Remembering a different life...

 This Saturday, is National Coming Out day on October 11th.

They say on National Coming Out Day you should remember and thank all the allies in your life. I am blessed in that for me, that is a pretty long list.   The following is a updated repost of one of the first blog entries I ever wrote back in 2006

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I was bouncing around the web a couple of weeks back and stumbled on zabasearch.com. It is a site than helps you locate addresses of people. So out of curiosity I typed in the name of one of my best friends from High School. 

Sure enough, a result for his name came up. Not sure if it was the right person, rather than call, I sent a note with my business card attached saying, if this was who I thought it was, to please write back. A couple of weeks went by... and I forgot about it. I honestly didn't expect to hear anything. 

Then the other day I got an email from him. It is an interesting experience in a way. I hadn’t   heard from him since attending his wedding. At the time I really envied him. He was marrying a wonderful gal and starting to build a life. They now have a five-year-old son with a daughter on the way due in December.

He said it was amazing to hear from me couldn't wait to hear all about what I have been doing over the past few years. I will confess, I have mixed feelings about that. 

For the most part, I have not kept in touch with anyone from “back home”. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed growing up where I did.  I had great friends and good memories. Yet it really was a whole different life. Like many LGBT kids in the mid to late 80's I was closeted and terrified of coming out. On some level every day had some undercurrent of fear of my "secret" being discovered. The ultimate put-down was to say something was "gay" or to be called a "fag". You saw the kids who were even slightly effeminate or "different" getting tormented daily. 

So, you kept your mouth shut and your eyes closed. When you watched those 80's brat-pack movies, while your friends ogled Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy, you didn't admit to anyone, not even to yourself that you thought Rob Lowe and Emilio Estevez were really hot. 

Add to that, the media was full of stories of this new "gay disease" called AIDS, and the Reagan and first Bush Administrations were not interested in getting any information about it out to the public. So like a lot of gay kids, I didn't know what to think. Could I get AIDS by coming out? By even holding hands or kissing a guy? Was it really God's way of getting rid of people like... well, like Me? 

The fear you felt was this huge cloud that hung over you every day. You really did wonder if you were destined to be miserable and alone for your entire life. Of course, at time I thought I was the ONLY gay kid on earth. Now I know that there were in fact more than a few. Even at my own school. But in those moments, the sense of isolation could feel overwhelming.

But time moved on. I left and, in many ways, never looked back. I moved to Europe, studied there, came back to Wisconsin, and went to college, after graduation worked, traveled back to Europe, and then to Asia. Eventually, I came back to the US and settled in Chicago, where I finally “came out.” 

Like many people, for me coming out was a frightening and painful process of self-discovery and acceptance. I think back on the fear I felt back then, and it seems like I am watching a movie of someone else's life. A life that I would not ever want to revisit. Yet in truth it was MY issue, not my friends. They had no way of knowing what I felt. 

The whole range of traditional High School and college experiences of first dates, a first dance, a first kiss, etc.. While a given for everyone else, were in my mind, just not possible for a lesbian or Gay kid in South Central Wisconsin in the 1980's. Or at least I felt, not for me. 

Many Gays and Lesbians who should be my age never lived to see today. The statistics on suicide for LGBT youth in the 1980's and 90's will give you nightmares. I am so amazingly fortunate to have the family that I do. My parents are the two most loving, supportive and amazing people in the whole world. Coming out to them while scary as hell, was truly the end of an old life and the beginning of a new much brighter and happier one.

 (I know I have told you this, but it’s worth saying again - Thanks Mom & Dad.)

 I marvel at many of today's LGBT kids with "Gay Straight Alliances" and alternative proms. When I read about kids taking their same sex partner to a high school dance, I can only smile and be amazed at how, at least in some places how far we have come. Though certainly for thousands of LGBT youth in America the reality has not changed from the one I knew.

 Over the years I didn't stay in touch with people back from "back home". One wedding, an occasional Christmas Card was pretty much the limit of my contact, and even that soon stopped. Someone recently asked me why I didn't keep in touch with people from those days, and honestly, I didn't really have a good answer. Hence my card to my friend.

 I know what you are wondering. Will I tell my old friend (s) that I am gay? Will I open up my life now to those people from my life "then"? Does it even matter?

 Honestly? I don't know. I'll keep you posted.

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FLASH FORWARD 19 years... October, 2025

It is worth noting, the friend I wrote about in 2006, like so many other amazing friends from my life, have shown me in words and deeds what I have always suspected, my friends are in general, a lot wiser than I am.

As I mark this year's National Coming Out Day there are friends and allies in my life who I still cannot thank enough.

From JJ, the friend, now in El Paso, who answered that letter in 2006 and reminded me why were friends in the first place, and still today reminds me to laugh at life nearly 40 years on. 

To the friends we shared growing up. Ed, the decorated Army Combat Veteran, in Fond du Lac with  whom for over 40 years I have shared inside jokes a love of offbeat Sci-Fi  and also with  Mike,  the retired deputy sheriff in Madison who, with their respective spouses still give me permission to be silly, and when needed, permission to be serious; and the incredible friendship and trust to just be me.

There is Todd, the Lawyer in Dallas, who challenged my own stereotypes and instead ended up teaching me invaluable lessons about acceptance and the power of true-life changing friendship.   There is Ira the diplomat in Brussels, and Tom and Karen, the couple in Georgia whose friendship has spanned more than three decades and two oceans. Who always knew, didn't care, and have always just loved me for who I am.   All of them, in doing so, forever changed, (and saved) my life.   

Along with Mark, the Career Air Force officer in Florida, and Dale, the IT guru in Wisconsin who I had the honor of being a Groomsmen at their respective weddings, and years later with their wives, are still sharing their adventures with me.

All these amazing people, along with so many others I am blessed to call my friends.  Including the friends who have passed away. Timothy, the Pastor in Pennsylvania, and James, the School Teacher from Boston, allies who both lived remarkable lives of always seeking the best in people and taught me to do the same.  I miss them every day.

In addition to the family we are given, there are the amazing LGBT families we build. I am so blessed to have folks like my “brother from another mother”, Daniel the incredible composer and playwright (and far better looking and talented than one person has any right to be… but ok fine, whatever…) along with his Michelin starred Chef husband Gerardo in NYC.   

My first “boyfriend’ John the Army Medic from Georgia, who taught me how to dance, and in doing so, to be at ease with myself.   Along with the brilliant and talented Khris Francis, my first real LGBT role model, and a dear friend who showed me the secret of life is be able to laugh at who I am.  Whose passing left the world, and the lives of those of us who knew and loved him, sadder and darker.

In the UK, there is the amazing osteopath Peter and his barrister, hubby Simon. Our dear friends NHS Nurse and the UK's own "Christmas Fairy" Danny with his husband Nick, and Julian the passionate activist, with his attorney hubby Wade raising their amazing son Matthew.

On this side of the Atlantic, my incredible and wonderful friend, the brilliant Actor Rudy with his better filmmaking half Lawrence. Along with Marc the courageous ER Nurse, HIV activist and international marathoner in Chicago and his wonderful educator husband, Josh raising their son and shining their light of authenticity for all to see,

These are only a few of the incredible folks who have been part of my journey....

Along with all these people, I have been blessed to have found wonderful communities of faith where I was shown that God is Love, and never hates. Trinity Lutheran in Madison, Holy Trinity in Chicago, St, Mark's Lutheran in San Francisco, St. Anne's Lutheran Church in London, and St. Luke’s Lutheran – Times Square in New York,  

And as always, my incredible god given family. In addition to my parents, there is my sister Leah, who with by Brother-in-Law Jean Georges with their three fantastic, brilliant, amazing and wonderful... (can you tell I’m a proud Uncle?) kids, Sophie, Jonathan and Sandrine, who with their spouses and significant others, have all given me strength to just .... be myself.

One of the greatest challenges in living authentically can be the risk bringing your “whole self” to the workplace. To say that my time working for Kaiser Permanente helped me on my journey, would be an epic understatement. To have been able to spend such a large part of my professional life at a company that saw Equity, Inclusion and Diversity not as something nice to have… but as business imperatives was one of the greatest gifts I could have ever hoped for.

And yes, to my friends PJ, and Chris along with others who, for reasons political, social, and religious felt they could not continue our friendship, I thank you as well. Not because I don't miss you, (for believe, me, I do, every day.)  Yet I owe you my thanks for showing me that the choice to live authentically does not come without cost, and therefore must not, ever be taken for granted.

There would not be time  or space to mention all the people or recall all the places and moments that have played a role in my own journey of self discovery  and acceptance. 

But now so many years on from being the scared kid in South Central Wisconsin, I can truly say that I am so very grateful for all of them. 

Last but never least, my husband Eric. To you I can only say I love you and thank you. You provide me with living proof every day that taking those first steps out of the closet were by far, the best ones I have ever made. 

Happy National Coming Out Day.

The Price We Pay...

There will be a lot written and said about the shooting death of conservative activist Charlie Kirk for years to come. This particular gun crime has all the elements of drama and conflicting narratives that will keep all sides of our media and the political world happily obsessed for a very long time.

A number of friends, knowing my personal political history have reached out asking for my thoughts on the shooting. I will confess those thoughts are complicated. But ok, since you asked.

Let’s get the few things clear up front…

Firstly, I am, as everyone should be, horrified by the shooting death of Charlie Kirk. Just as everyone should be equally horrified by the 330,587 firearm deaths in the United States so far this year. Including the 302 deaths in 309 mass shootings that have occurred in the US since January.

I have written many times that America does not have a “gun problem” it as much as it has a Gun Fetish. As a culture, guns get America’s d*ck hard. In the United States, we glorify guns (and gun violence) in media, entertainment and popular culture to such an extent, it makes the rest of the world look at us and wonder how we haven’t yet managed collectively to kill ourselves off in an orgy of horny crossfire.

Our political discourse is overflowing with such metaphors. A politician is a “straight shooter” , One party will have a particular issue “in the crosshairs”. A political scandal will have a “smoking gun”.

People we disagree with are “targeted”. And in perhaps the most Freudian slip of all, one party will use the “nuclear option” against the opposition.

Secondly, Charlie Kirk was shot and killed because of his political, sociocultural and racial beliefs. He is as much a victim of political assassination as Malcom X or Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. How I, or anyone else may feel about Kirk’s beliefs is irrelevant to this forensic fact.

This was a crime of political violence to silence / punish someone because of their views and is equally as unacceptable as any other such crime in American history.

Thirdly, we should be shocked but not surprised by this. To be clear, nothing Charlie Kirk has ever said or done warranted being murdered.

Just as James H. Barrett., John Bayard Britton, MD., David Gunn, MD., Shannon Lowney, Jennifer Markovsky, Leanne Nichols, Robert Sanderson., Barnett Slepian, MD or George Tiller, MD did not deserve to die for providing legal and safe reproductive medical care to women.

Yet Kirk had publicly called for the arrest , and capital murder prosecution of any health care professional who provides such care.

Likewise Former Minnesota Democratic House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, did nothing to cause their murder. Gunned down in their home last June, in a politically motivated killing,

Yet in the wake of the Kirks death, it is hard to ignore his rationalization of gun deaths in America as an acceptable price to pay for his preferred ideology. Including his interpretation of the 2nd Amendment’s right to bear arms as unquestionable, entirely un-regulatable and utterly sacrosanct. Kirk in his words two years ago:

“I think it’s worth it to have a cost of, unfortunately, some gun deaths every single year so that we can have the second amendment to protect our other God-given rights. That is a prudent deal. It is rational.”

The fact this this statement was one of more less provocative and controversial ones made by Kirk over the course of his career is unavoidable context when looking what at happened in Utah.

Charlie Kirk spent his professional life rhetorically attacking and often encouraging violence against those he disagreed with. I could fill page after page with quotes and examples of this but I have neither the time nor inclination. If you are curious you can find some of what I’m talking about here: https://www.theguardian.com/.../charlie-kirk-quotes-beliefs

It can be said, that Charlie Kirk died the way he wanted the rest of us to live. Where violence is an acceptable price to pay, if it serves to further your ideology over those you disagree with.

Back in College I was the editorial editor of one of the two student newspapers on campus. Our particular publication had a decidedly conservative slant. In 1990 the newspaper sponsored an event in the large concourse of the student union building to mark the 200th Anniversary of the Bill of Rights.

Speakers included student organization leaders, staff from the paper including myself, and Mark Belling a local Wisconsin conservative talk radio host known for his right-wing views and who, like Kirk had a long history of provocative and incendiary statements.

The event was protested by a collection of more left-learning student groups and individuals, and quickly devolved into violence with protesters throwing hard objects like ice, small rocks, and coins at the stage.

During my prepared remarks, (on the importance of the First Amendment protecting all points of view) , my eyeglasses were knocked off my face and broken and my face sustained a minor cut by the objects being thrown. It got to the point that Belling and the other speakers had to exit the area for their own safety.

The great irony being had my physical attackers actually heard my remarks they would have largely agreed with everything I was saying. But the climate of political division that had developed in the context of the first gulf war, played right into the idea that even listening to someone you disagree with was unacceptable, and instead they must be silenced.

In the weeks that followed. I and other people at the event received multiple death threats. At the time I treated it cavalierly. Even joking about it as something of a “badge of honor”, that my words and ideas would generate such an outsized response.

I confess, I would not feel that way today.

So yes, political violence does have a very real chilling effect. On all parts of our national social and political spectrum. In his inaugural address in 1989, President George HW Bush lamented that America seemed to be in a place where; “not each other’s ideas are challenged, but each other’s motives.”

The legacy and lesson of the shooting of Charlie Kirk may well be that America has become what President Bush feared. A place where ideological difference is the ultimate justification. You can demonize any and all opposing views and those who hold them as the “enemy” and in doing so, make them less worthy of the rights to the pursuit of happiness, liberty or even life.

The absence of Charlie Kirk’s voice from our national discourse is, in my opinion not a loss for America. But how that voice came to be removed absolutely is. It has made our nation weaker, more dangerous and far less free.

Remembering a September Morning

  (The following is an update of an entry from Sept. 11th, 2011)

This weekend the media, and the blogosphere will  undoubtedly be full of all sorts of remembrances and commentary around the 24th  anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States on September 11, 2001.

To be honest I really don't like to dwell on the topic. Not out of any sense of personal pain, but more out of respect, for those people I know who were far closer to the events of that day than I was. My experience that day was a somewhat surreal one.

I had gotten up very early and caught a flight from Chicago Midway to Houston. I was heading there for work. It was about 20 minutes into the flight, the seat belt sign had just turned off, and people where shifting about, getting comfortable. I had just pulled out my laptop to work on the presentation I was going to be giving later that day. Suddenly the seat belt sign came back on, and the crew announced that everyone was to return to their seats and prepare for landing, the flight would be returning to Chicago.

The Pilot then came on the speaker system to say that there was nothing wrong with the plane, and we were returning to Chicago because the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) had ordered the flight to return to "clear air traffic". He said that was all the information they had, and he apologized for the inconvenience.

Everyone on the plane thought the same thing. (Not terrorism.) Chicago Midway had upgraded to a new Air Traffic Control System earlier in the Summer and a few weeks prior, there had been a series of glitches that had delayed several flights.  Everyone groaned, made comments about "Government Efficiency" assuming it was yet another problem with Midway's system that was going to mess up  our day.

This  assumption that was bolstered when the captain came back on the loudspeaker  and announced  that we were not returning to Midway but rather we were diverted to Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.

The woman sitting next to me was happy about this thinking at least it might be easier to get on the next flight out to Houston. I nodded, and said "I hope so", thinking of how I might salvage the rest of my schedule that day and make my afternoon meetings on time.

It took us about 30 minutes of circling over O'Hare before we could land. Sitting in a window seat I watched as the line of planes waiting to land stretched to the far horizon and oddly enough, no planes were taking off. I commented on this to the woman next to me, and she said "wow Midway's systems must be really screwed up!" I laughed and said that what we get for Ronald Reagan having fired all the good Air Traffic Controllers. She laughed and said she had forgotten about that.

We landed and had to wait an additional 20 minutes to get a gate. but finally pulled up to a jetway , and we all lumbered off the plane into the gate area I was getting annoyed because people were not clearing the area in front of the door but were all standing around the televisions that were tuned to the CNN Airport Network. I was about to say a loud "excuse me!" when I happened to look up at the TV and saw CNN  replay footage from ABC of the second plane hitting the World Trade Center.

CNN then cut to live shot of a column of smoke and ash where the World Trade Center Towers were supposed to be, but weren't. I called my office and my boss told me not to come in, The area in downtown Chicago around the Sears Tower was being evacuated. I called my parents and let them know I was not in Houston, got on the CTA Blue Line and went home.   The rest of that day I did what most Americans did, watched the news, and when the images became overwhelming, I put on my roller blades and went blading along the Lake Michigan shoreline.

It was a brilliant sunny day. One of those late Summer, early Fall days that you get in Chicago that make you appreciate what a beautiful city it is. As I stopped at Oak Street Beach and admired the downtown Chicago skyline, I didn't think that somehow the "world had changed". But rather I found myself thinking how the United States had  sadly, finally  joined the rest of the world.

Before that that morning, Terrorism was something that happened in other places, Israel, Lebanon London, Belfast , places far away. Even the first World Trade Center bombing for many people, didn't seem like international terrorism. After all, the people responsible were caught when they tried to get the deposit back on the rental van they had used. (How sinister could people that dumb be?)    That is what changed I think, it was the moment America lost the illusion that somehow our two oceans would keep us safe from global terrorism.

For friends of mine who lived in New York on that day,  I understand  that  today  is a much different  experience for them.   A  friend of mine is  a New York City Police Officer  who  lost an arm in the attack that day.   Another friend of mine worked  for an investment bank housed in the  North Tower,  she had a doctors appointment so she didn't go into work  that morning.   For her, today  is a reminder of  the  friends and co-workers  she lost  that day.

For the numerous friends of mine who have served in the Middle East  with the American and British Armed Forces in both Iraq and Afghanistan, they deal with the effects September 11, 2001 on a far different  and more directly personal level than most people ever will.

So I, along with  people all over the world  will remember the events of that day, pray for those who were lost, and show solidarity and support for friends and family for whom this anniversary is far more personal than political.

God Bless America, God bless us all.

Transitions...

In her essay  “Wear Sunscreen,  essayist Mary Schmich wrote that everyone should ;  "Live in New York City once but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once but leave before it makes you soft."    I never really understood  the full meaning of that until now.  Partly because  I had always incorrectly attributed the quote to  Armistead  Maupin, but mostly because I had never lived in New York.

Now having lived in both places,  I understand what she was talking about.  `

I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area  for 16 years. Eight years in downtown San Francisco, and then after seven years in  Southeast London,  We moved back and lived another 8 years  in the East Bay in Downtown Oakland.     Then a little over a year and half ago, we  moved to New York City, living in Midtown Manhattan, just a stone’s throw from the United Nations.

I have always described Northern California as “an easy first date” .  San Francisco throws its doors open and happily takes whoever wants to come in. It is one of the few major US metro areas where you can still  live easily without  owning  a car.   Yes,  the Bay Area is expensive,  but  logistically  it is a very easy place to live.   So much so that  after a while you start to forget that the rest of the U.S.  isn’t  like that.  Places where Winter isn’t when temperatures dip into the low 60’s  and in summer  people need this thing called ‘air conditioning’?      As a result, living in  Northern California quickly becomes  comfortable

Or, as  Schmich puts it,  it can make you ‘soft.’

New York City is  the opposite.  While like SF,  people can  live here without the need to own a car.  Riding transit  in this city is part  reality show (Urban Survivor) and part National Geographic special.  

Consequently, New Yorkers with the means to, spend large amounts of money on car services to take them pretty much everywhere.  The streets are full of massive fleets of  back SUV’s with tinted windows driven by people  in black suits  with white shirts and  thin black ties.   The fact that this results in more time spent in traffic than if you had just got out and walked,  is pretty much irrelevant. Also, the hallmark of NYC Traffic is drivers who  use their horns  like drivers in other places use headlights.

New York is an argument.   Every day you will find yourself in a  confrontation with some aspect of living in this city.   Apartment hunting here  makes The Hunger Games look like little league. People will rush on to the subway to get seats like they are half price IPads on Black Friday.    

Restaurants  are  about  the “experience”  far more than the food.   A dear  friend of ours works at one of the most expensive restaurants in this city.   It is a place where people seem to go there more to publicly demonstrate their ability to afford it,  than to actually enjoy it.

New York will fight you every day.  The line from the song is completely true, if you can make it here,  you really can make it anywhere. It’s largely why people in this city are the  aggressive,  often rude,  always competitive, amazingly resilient and successful  people that they are.   

The energy of this city is palpable,  intense,  exciting,  relentless and  frankly exhausting.  Which is why most New Yorkers you see on the street have the intense look of someone who is  about to come down off of a Red Bull high.  

Or as Schmich puts it,  New York can make you ‘hard.’

Don’t get me wrong,  New York deserves all  the hype.  It is  an amazing city, that truly never sleeps.  Its self-image as the center of … everything is well earned.   But it is a place where the driving cultural force appears to be  FOMO.   (Fear of Missing Out)  I have seen people jump in a queue outside of a store on 5^th Avenue with no idea what it was for.  But people were lining up so it must be something,  and you don’t dare miss out.

Times Square is awash with “content creators / influencers”  all trying to film the next great  viral  tick-tock trend.  Where in the 70’s and 80’s  you  might have been  asked you if you were  “looking for good time”.  Now you’ll get handed a QR code and be asked to  “like and subscribe”.    

As a result, you know the moment you have transitioned from being a visitor to New York to someone who lives here is when you will happily go ten blocks out of your way just to avoid Times Square.

There is a great moment  from Stephen Sondheim’s “Company”  (which may well be,  the greatest musical where one of the central characters is  New York City - with all due respect to Bernstein).  During the song “Another Hundred People”, where one of the characters tells the lead she is moving away saying: "there's a time to come to New York, and a time to leave" 

Now our apartment is once again a sea of boxes and strapping tape with piles of belongings to sort through into Pack- Ship or Toss piles.  As we pack for  yet another move, this time, back to my hometown,  Madison, WI.    

The original reason for the move to New York, was twofold;  First, to be closer to my parents  whose health was declining.  Flight time from SFO  to MSN under the best of circumstances was 6 hours plus, with the ever delightful connections in either Chicago or Denver. Second, was  to take a new  job in the financial / professional services sector,  the industry where I began my career nearly three decades ago.   

Then a year and half in,  two things happened.   The first was the sheer stupidity of the Trump administration.  Which  has made life and doing business very difficult for international companies who rely on global workforce mobility.   (Even for my employer which to put it bluntly,  has very close ties with Trump.)   So  having my role based in the U.S,  really didn’t  make sense.   So  we parted ways with a friendly handshake and  a very large check, for which I am quite grateful.

The second thing was my dad’s health took a  serious  and  sustained  downward turn.  So, we made the obvious choice to move to Wisconsin.  A decision that was made even easier when I was offered a  very interesting and challenging new job with the Wisconsin State Government .   

Friends  and colleagues have been full of  praise for our decision citing what a “good son” I am.   I have had to smile at that.   I think  if you were to poll my parents  for adjectives  to describe their experience raising me,  “good Son”  would make the list,  but probably not on the top half of it.

This past week  my dad passed away.   An event that has altered the context  for the move but not the core reasons for it.  Now the focus  shifts to my Mom,  and surprisingly,  revisiting my own roots.    

I was joking with my Mom that  we are going from living across from the UN, to living across from a  Kwik Trip.   A move that some would consider a definite step up. 

I guess we will soon find out.  As the Wisconsin state motto says….

“Forward”.

A Letter to My Hometown...

 Dear Sun Prairie, Wisconsin

It has been said that your hometown is the forge out of which the person you are today was made. I find I struggle with that sentiment, and probably always will. My relationship with you, my “hometown” is, as Facebook might describe it… “complicated”. So, I thought it’s a good time to clear the air about a few things.

For years, I dreaded coming back to visit you. Did everything I could to avoid it even, and as a result felt really guilty about it. Why? That’s what’s complicated.

For the past couple weeks I have been back visiting. (There hasn’t been time  time to see friends this trip and I apologize for that.) The purpose of the visit was to spend time with my Parents. My Mom and Dad now live in a senior living community on the far East side of Madison,  just down the road from you, and are both in their mid 80’s.

One of the primary motivations for moving back the United States eight years ago, was to be closer to them. Having a number of lifelong  friends  who recently have lost one or both of their parents, I am keenly aware that I have fewer days ahead with them than there are behind.

So now instead of being 4,000 miles and a 9-hour flight away in London, or 2,000 miles and a 6 hour flight  way in San Francisco,  I am now 940  miles and a 2-hour flight away in New York City.

But returning to Dane County is always an odd experience for me. It’s like one of those Science Fiction movies where someone travels in time then gets back to the present and starts to notice how the timeline was changed. 

Things are mostly familiar, but there a few glaring differences that make it clear that the place you returned to, is not the same place you left.

The thing you notice right off the bat, is how Sun Prairie is just so much BIGGER. Growing up here in the 70’s and 80’s there were  5 elementary schools, one Jr. High School and one High school. Now there are ten elementary schools, three middle schools, TWO high schools and two… of whatever Phoenix Academy and the Sun Prairie Virtual School are.

On a previous  trip back here in 2022, the front page of the Wisconsin State Journal sports section had  a full-page story on the first ever football game  between the  Sun Prairie East Cardinals and the Sun Prairie West, Wolves.  A game that was played not just on Ashley Field, but rather AT Ashley Field IN the Bank of Sun Prairie Stadium.

My family moved to Sun Prairie when I was in first grade. I went from Pier Elementary School in Fond Du Lac, to Northside Elementary in the fall of that year. I remember at the time, thinking how, Sun Prairie with its proximity to Madison felt like a real “city” compared to tiny, small town Fond Du Lac.

In time, however, that feeling would wear off.

I have said my relationship with Sun Prairie is a complicated one, and that is very true. But let me be clear, I feel very lucky to have grown up here. It was a wonderfully safe, and yes for the most part, fun place to be from.   Sun Prairie Public Schools, while certainly not perfect, were better than most and gave me a well-rounded education that has served me  in life. I had and continue to have amazing and wonderful friends here. Friends who played a huge role in my becoming the person I am today.

Sun Prairie, Wisconsin is and will always be my ‘hometown’. It is where I am from.

But…

One of the nice things about getting older is that old friends can be honest with each other. So here goes...

I am from here, but I have never ever felt like I belonged here.

Growing up here was living in a place that made it very clear, that … “noticeable individuality” was something that would make your life difficult. It's safe to say that "back in the day" I was not someone who was in with the "cool kids". My varsity letter (yes, I have one) was in Extemporaneous Speech. (Yeah, I know... you actually can letter in that, who knew?) So, I didn't fit in very well. I was an awkward kid with mild stutter, who wasn’t interested in sports, had a graduate school level vocabulary and interests that greatly differed from most of my classmates.

And for better or worse, back in the early 1980’s,  Sun Prairie was  not a place that smiled upon being "different". As a result, even as a young child, it became clear that I would always, to a certain extent, be on the outside looking in. Consequently, coming back here is an emotionally mixed experience.

Don't get me wrong, I had (and still have) amazing friends and great memories. Yet it really was a whole different life. Growing up here as a gay kid was pretty much a daily exercise in terror. The ultimate put-down was to say something was "gay" or to be called a "fag". And you  saw kids who were even slightly effeminate or "different" getting tormented on a daily basis.

There was no such thing a Gay-Straight alliances, or “Safe Spaces” for LGBT youth. Back in High School,   when I was one of the editors of the Cardinal Courier, the school newspaper an organization called “The United” , (a groundbreaking nonprofit support and counseling organization that served Gay and Lesbian teens in South Central Wisconsin) contacted us. They wanted to buy an ad in the paper advertising their crisis counseling phone  line for Gay teens. The reaction was… stark.

Teachers and classmates that I had thought would be somewhat progressive were suddenly “seriously concerned”, angry even that we might be “promoting the homosexual lifestyle”, and even potentially pushing some poor confused soul into it, just by running an ad for a crisis counseling hotline.

The experience taught me a very clear lesson. Mainly that Sun Prairie, while not a bad place to grow up, would be a very dangerous place to be grown up.

There would never be a first date, a dance or a kiss stolen at a locker in between classes. To even attempt such a thing would be suicide. Literally.

Thankfully one of the “alternate timeline” changes you notice coming back here is the daily reality for a gay kid at Sun Prairie East is, (at least to a certain extent I think) far better today.  Yet, I will confess, even now decades later, driving around town is an exercise in both wonderful nostalgia and mild PTSD.

So, my dear Sun Prairie… I now regularly come back. As much as I would have liked my Parents to have moved out to California to be with me and my husband, and my sister and her family. The aftermath of the Covid pandemic made that big  of a move, too difficult for them.  

So,  I am resigned to the fact that they will always live  here in Dane County. So, I will continue to come back.  Often even,  and  I am happy to do so.

I am grateful to be able to say  that I am from here.  But I am also able to make peace with that fact that I did not, still do not,  and never will,  belong here.

Not a bad thing, just the truth.

Go Cardinals… I hope you beat the Wolves.

Love,

Dave