What does it mean to be Queer By Extension?

To define that is, in fact, the purpose of this blog, but even tangentially; it’s difficult. Queer, we know to mean out-of-the-ordinary, odd, non-typical. Extension is of the tangential, an addition or expansion. This series is an analytical commentary on how outside influences shape, and are shaped, by queer gender and sexual identities. While the intent is to discuss facts, large portions of my own beliefs and opinions will inform my writing. I emphasize the importance of thought-development, discussion, and if not agreement, understanding. 

Curiosity can occur — perhaps, most often occurs — in a nonlinear fashion. We dance around different conclusions, stepping in time with the fashions that suit our fancies. Our ability to change by result of our perceptions to our curiosities, to make our curiosities into realities, should be employed as a gift. 

Our realities are oftentimes political. While this series will not be solely political, the content here will cover political extensions and their associations with queerness. In fact, the intersection of queerness and policy is how I will build the foundation to this series. As an introduction, I’ll allow your reflection on the following story; The story that began my website. Curious, isn’t it, how a story of my own, intended for alternate purposes, extends itself past the limitations I imposed; The content is queer, but perhaps the piece, itself, is queer by extension. 

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Do you remember where you were over nine years ago? On June 26th, 2015? The question is not rhetorical; Can you remember, specifically, the environment you occupied and the activities in which you partook that day? June 26th, 2015? Does it ring a bell, or provide you any second thought? For those who answered no, I suggest you live in the privileged majority. 

I was 14 years old and on summer break – I slept until around noon. Blinking back into consciousness facilitated the need for updating on the cultural occurrences during my slumber; Namely, what had Miley Cyrus done to piss off the masses now? At that age, I hadn’t yet broken into the twitter political timelines; However, on June 26th, 2015, my feed was, beginning to end, entirely coverage of Obergefell v. Hodges: the case that ruled against bans on same-sex marriage. For the first time in US History, gay and lesbian couples could not be denied their love, denied their freedom, nor denied their right to marry. #LoveIsLove trended number one all day long and in the days that followed. For the first time in my life – though I had not yet even come to terms with my queerness – I felt seen. 

I texted my friends about it, Oliver and Kayla, asking if they had seen the news – which, of course, they had. They celebrated in our celebration, and they celebrated my participation in their celebration. You see, at that point, I was only beginning to twist the knob of my closet door; It had only been recently that Kayla and Oliver enlightened my morality. The right to marry was an astronomical feat, and I wanted to share its joys with the world. I cracked my bedroom door, allowing the newscast from down the hall to enter in. 

The news anchor was celebrating. I felt seen. 

For the first time in my life, I witnessed my understanding of life – that the government is not authoritative regarding the love of consenting adults. It was then that I realized: between the broadcaster’s muffled words from the sounds of joyous celebrations happening across our nation, I could hear Mourning. Sobbing. Weeping. 

Immediately, I thought someone must have died; Rather, someone very close to our family must have died. My mom sounded distraught. I crept out of my room and into the front room, where she was sitting on the couch, alone, watching CNN’s coverage of the historic day. I asked her why she was crying. She said she was sad, she was scared. I continued prodding, ‘Why? What happened?’ still not making the connection I continued, ‘I saw that gay marriage is legal now! At least that is good news!’ Clearly, I did not understand. She let loose, jumping across points:

“These poor souls are lost! Where is our country going? I hope Jesus will forgive; I pray he will be merciful. Marriage is a sacrament, to be held between men and women. This is Obama’s fault. God, I wish McCain would’ve won. They do not know love, they know lust!” 

Attempting to defend the ruling, I stood; “Mom you know gay people, you know some of my friends are gay or bi; They can get married now! This is a good thing!” It mattered not. She asked me to leave so she could pray. 

I was invisible.

This instance spawned my grieving process. Knowing that I may marry a man someday, I had limited options: Change myself, change my parents beliefs, or eliminate the value I ascribed to her judgment. I chose the latter. How could I get married without my parents there? I was about to start high school, my sister had plenty of relationships; How would I? Does my mom think I am lost? Am I lustful? Am I capable of love? 

Through time, I grieved the loss of what I thought my wedding would be like. I grieved the loss of the parents I thought I had: the ones that loved me unconditionally. It was around this time that I became familiar with the term Chosen Family. It suggests that DNA does not determine familial relationships, but instead, that those relationships are built throughout life, choosing which people to let in, to allow close to us, and to share our celebrations and devastations with. The parents I was born to, they are not my family, they are my parents. The family I have chosen I value with my whole being. Without them I would not have seen the end of that grieving process: without them I would be dead. My wedding will be celebrated by my family, and my parents will not receive an invite.

My family often asks why I was depressed in high school but not now as an adult. How do I explain it was not terminal, but rather, situational? 

I was grieving. 

I was learning. 

I was preparing for a life of independence. The limits of my environment and the obstacles it forced me through nearly killed me. 

Obergefell v. Hodges prompted my visibility and saved my life.