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from Interviews/Testimonials
Goal: Belonging to the Team
By James Mark Sanks
A feeling of "not belonging" in the company of other males is a common, if not universal, childhood memory for men who struggle with same-sex attractions.
The following is a first-person account by a NARTH member who is familiar with the struggle.
I had never played football before. Not for real. But I did
in eighth grade, because I knew in Nebraska that's what it
took to be a guy. So when the quarterback called the play
that called on me, I was downright scared.
I took the handoff, first dodging a lineman. Two defensive
backs closed in--and had me doomed for sure. Adrenalin masked
my self-doubt; I darted right, leaving the first opponent
crumpled on the ground. The other found himself outpaced in
a man-to-man footrace. Then, between the goal line and me:
vacant territory!
I have completely forgotten that final sprint. I only know
that I suddenly found myself there, alone in the end zone. I
just stood there without emotion, puzzled. Acres of parched
September turf distanced me from cheering teammates thirty
yards back. I literally stared at the blank wall of North
Platte's Madison Junior High School.
That couldn't have happened. I don't know how to do that!
That wasn't me.
There in North Platte I had done the "guy-est" thing of all:
I made the big play of the opening game that earned me
helmet slaps from my teammates, a reluctant post-game
acknowledgement from the coach, and the title "Joltin' Jim"
for the remainder of the season.
I should have counted that touchdown run as a victory, but I
just felt numb. It should have been a defining moment, a
rite of passage, but I discounted it out of a sense of lack
of entitlement.
Self-doubt is certainly every adolescent's plague. But in my
case, a magnified sense of shame meant I felt I was not
entitled to my own masculinity. That sense characterized my
homosexual pathology. That sense, in fact, sums up my
experiences as I tried to relate in the world of my male
peers since I first sought entry into the world of men---at
about the time of my short-lived junior-high school football
career.
Most of my life had been about the failure to gain admission
into that special club: manhood. But instead of working
toward the goal of joining the "team" of men, I withdrew for
more than a decade as I sought my identity in--and even
stridently promoted--the homosexual culture. (I was co-chair
of the Harvard-Radcliffe Gay and Lesbian Student
Association.)
Now, upon reflection, I understand it to be a linguistic
problem. The word "homosexual" never described what it was
that I was really after. What I wanted was to participate,
to be taught the role, initiated into the world of men by a
salient father. My own father was somewhat invisible; he was
married to an in-charge, strong-willed woman. So I could
only learn my role as a man accordingly. Like father, like
son.
I felt invisible when I made that six-point junior-high
gridiron sprint. That invisibility has subsequently been a
key component of my homosexual pathology. I lived my life
through projection; I lived vicariously through the lives of
other men. It was as if I would pour myself into containers
judged temporarily worthy--one plastic jug after another. I
watched as my life took shape in the form of false idols. I
sought my idealized "should-be," rather than forging my own
ideal "is." It was not a life of participation, but a life
as voyeur.
Things are changing now. Now I stand at the cusp of
heterosexual awareness. The sensation is unusual.
Decent-looking men occasionally catch a glance, but interest
is sagging. There is a brooding "So what?" A sense of
emptiness ensues.
And a decent-looking woman? "Sexual" is not the first word
that comes to mind. "Pleasing"-- certainly, for now. A woman
nicely dressed turns my head. Sometimes I feel like pausing
and saying, "Wow! You sure are pretty." And in the
chest--that feeling they call "breathtaking"-- is true.
There's true interest now, accompanied by a feeling I've
never negotiated before. That hard-to-describe feeling is
remarkable: the sense that I'm actually there.
These days, I'm more at home; there's the feeling that now I
belong in my body. And football? It's a great sport, but no
longer vexing. And my goal -- "belonging to the team" -- can
be achieved without it.
Updated: 3 September 2008
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