I wrote a couple of blogs ago about connection to the varieties of art, whether it be performed, written, painted, or expressed in a multitude of other ways. Well, my friends, I've connected to a book. Deeply.
I can't get Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart out of my head and heart. It's beautiful and terribly painful. Beautiful in the language and flow of story, the complexity of characters, the descriptions of an early 1990s Glasgow and surrounding country, the tapestry of human experience. Painful in the anguish, the hurt, self-inflicted torture, the confusion, the dehumanization of the queer community.
Painful because I see a loved teenage boy raised in an environment where he's still convinced he's less-than, broken, and destined to be a disappointment. I see a teenage boy desperate to please those he loves, desperate to love correctly in order to please, desperate to love himself. I see a teenage boy cloaking his feelings, lying to himself, trying to convince himself of a truth he doesn't believe deep down, presented with a false idol of masculinity, and so tangled in confusion he's suffocating.
Ultimately, I see me.
Please, hear me, this isn't a woe-is-me post. I want to be clear on that. I love my teenage self, I've sat and held my teenage self. He is loved, was loved, and will be loved. This isn't about him. This isn't about me. This is about the other teenagers, children, and young adults who need to know they're okay. They're good. They're loved. They're enough.
I watched yet another story on CBS Saturday Morning of the political happenings in Florida, the debate over curriculum, the censoring of books and what the students there are allowed to learn and teachers aren't allowed to teach, provide, or mention. Whether it's a queer child who knows exactly where their heart is pulled or a high schooler who's identity is condemned by political or religious authoritative figures, this self-righteous squelching of other human experiences and perceptions is born purely out of fear. Fear presented as holiness. Fear presented as purity. Fear presented as truth. Fear presented as the defender of goodness. Straight. White. "Christian". Fear.
While watching the same news story, my heart broke for a young boy from Florida, maybe 5th or 6th grade, sitting with his mom, sad because his favorite book was pulled from his school library's shelves. A book in which the main character, a boy, has a crush on another boy. I don't know if the boy identifies as gay, it doesn't matter, but he connected to the story. Books with queer representation for young readers are lifelines, mirrors, soothing voices proclaiming others see you and understand, and stepping stones for growing allies.
And books like Young Mungo also serve as warnings, reflections of the past, sometimes not so distant, encouraging us to change the direction of the future.
Like the title of this post expresses, I don't know how to end this entry. I'm furious, heartbroken, humiliated, and emboldened.
You are enough. You are valuable. You are needed. You are wanted. You are precious. You are here. You are real.
Comments