Come sit, Dear Senator,
At my uncle’s wedding toast. But close your eyes and only listen: can you tell whether he’s marrying a man or woman? From the conviction of love and caring, does it matter?
Come sit, Dear Senator,
Court side while my volleyball team takes a casual break chatting away between matches. You might realize that the people in the National Gay Volleyball Association actually live quite normal lives.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
And watch a pop gay television show, RuPauls Drag Race, and witness the ignorance even within and between the LGBTQ community. We aren’t perfect, either: there’s a lot that we don’t know about each other, and we tend to turn on each other for being “more different than us”. (But at least we apologize and change.)
Come sit, Dear Senator,
And look through the eyes of a teen struggling in her own identity. Even while considering the long-and-growing alphabet soup of the LGBTQQAIP spectrum, she still doesn’t find a label that feels quite right. We need more than labels, we need open and accepting conversation.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
At the last conversation a mother has with her son: what reasons could she possibly have to support for throwing him out of her home? They might sound similar.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
And scroll through YouTube’s “It Gets Better Videos.” Everybody can relate to the struggle of LGBTQ teens, but this sympathy and connection is lost through silence and censorship.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
At my family’s dinner table, and listen to the uncomfortable silence that permeates the air. Even years after I came out, my father is still not prepared for any verbal acknowledgment of my sexuality.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
And take a look at my favorite book sitting there on my bookshelf, take a read even. Am I Blue? has endless short stories that each tell part of my own story, but it remains tucked away on my bookshelf because I’m afraid it will put me under fire no matter what setting I share it with.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
At a table where you are no longer the majority. These are the political “children’s tables” at the Thanksgiving feast, where you are used to carving your slices of “morality” and serving it on a silver platter. Equality tastes a lot better than stale “family values”.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
At the door of the student living in a small, conservative town, who received Fun Home as a summer reading book and, with it, his or her first time experiencing the life of a gay person.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
At the tables of religious leaders who are reconsidering the sinfulness of homosexuality. Our book can be misinterpreted just as yours can.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
In any history classroom and listen to the hard fought battles for the civil rights of African Americans and women, yet not a word spoken for the lives dedicated and lost to the LGBT movement. We are living through a new civil rights movement, and those experiencing it firsthand know nothing about the Stone Wall, Harvey Milk, or Matthew Shepard.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
In any of our campus’ classes. You may notice that, in fact, the most common reason we are discussing homosexuality now is thanks to your potential bill.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
In a meeting of the board who decides every year’s Summer Reads book. Instead of a “gay agenda”, you may notice that their intentions fall more along the lines of: introducing academic debate in an area with no clear answer and entering into a realm that might be foreign but still relatable and important.
Come sit, Dear Senator,
In a room filled with strangers, all relating to the musical production of Fun Home. This “garbage” is not just one story, but all of our stories.
