Gay as an Insult
An angry face drawn on a board. Credit: Unsplash
Once, I was on the bus headed home from school, and a girl I had never really talked to before struck up a conversation with me. I welcomed it, and we talked about school: the classes we were taking, our favorite courses, so forth and so on.
Then, we talked about dating. She had a boyfriend (I don’t remember his name; I wouldn’t tell it anyway). She described how wonderful he was and how lucky she felt to have him in her life. It was really lovely to hear, and when she was done talking about him, she asked, “You still dating so-and-so?”
It wasn’t a surprise that I had a girlfriend in high school, but it did surprise me that she knew I had a girlfriend. This is going to sound really bad, but this girl was considered a weirdo at school, and no one really socialized with her except for a handful of kids. People like this at school were often left on the outskirts when it came to the latest school gossip or happenings of Bumfuck, Virginia. Nevertheless, I confirmed that I was still with my girlfriend.
“Ah! You’re a carpet muncher!”
I was taken aback. I’d never been called that before, and I didn’t even really know what that was. “A carpet muncher? What the hell is that?!”
She basically told me it’s another name for a lesbian. I didn’t like it. If she thought I was a lesbian, she could have said that or at least asked. She didn’t have to call me that. Also, I wasn’t a lesbian. I was bisexual, so her deduction was all wrong anyway.
I quickly corrected her and told her that I didn’t like that term. I don’t remember much after that. The only thing I remember is that she didn’t apologize, which put a bad taste in my mouth, so I moved to another seat away from her. I was already catching flak from my parents and other students at school for being bi. I didn’t need that shit on the bus on my way home, too.
Now, in my big age, I know what I was called is a derogatory term, a slur, that’s meant to hurt. I am not sure if that’s what the weird girl from high school was trying to do, but that was the result. After that day on the bus, I’d see her in the halls at school, sometimes with her boyfriend, but I never spoke to her again.
Since then, I’ve been called many names. Some of them were really sweet, like sweetheart, darling, or pudding pie. That last one is my favorite; pudding pie was what my dad used to call me. I’ve been called other things, too, like bitch, asshole, slut, and some other awful things, but those words didn’t always hurt me like they were intended. I actually embraced the harsh name-calling sometimes and would use it to describe myself every now and then. I mean, who hasn’t referred to themselves as a bitch or an asshole at some point in their lives?
However, it’s the harsh slurs I never expected or heard of that really offended me. Carpet muncher, I think, tops the list only because it was the first homophobic slur I ever heard. Fag caught me off guard. I knew gay men were called that often, but I never expected someone to call me that. And, of course, I’ve been called nigger plenty of times. It’s white people’s go-to word for Black people. I guess when it comes to ignorance and hatred, unfortunately, anything goes.
Out of all of the names I’ve been called, I’ve only been comfortable with one: gay. Yes, that is correct. I do refer to myself as gay, but people tend to use it with a negative connotation. And even though I understand the intent behind it, it doesn’t bother me because, to me, it’s just nonsense.
Being gay isn’t bad. Being gay is just being gay. Yet, lots of people think queerness is sinful, obscene, monstrous, disgusting, and so many other awful things. It’s not, though, and I wish people would stop trying to make me and every other gay person something we’re not.
I believe that when someone sees that you live differently from them, one of two things happens. Either they accept it or they don’t. For me, there’s no middle ground when it comes to acceptance. None. If I tell someone I’m queer, and they look at me as if I have a third eyeball somewhere on my face, I know they aren’t accepting, and they’ll most likely treat me poorly. If someone says, “That’s gay!” with their face all scrunched up like they got a whiff of a skunk, they are not accepting. They’re actually homophobic as fuck, and I need to stay away from them.
Have I ignored these red flags in the past? Absolutely! There was a time when I was trying to find my place in the world, and if anyone was willing to have me in their space, I was happy. But just because someone was okay with me being around them didn’t mean that they actually wanted me there. Or maybe they did want me there, but in a way that suited them, which was also not ideal or healthy.
If someone truly accepts me for who I am, they will let me shine. They will give me space to be my authentic self, even if they are straight, Christian, non-Black, or whatever else that I am not. In my eyes, it’s one of the many ways that you can adore me, and it tells me that even though we are different, we can coexist.
I don’t have much of a tolerance when it comes to homophobes and the ways they try to oppress and belittle us. Gay is not slander, a monstrosity, or stamped on my damn forehead. Gay is one of the many traits I have, but it doesn’t entirely encompass who I am. Gay is certainly a lifestyle I live, but it’s not the only lifestyle I live by. Therefore, using the word gay as an insult is ignorant as hell. So, if people can’t see past the SUPER GAY I supposedly have stamped on my forehead, then they can kindly fuck off.
