“As We Go On” brings stories of resilience to the stage
The live storytelling event features performers from the Ann Arbor LGBTQ community, is coming to Grand Rapids as a benefit for the Grand Rapids Community Foundation’s Our LGBT Fund, after a May performance in Saugatuck.
As We Go On, a unique live storytelling event featuring performers from the Ann Arbor LGBTQ community, gives a cast as diverse as the rainbow the opportunity to share their heartbreaking, funny, and poignant stories. Let’s be clear, though: these are not their coming out stories; they were out long before the tales they tell. These tales are beautiful, magnificent stories of resilience. For years, young people have held on for dear life to the “It Gets Better” advice received from celebrities and activists on social media. Catchy slogan, but what does it mean, really? When and how does it get better exactly? These personal stories give life to the very tangible moment when each cast members realized that, in fact, it does.
On the stark stage are seven chairs each in its own way representing the ensemble cast who are about to occupy them: a sturdy rocker for a middle-aged woman; a quirky, skinny bar stool for a quirky, skinny musician; an unconventional, 70’s-inspired bowl chair draped in a trans flag… you get the idea. It’s a clever vehicle to give the audience subliminal insights into each personality. Robert De Niro once said “If it’s the right chair, it doesn’t take too long to get comfortable in it.” Amen, brother — but you have to find that chair first.
Before the performers find their seats, however, the true stories they are about to tell are put into context (via video) by 87-year-old Jim Toy, a long-time activist and pioneer of LGBTQ rights in Michigan. In 1971, he was a founding member of the Ann Arbor Gay Liberation Front and instrumental in the creation of the Human Sexuality Office at University of Michigan (now know as Spectrum Center), the first staff office of its kind at a United States institution of higher learning dealing with student sexual orientation. See what he did there? He didn’t just wait for it to get better; he made it better. In other words, he’s a queer bad ass.
From there, you’ll meet a variety of different people including a curly-haired spitfire whose self-awareness comes when it is confirmed that the subtle innuendo in Kate Chopin’s “The Awakening” (particularly a scene in which the heroine is enveloped by the warm waves of the sea) is, in fact, very sexual and very much about a lesbian relationship. Reading is fundamental!
You’ll meet a bisexual man who, as a child, was told by his father that purple can’t be his favorite color because “that’s a girl’s color.” And, yes, his chair is purple, so that should tell you how that story turned out.
You’ll meet a seriously adorable couple who, while singing and playing guitar, tell the story of grandparents who own an idyllic country farm upon which generations have been married. When her girlfriend asks for her hand, how will the grandparents respond? Will they receive the same welcoming invitation to exchange vows in the barn?
But the real standout for me is Lance Rasmussen. I am completely transfixed by them (Rasmussen uses the pronouns them/their/they). They tell their story only in verse — a voice many of us turn to when navigating the already-impossible world of adolescence. Their moment of resilience is not found in a specific event, but rather in their simple state of prideful being. You are looking at resilience in the flesh and it is truly magical.
There’s also a proud Puerto Rican, Harvard Law School graduate, lawyer from Brooklyn. Out since she was five years old (yes, five!), she is clearly not messing around. Originally married to her wife in New York, she learns before moving to Michigan, that her marriage will not be recognized here. And, as you can expect, she is not going to take this sitting down, even if it is in the aforementioned comfy rocking chair.
You’ll also meet a gay man who occasionally identifies as trans (he is obsessed with nail polish, musical theater, and Barbra Streisand, natch) has a moment of enlightenment that includes a bread box and the Virgin Mary. Any further detail would spoil the fun.
After meeting them all myself, as I watched their performance on stage in Saugatuck, I was profoundly touched by the show. The experience was made all the better because my amazing sister, who has always been my closest friend and straight ally, sat next to me laughing, tearing up, applauding. This genuine connection of understanding between our two parallel worlds is a critical catalyst for change. More of this, world, please.
Speaking of family, these stories have inspired me to add my own personal moment of resilience as a gay man using “he/his/him” pronouns (which is interestingly missing from the ensemble).
The reasons why I love, respect, and admire my father are too numerous to list. He’s funny, wicked smart, an excellent provider, and he adores my mother, just to name a few. That said, the one quality that stands out above all others is his compassion. He is a man who always has a kind word, a kind hand, and a kind heart.
This was never more apparent to me than in 1998.
I was living in Kansas City, MO, where I had moved for work, and was terribly lonely; this was not turning out to be the adventure for which I had hoped. After exchanging a few emails with my parents about my situation, they could clearly tell I was feeling down. I remember my mother saying “I wish you’d talk to us more. I wish you’d tell us more about your life.” I took this as a sign that it was time. Time to tell them the truth I had been living for years.
The next day I emailed them explaining the reason I was sad: I was missing my life back in Atlanta and, more specifically, the boyfriend I had left behind. This was the first time I had openly discussed this part of my life with them. Was email the best way to do this? Absolutely not. But there it was — done.
Two days passed without a response. I was worried: Had I done the right thing? Would they not handle this as well as I had hoped?
Then, one day while sitting at my desk, the phone rang.
“Hello,” I said.
“Mike? It’s your dad.”
“Hey, Dad.” I responded. I wasn’t sure where this was going or what was coming next.
“Your mother and I are coming to Kansas City,” he replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re my son and I want to give you a hug and tell you that I promise to love you no matter what.”
I was stunned; completely speechless.
“You don’t have to do that, Dad.” I said. “I know you love me.”
“We’ll see you soon, son,” he replied, and hung up the phone.
Two days and 643 miles later, they arrived in Kansas City where he made good on his promise. It was then I knew everything would be OK. And it has been ever since.
This, above all other reasons, is why I love you, Dad. Your purely unconditional love and support is something I will always cherish.
“As We Go On” will be at Grand Rapids’ Wealthy Theatre on June 10 at 7 p.m. Tickets for the benefit performance, with proceeds going to the Grand Rapids Community Foundation (GRCF)’s Our LGBT Fund, are $40 for adults and $15 for students and are available online.
For more information call Grand Rapids Community Foundation, 616–454–1751.
The performances are sponsored by Fifth Third Bank; Meijer; PADNOS; Celebration Cinema!; Priority Health; Varnum, LLP; ReMax of Saugatuck Douglas; Cheryl Grant Team, Keller Williams Realty North; and the Episcopal Diocese of West Michigan.
