed
by the first openly gay justice in the province of Ontario. Our friends
and families would be in attendance.
Linda remarried several years ago and he is a nice man. I
met him at dinner with Linda during a recent trip to New England. I was
thrilled to see Linda happy and at peace. Linda and I remain in touch
from time to time mainly concerning Nathaniel but also to share major
life events. We each wish the other well. So often people think we have
control over our lives. As my wise Dr. Zik, once remarked, “We are
lucky if we have influence!”
If I
am convinced about one thing concerning our fight for acceptance and
equality it is the importance of coming out. As Dr. Rob Eichberg,
author of “Coming Out An Act of Love” and founder of both National
Coming Out Day and the Experience Workshop pointed out, “Coming out is
a process.” It takes time to come out and we continue do so for the
rest of our lives.
By
coming out to our friends, family, co-workers and others in our lives
two major accomplishments are realized. First, we become happier as
individuals because people love us for the persons we truly are and not
false images that we project to protect ourselves. We no longer need
hide or pretend that we are somebody that we aren’t. By having honest
relationships with the people whom touch our lives the relationships
are more meaningful and rewarding. Secondly, the more people who know
us the more successful our battle for civil rights becomes.
As
my partner and I publicly proclaim our love for each other (both in the
ceremony in Canada and by sharing our story with people in our lives)
the subject of same-sex marriage has become real to the many folks who
know us and they in turn become advocates for our rights. Family
members, friends, neighbors and co-workers whom we have enlightened
become allies in our war against hate. Just as homes are constructed
one nail at a time so is the movement built for glbt rights by coming
out to one person at a time.
For
the want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For
the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For
the want of a horse the rider was lost,
For
the want of a rider the battle was lost,
For
the want of a battle the kingdom was lost,
And
all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
--Old Nursery Rhyme
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