An Open Letter To My Hometown
I grew up in a very idyllic town. Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the home of the peaceful Amish and the modern people who live alongside them, has a bustling and artsy downtown but a markedly slower lifestyle than a true big city.
I grew up in a very idyllic community. I attended my parochial elementary school, which then fed into Lancaster Catholic High School. This was a network of families who were happy to pick each other’s kids up at practice, who made meal schedules to help out a sick mom or dad, and who attended playoff games an hour away to watch—not their kid — but their kid’s best friend play. Even today, my parent’s best friends are my friends’ parents.
I lived a very idyllic childhood. I was good at school and good enough at sports and instruments, so they let me play anyway. I was educated by incredibly caring and dedicated teachers who taught me the value of writing, faith, math, science, and the arts. I wasn’t the most popular but that was for the best, I think. I made it out of high school with an incredibly close group of friends who I still confide in as an adult.
I am skipping over some of the hard times that every person goes though in the transition from child to adult (including, but not limited to, crying over homework, boys, lost soccer games, failed science fair experiments, and suddenly popular friends). But all in all, I owe so much to my parents, my friends, my community, and my hometown for making me the person I am today.
I left Lancaster to go to college in Washington DC, where I still live today. And when I go home to visit, I am met with open arms; friends’ moms all but pinch my cheeks when they see me. Friends and family in my hometown love to hear that I’m doing well at my job and enjoying life in the city. And then the inevitable question: “Are you seeing anyone?” To which I quickly lie, “No.” You see, because something happened to me between when I left Lancaster and now. After a long fight with myself, my Catholicism, and my upbringing, I came to terms with my sexuality. I am gay.
Coming out to the community that raised me has been an incremental process. I started with my closest friends from high school, and once I had enough courage, my parents and brother, who have been extremely supportive. Then more high school friends, and eventually, their parents. You are bearing witness to my public coming out as you read this.
This was not an easy decision for me. I feel a very real risk of losing part of the comfort, love, and support I associate with my Lancaster community. I fear becoming an outcast of my own personal heritage. Even now, we as a family have decided to never tell my grandparents as there is a very real possibility that because of their religious beliefs, they will disown me. (I hope that their lack of internet access prevents them from reading this.) But I have put that fear aside for a cause I believe to be more important: a plea for your help.
On Tuesday, the people of the United States elected a ticket to the White House that does not support gay rights. Donald Trump has openly spoken against marriage equality, and Mike Pence believes in conversion therapy, a series of practices that attempts to coach individuals out of being gay. Pence has already confirmed that he plans on rolling back the Obama administration LGBTQ protections that shield queer people from discrimination as employees and as consumers. But perhaps more terrifying is the anti-LGBTQ rhetoric and actions coming from Trump supporters and others.
Hometown, I turn to you now. I know you voted for Donald Trump (57.3% of you according to the New York Times.) You may have voted for him for various reasons. That’s a conversation for a different day. Today, I come to you asking for your help and protection. Because I am really, really scared. I fear that I could be fired because of whom I love. I fear that I won’t be able to build the future that my girlfriend and I dream of. I fear that walking down the street I will be harassed or hurt by someone who hates.
My DC community looks different than the one I had growing up. Today, it is made up of queer and straight folk alike—of all different colors and backgrounds. And I know they have my back: they celebrated with me after the Supreme Court ruled on gay marriage and cried with me after the Pulse night club shootings. I know they will defend me to the death, the way you, Lancaster, once did.
I believe community is important because you taught me it is. So today, I reach out to beg you to support my new community. When you hear hurtful words or see hurtful actions, please stand up and say something. Please protect my LGBTQ brothers and sisters who are in danger right now. Please let your representatives know that my rights matter to you too. Please prove to me that I am right to put my faith in your fierce sense of loyalty, compassion, and community. I am a daughter of yours, Lancaster. Please accept me for who I am.
