My name is Jesse and I was afflicted with a horrible, debilitating disease. The disease was not of the genetic or contagious kind, but it was the result of a foolish decision I made in my youth. It’s ok, you can take off the gloves. I’m all better now. I have been healed. I am cured from the disease of homosexuality.
Around the time I became a teenager, I was forced to make the decision: homosexuality or heterosexuality. I remember the morning quite well: I was sitting in my Candyland board game-inspired underwear eating Fruit Loops when I felt the urge to make the decision. It was brought upon one while watching the Ellen show in her first season. Ellen seemed so glamorous, so one-of-us, that when I found out she was gay, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to fit right in.
I felt that it would better my circumstances in life if I chose homosexuality. And who could blame me? The glamorous fame of Elton John, the in-your-face courageousness of Ru Paul, the high-spirited, pious success of the wise Ted Haggart – how could I possibly choose another sexuality? Especially a sexuality which included members like the brute and savage Johnny Rotten, the morally bankrupt Machiavelli, and the intellectually depraved Kirk Cameron.
I took time to weigh my decision. Should I live to experience blatant and widespread social and political oppression where I am the constant receiver of cruel jokes, getting jumped, and receiving limited rights? Of course I should.
Using free will, I made the conscious decision to become gay. Before then, my sexuality had not been determined at all. It’s not like I was straight and decided to turn gay. I was non-sexual as it were, and then made the leap, like a dashing fairy into a Cinderella night.
It was almost like the choice was made for me. Select the sexuality with the happiest members. It’s in the name gosh jolly! Gay! That’s what I wanted to be and it filled my every aspiration. My name is Jesse; it’s a man name, adopted by other rugged man like the hunky Jesse James motorcycle guy and that other Jesse James, the bad boy gunslinger. Even the honorable Jesse Jackson who preaches that we should love all bears my name, or rather I bear his. Jesse: a name for bears and a name that forebears masculinity! And I could be both by having the name and the sexuality. A match made in heaven!
But little did I know I was doing something hideously wrong. I was upsetting God. The all-powerful, all-knowing God who is capable of knowing what will happen to His creations after conceiving them, and who loves everyone no matter who they are. But He didn’t love me. I had disgraced God by choosing sin. Of course I thought it odd that God, out of love, would create a homosexual being, only to later condemn it to hell for being homosexual, but what did I know?
I had naturally great taste in fashion, music, and home decorating, but how was I supposed to know that that would upset Him? I was even accused of being in league with Satan, which seemed appropriate since without Satan, we wouldn’t have clothes – adorable, fashionable, eye-catching clothes! Was Satan gay too?
I didn’t know until one afternoon while I was walking down the street, wearing my brand new leather boots I had gotten a great discount on in New York just weeks earlier, when an angry man holding a protest sign reading ‘God hates homosexuals, fornicators, adulterers, drunkards, gamblers. Repent or burn in hell!’ shouted in my hear “fags are ruinin’ the country!”
I’m no drunkard even though I do just fall in love with the occasional appletini. And I’m no gambler even though I did risk a lot by buying salmon colored jeans in the spring. But burn in hell for being a homosexual? That confused me. I loved everyone, harmed no one, and was always there for my bitches.
I realized I had made a horrible mistake in choosing homosexuality when I had realized that the coupling of Jesse and homosexuality was actually a match made in hell, a blazing, tormenting hell intended for those with “genetic manipulations” as some called it. I will admit. I felt ashamed for being gay. I was beginning to recognize the horrifying effects of a decision I made when I was too young to understand the consequences. Soon after realizing the grave yet fashionable mistake I had made, I decided to voluntarily enter into a homosexual rehabilitation program.
Things were going great until about two months in. I had fallen off the wagon. If drunks can do it, so can gays. I attended an optimism seminar entitled “The Glass is Half-Full, So Go On and Have a Sip.” I heard it was positive, so I took that to mean it mentioned lots of God talk which I thought would take me over by osmosis and if I filled myself with enough God, there wouldn’t be any room left for gay. Earnest attempt.
The man who approached the stage this particular evening was a civil rights activist who did a lot of work with those who felt othered. He confidently walked to the podium and into the spotlight and spoke:
“Remember how the blacks couldn’t vote or even drink from the same water fountain as whites? It was before my time, but I saw the photos. It was horrible. They were treated as though they weren’t even human. Even the US Census considered people who were half-black, quarter-black, and even one-eighth-black, to be inferior to whites and thus restricted their rights. Even the Irish were at one time considered primitive and non-white. But alas, all fought for their rights, they earned them, and they now have them. Our society always found a way to marginalize a minority so they could discriminate against them and deny them their due rights, women included, and decades later we look back and say to each other, “Why didn’t we just give them the rights the deserved?” or more appropriately “Why did we deny them the rights they deserved?” Perhaps the LGBT community is the latest in the lineup.”
But I couldn’t make sense of it. Why had they invited this speaker to come talk our group? I had spent two months trying to “relearn heterosexuality” as it were, and I felt like I was on the right track, but the appeal of man’s natural rights spoke nothing about the hurt that God felt when He saw His children turn their backs on Him and turn gay. Rights don’t matter, not now at least, and not to the person I used to be. I’m a man again – a straight, football watching, weightlifting, meat eating man, and I’m so darn proud of it I celebrated by going out and getting an entirely new wardrobe full of beautiful colors.
I’m all better now, and let me just say – it feels so fabulous!
