Author Gregory Maguire in 1970 at 16 (above left). He recalls masking shame and pain after being rejected by peers. At right, the author in 2008 at his Concord home. (Maguire family photo, Globe file photo)Growing Up GayBostonians open up about the homophobia, fear, and isolation they endured as teens — and how they made it throughBy Christopher Muther
Globe Staff / October 21, 2010
A spate of gay teen suicides, including that of 18-year-old Rutgers student Tyler Clementi, has focused attention on homophobic bullying and resulted in the “It Gets Better’’ project, a YouTube campaign aimed at offering support to gay teens and young people. We asked several well-known Bostonians to share their memories of growing up gay, and they accepted, revealing the fear and loneliness they lived with and the strength they’ve achieved. Here are their stories, in their own words.
Gregory Maguire
Author of many books, including ‘Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West’I always wrote. Took my cue from “Harriet the Spy’’ in fifth grade and never looked back. But like many kids, I wasn’t introspective. Didn’t question my own identity. I came of age in a liberal time (early ’70s) in a progressive Catholic environment (not always an oxymoron) among good people who were tolerant of many things as long as they went unnamed. So I remained basically clueless about myself. For a while, in high school, a cadre of friends caught my writing habit. We scribbled approximations of our real feelings in the safety and pretend anonymity of our journals. Then we circulated these notebooks for peer review, scrawling appreciative comments or jokes in the margins. A way of sharing private apprehensions and affections in a safe environment. A pre-electronic community blog, you could call it. Nixon-era Facebook.
I’d always gone about my own business, a cheery loner of sorts, enjoying female friends who were never, somehow, girlfriends. I’d never been part of a team or a male mob. Junior year, this seemed to change; I started hanging out with three musicians, teenage guys. One February afternoon, after a basement jam session, we took some hot chocolate into the parlor. One of the boys I later realized I’d had a crush on closed the doors. They cleared their throats and the spokesfellow said, kindly as possible, “We’ve been thinking about it, and we’ve decided that guys writing in journals is a faggy thing to do. We’re going to stop and we think you should, too.’’
What happened next? I suspect I left the house with a polite excuse, masking my shame and the pain of rejection. I didn’t hesitate, though. If to be a writer meant to be a loner, I would be a loner. I cried all the way home. Years later, I would hear Elphaba sing on Broadway, “Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.’’ Sing it, sister. Now, I realize I committed myself to becoming a writer that awful afternoon.
The rest:
http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/articles/2010/10/21/bostonians_open_up_about_the_homophobia_fear_and_isolation_they_endured_as__teens__and_how_they_made_it_through/?p1=Upbox_links
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