Picture this...I'm Black, I'm Gay, I'm a Man

It’s October 1977, in small town Jackson, North Carolina.  God has decided to bless this earth with my presence.     Me, Travis, born in this one square mile town of Jackson with 500 residents or so, where the primary industries are farming and agriculture with a few distribution centers.  Jackson is a town in Northampton County, which has been characterized as the poorest county in the state for decades.  Driving from corner to corner you see and feel the poverty.    Still, there is a richness that goes beyond the “poorest county” label.  That richness is found in the rich souls of the people of Northampton County, specifically the people of Jackson.  The “true southern” residents of Jackson are its jewels.  Can you see it?  Now, imagine Jackson is where the foundation for who I am as a Black Gay Man was laid. 

I’m Black

For real, I’m Black.  Now, I’m woke Black.  As I look back on my experience growing up in Jackson, I don’t think I fully recognized my Blackness until about my late elementary school years - around the 4th or 5th grade.  The moment of recognition is still clear.  Go with me.  I’m with my best friend.  He and I are going to hang out with another close friend who happened to be white.   This will be my first time to visit and go inside a white person’s home.  Why was this a “thing?”  Why did I feel strange or feeling like I was in a weird place?  I felt strange walking into the home and even when I left.  I felt like I was in a foreign place that I didn’t belong.  My friend’s family wasn’t rude in any way, but it was just different.  The décor of the home, the smell, the photos of only white people.  It was completely the opposite of my home or my family’s homes.  Thinking back my friend probably would have felt the same coming to my home.  I remember noticing the difference of our segregated communities...  The houses were bigger.  They were upkept.  I couldn’t help but notice...

 I enjoyed a comfortable living with my family in our ranch style home on a street where all 11 homes were lined up in a row some separated by trees. Each sat on a half-acre or more of land and was owned by the families that lived in them.  Still, there was a glaring disparity between the living standards of my community and that of the white communities.  Remember agriculture was the dominate industry for the town of Jackson.  The farms were owned by the white families.  Why is this important?   This is important because those white owned farms were being farmed by the Black folk of Jackson. This was the main source of income for all households and the income disparity was obvious.  If as a Black resident, you didn’t own a home that you were able to pass along to your children or family there was no way to create and build generational wealth.  The only way to achieve wealth or build a better life was to leave.  And, many left Jackson and the other towns of Northampton County.   I never returned to live after graduating from East Carolina University.  Three days after graduation my dad and 2 uncles packed my apartment up and moved me to Tampa, Florida.  I wanted to get out and see the world and I knew I could not do that by going back to Jackson.  Not that the life many of my family, friends and other residents experience there is wrong or not fulfilling.  It just was not the life I wanted for myself.

Another memory that stings to this day was the unspoken “White” only community pool in the town.  It was small and tucked away beside the only grocery store for miles.  I remember being told that we were not allowed there because it was a private pool, aka for white people.   There was no other community pool for us Black and Brown children to visit and or learn how to swim.  Unpack that disparity between White and POC who learn some of the most basic survival skills like swimming.  But Black and Brown kids were left out without learning those skills.  This is another example of the disparity between Black/Brown and white communities, even in an economically repressed area.  Add this on top of the wealth disparity between the communities and you have a system that does not create an environment for a fair and equitable chance at life.   When I visit home and must drive by this pool, I always roll my eyes at the thought of it.  For me it’s a symbol of anti-blackness in the deep south, in my hometown.  

I’m Gay

Imagine a child feeling different, not understanding why, not being able to articulate it or explain it.  When did I first think I was different?  I’ve always felt different.  I wasn’t like the other little boys in school.  But as a child it was hard to articulate or explain.  Hell, I really didn’t get it until college.  I didn’t feel connected to outside sports like the other little boys in the neighborhood.  I always wanted to be around my Grandma, aunts and mom on the weekends.  Our Saturday excursions were shopping all day ending with a meal before heading home.  I felt more connected to the women in my family.  It was like they understood the sensitive side of my inner being.  In high school I knew I wasn’t really attracted to girls.  But I went along with it because I felt that I was supposed to.   All around me growing up I had strong male figures in my family and community.  There was no way that I was going to break that mold in my head.  The pressure I felt at times was both self-imposed and influenced by my surroundings.  This is not an indictment on family, friends or community, but a reality of the timeframe I grew up and the lack of understanding and empathy of being different in the Black community.   I heard homophobic slurs – sissy, faggot, “acting like a girl” and so forth - growing up.  Whether they were directed at me or if I heard them in conversations or passing by, they affected me subconsciously.  Those words are powerful and potentially damaging for a young kid to hear as they are confronting and trying to process their inner thoughts of understanding who and what they are. 

It was not until late in college years I started to fully understand what my difference was.  And, even then, I was still confused.  I thought for a while that I was bisexual.  I thought I was attracted to both women and men and that I could choose.  I had a wonderful girlfriend that I loved and endeared all through school.  She became my wife...  With subconscious thoughts that I buried deep below I still thought I could choose.  Boy was I wrong.  Those thoughts would manifest from time to time, but I told myself I made my choice.  Looking back, I hate that society, especially in the Black community, makes one feel they cannot be their true authentic self and celebrated.  I carried this weight and confusion into my late 20’s even through a divorce.  After the divorce and moving to Atlanta, I realized, oh that’s it, I’m gay!  LOL.   I found myself still dating women.  Crazy right.  I realized that just because I realized my sexuality, I wasn’t ready to live out loud and free to the world.  This is the case for many gay identifying men and women.  But something was different this time.  I was more in tuned with who and what I was physically attracted to in another person.  And, here I was in Atlanta - the Black mecca of gayness.  More about this part of my life in the book.  I can’t give you all the juicy details right now.  Let’s just say my Atlanta years of coming to learn and understand my gay self was something to behold. 

Pulling this back before I find myself in the rabbit hole of reliving my Atlanta years.  My reflection back still brings me to the same conclusion yes, we have gotten better but there is still much work to be done to unpack and deconstruct these vile and inhumane perceptions and chains we put on ourselves.  Better how?  We are passing historic landmark policies that protect the LGBTQ community.  Our Black and Brown families are becoming more comfortable with who and what we are as a LGBTQ force.  Our community has allies crossing every religion and country.  We are learning that being gay is not taboo.  Being gay does not make you a demon as some teach in church or that you’re going to hell.  Being gay doesn’t make you any less of a man or women.  It makes you beautiful to live in your truth and to be proud of who you are.  It’s imperative that as Black and Brown communities we address our issues with sexuality.  Our lives literally depend on it. 

I’m A Man

Here I am now – a 42-year-old Black, gay man – realizing that all these things affect my manhood.    They affect the man I am.  How my community, family, coworkers and the world view me.   Do you see me?  Do you understand me?  Are you able to comprehend the weight of living life as a Black, gay man?  I ask this especially of those that don’t identify with any of these descriptive.  Are you able to be empathetic to the obstacles and trauma that come along with being one or both things in one human bodily experience?

I’m Black, I’m Gay, I’m a Man but most importantly I’m human.  Picture that!  While you try hard to picture it be empathetic towards the experience as you do.  Open your eyes and heart to seeing the experience that someone that doesn’t look or live life the way you do.  Let your humanity take over your heart and mind.   

Picture it!   

Editor's Credit: Kenneth Hemsley