READY OR NOT:  A Coming Out Story

By Jeff Sapp | Curriculum Specialist/Writer, Tolerance.org

October 8, 2004

    The first game I remember playing was “Peek-a-Boo.”  I thought if I closed my eyes or just put my hands in front of my face Mom couldn’t see me.  So much adult behavior still is exactly like that.

    The next game I recall was “I Spy.”  I spy something green.  I spy something round.  First, the cornerstone of hiding was laid with “Peek-a-Boo,” and then a layer of fear was mortared on to let me know everyone watches everything.

    I finally graduated to “Hide-and-Seek.”  Five, 10, 15, 20, 25…ready or not, here I come!

    We ran wild, knowing we had only seconds to hide - depending on how fast people counted.  The sorry sap who was “it” had to find and collect us.  If caught, we had to wait at home base hoping some sly fox could sneak over to us and yell “free,” and then we’d start all over again.

    This game could be played both indoors and outdoors.  Outside, you hid in the darkness of Grandma Rice’s hedges, Epler’s tiny vegetable garden, Mr. Mixer’s grapevines or Mrs. Thorne’s weeks.

    Inside, you ran for closets.  I learned early where I’d be safe.

Here I Come

    The last childhood game I remember playing was the most sophisticated:  “Kick-the-Can.”  An old Campbell’s can was “base,” and to set all of the others free you ran, kicking the heck out of the can of tomato soup and screaming, “kick-the-can,” as everyone scrambled.  I can’t begin to tell you the joy in giving your captor a good, hard, swift kick in the can.

    It’s no wonder that, by the time I hit adolescence and my hormones stopped hiding and were attracted to boys instead of girls, I knew exactly what to do about it.  My whole life prepared me for it.

    I simply played another game and went into hiding. 

    My life became consumed with not being caught.  I lived in constant fear of being tagged a fag or a sissy.  And my paranoia grew because no longer was only one person “it,” everyone was “it.”

    Everyone sought to capture me, and I grew hyper-vigilant about hiding.  Every day was a game of “Hide-and-Seek.”  Every day was Halloween.  And, trust me, it was no longer fun.

    Everyone has to grow up sometime, and I decided to do it when I was 35 years old.  A lifetime of playing games wore me out.  My Campbell’s soup can was full of secrets and shame, and it was thrilling to find myself bolting full speed at it.  I whacked it with 35 years of frustration and sent secrets flying.

    A smile came to my face when I realized I had been carrying home base within me all of this time.

    So, at 35 years of age, I began again my childhood mantra.  Slowly at first…5, 10, 15, 20.  Quietly whispering…25, 30, 35, 40.  Building volume and speed…45, 50, 55, 60.  And finally laughing unbridled as I remembered it was the sheer joy and excitement of play and life that made us count too fast…65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90, 95, 100.

    And then I screamed in full voice what we had all known as children but that had somehow gotten silenced.

    “Ready or not!  Here I come!”

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