Ordinarily, my nonsensical ego prevents me from setting foot in Walmart. It's the breeding place for future hate crimes suspects. But they do have those cheap cheap cheap collared white shirts for work. Seriously, $12.99. A little starch and ironing and you can't tell it apart from more expensive versions.
But yesterday, I was on a mission.
I've started to knit.
No really.
I knit.
Mini scarves (scarfs?), potholders, bookmarks. Well, actually they all look the same. I just like to label them as different items.
The only problem was that I've moved past my "Knitting for Kids" kit with the two plastic needles held together by some plastic thing and the yarn that unwinds when exposed to oxygen, I suppose. But, I've been unable to find a specialty craft store. Well, I haven't really looked.
But yesterday I was on a mission. I wanted to knit. I wanted to knit right then and there. So I found myself at Walmart. That's when it hit me.
I still feel some kind of lingering shame and embarassment about embracing my postmodern masculinity. Or, more accurately, my ninny sissy fairiness.
I realized this as I pushed my cart through the fabric section looking for the shelves of yarn. Several of the women stole a few glances at me. Although I had no intention of buying fabric, I spotted a really cool pattern with Nemo characters. Cheesy enough to be cool. As I was standing there and pretty much fondling the fabric, I realized the women were staring at me and whispering.
I suddenly felt so self-conscious that I considered running to the hardware section, grabbing a hammer or some kind of manly implement and returning to fondle my fabric. The implement and my interest in fabric would have cancelled each other out.
As I finally found the shelves of yarn, I realized that I had been having a conversation in my head about what anyone would think or say or do after seeing me shopping for yarn and fondling fabric.
I really shouldn't have cared. Shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't give a shit. Yeah, I knit. Yeah, I worship the Runway. Yeah, I like to hold hands with guys. Find me something wrong with any of that.
As I'm writing this, I'm remembering a quote from Beth Loffreda's book, Losing Matt Shepard. In detailing the complex, intricate ways in which sexuality has been understood, expressed and expereinced in Laramie, and by extension across the country, she observes a recurring theme of
"...the frustration that comes with having been forced to study the perimeter of (one's) own safety."
I thought I was over the sense of shame that kept me from understanding and accepting the parts of my life that aren't what I thought they should be. As much as I'd like to think that I'm secure enough in my own skin, it's moments like shopping for yarn and imagining what I could do with Nemo themed fabric at Walmart that remind me that "coming out" is such a multilayered, complicated, complex process. There really never was a moment when I was "out" in every sense of the word. To different people at different times and in different places, I'm necessarily guarded or completely open about my sexuality. And a little dippity-do.
As "out" as I'd like to think I am to the people in my life, I know there's a far more complicated story. My parents would rather not talk about the whole deal, but will if they have to. My relatives would rather not speak about such unspoken topics. My friends at work tend to be more open about my sexuality than I am. My friends in the volleyball world walk the same line I do. Openness with people who want to know and untruth by omission to those who will react unkindly. The men's teams I've coached would rather ignore the whole subject. The women's teams feel more at ease and ask questions, sometimes too many questions.
In the end, I bought a couple of different kinds of yarn and some new knitting needles. At the checkout counter the cashier asked, "Are these for you?" While I'd like to say that I came up with some witty retort, I didn't. All I could come up with was, "Yeah, but it's better than smoking." It didn't make sense then or when I lit one up after I started the car.
And a little dippity-do.
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