[Ed note: please welcome Anthony Romeo. Please read his brilliant words. Please feel free to get chippy in the comments. Please tweet at his face here.]
And you, and you, and you, you’re gonna love me. And then I’m going to rip your team apart, and you’re going to hate me. But I promise, there’s a good boy here. Well, good…ish. Ten years ago is a long time for me, and maybe it’s not for you. But when I picked up the phone ten years ago and told a friend that I was gay, it was a big deal. I mean, it was The Big Deal.
I was 17, I had just graduated high school, and the news spread through my small upstate farm town like wildfire; folks driving by my house yelled “faggot” at my 11 and 12 year old sister and brother, my parents had their windshield broken out. Dickens was a liar, because mostly, it was just the worst of times.
I was closeted, but like many, knew that life after high school would provide the most appropriate safety net for me to make the big leap. I got to college feeling like I could make a new start, wear my own skin for the first time, be a full person. Maybe kiss a boy. Or two. Or thr…I digress.
Freshman year, October. A deflating 3-2 Overtime loss left me dragging my goalie pads back to my dorm room at Seton Hall University. I hadn’t played a great game, but I knew we could rebound the following week, for my birthday game.
White walls stained red with paint and ink, the words were everywhere. “Faggot.” “Queer.” “Homo.” Someone had branded my dorm door with their labels while I was out stopping 70 mph slapshots. If I had been a defenseman, I probably would have found someone to beat up. I’m a goalie, so instead, I just internalized everything and pouted. The University investigated the vandalism, but not the message behind it. Human dignity isn’t a property issue, and the good folks at The Hall didn’t seem to know the difference. Well, I did.
Throughout the whole experience, I just wanted to be treated like a normal kid. The kid who strapped on his goalie pads every week and (mostly) stopped the puck was the same kid who kissed a boy. (And I liked it.) The same kid doing a press conference with CNN and ABC and NBC was also the kid who wanted to eat chicken nuggets and sing “Bring Him Home” when his roommate left for the night.
And now, maybe I’m not a normal guy. But something next to normal would be okay. I get to wear a lot of hats. I work in concert production. I’m a brother, a son, a goalie, a public speaker, an activist, a cat-owner, a husband, and a theatergoer. While ten years have come and gone, I am still shocked to see the ease with which people are able to transition from chrysalis to butterfly. That’s not to say that coming out is without its challenges.
Maybe we’re building a world where stories like mine are commonplace, normal, boring even. Hell, I’m a Devils fan, don’t think for a second that I can’t equate boring with success.
Until next time. Your team sucks and I hate them, Romeo
