I have a tendency to be very political. I am opinionated, conservative, and I vote; this leads to lack of fear about taking on differing perspectives. I am a registered Republican with Constitutionalist leanings; I’m Catholic. I’m white. I’m married with children. …and I’m really, really tired of people picking on my little brother because he’s gay.
Dear Profane Group of Men who are Old Enough to Know Better but Clearly Have Masculinity Issues:
I happened to be within earshot of the conversation you were having in front of my children’s school. Actually, I think people four states over were within earshot of your conversation, which is probably why the Principal asked you to keep your voices down or leave the premises. Before you removed yourselves, I heard the following statement: “[effing] faggots can’t fight for sh*t. Not a one of ’em can shoot straight or make a fist without crying about breaking a [GD] nail.”
Now, I understand that you weren’t talking about my little brother directly. Worse than that, you were making a grossly incorrect generalization. I don’t know all homosexual people; in fact, I can think of only five or six gay or lesbian individuals whom I would call friends. Let me, on Levi’s behalf at least, square you away with a few details. Perhaps then, the next time you decide to make total asses of yourselves, you’ll have better information, and therefore, a more intelligent argument.
When my little brother was still in grade school, he almost killed a man for beating up our mother. This man had been in the Army, was a raging drunk, and had our mother by the throat. Levi not only removed this man from our mother’s neck, he then proceeded to punch him numerous times and then throw him into a television set, head first. Sadly, the TV wasn’t plugged in and hadn’t been for a while. Since that wasn’t satisfactory, Levi then broke the coffee table over the man’s back, sending him to the hospital where he had to explain why a child nearly paralyzed him. My little brother can ride horses with no saddle and no bridle; he’s ridden horses that grown men are afraid to be in the pen with. He defended himself against the entire football team in Yelleville, Arkansas. He has, much to my mother’s horror, stood upright in the yard and watched as a tornado grazed their house. He’s hired people and fired people and he works hard. When I had a miscarriage while my husband was gone with the Army, Levi held my hand while I bled and cried and begged for more pain meds. When he lived in North Carolina, he had no trouble getting a date; his dates all came from MCAS Cherry Point. They were all male Marines, who, like yourselves, probably bolstered their homophobia about like a rag doll while the lights were on.
I’m not defending the gay and lesbian lifestyle. I will not offer you my opinion on same-sex marriages. What I will say is this: generalizations are lethal and their victims are usually the dignity of those who proffer them. My little brother is gay; probably every body who is gay is somebody’s little brother or sister, surely they have parents and hopes and dreams and fears and dislike brussels sprouts, too. They are people. You want to pick on someone? Fine. Do it to their faces and be specific. If you’re so big and tough and strong, have the intestinal fortitude to use your words, not your fists, and calmly explain your point of view. Then be really, really tough: stand there and listen while the other person explains his side.
You want to try and claim that Jesus hates “faggots”? You’re wrong, because Jesus doesn’t hate. Jesus is kind to those who society tosses aside. He prays for them and he prays with them. You want to try and protest at a hero’s funeral because of your hatred and stupidity? Don’t do it in the name of my Jesus. My Jesus protects and befriends sinners. My Jesus loves my little brother.
My little brother is gay and he could totally kick your butt.
Proud Sister of Levi.