The Book. The Cover. Judgments.

There are certain people that I usually don’t expect to be accepting. I don’t assume they’re bigoted right off the bat because I know there are exceptions, but I don’t anticipate an easygoing attitude either. One of these groups of people is the elderly group.

Now, as I said, there are exceptions. I’ve met plenty of older people who seem to have no problem whatsoever with the LGBT community. Acceptance tends to run thinner as you move through the letters of that acronym, but I know there are seniors who have the right mindset. Although I haven’t lost sight of this fact, I was still surprised by something that happened today. It was subtle and discreet, but it hit me like a double-decker bus. I’m beyond excited to be doing Duke in London soon, so pardon the misfit imagery.

Anyway, I’m walking across the parking lot. I’m wearing a large, thin t-shirt that drapes loosely enough to fly like mad in the beach area wind. I’m also in short exercise shorts and flip-flops, and my long hair is practically propelling me off the ground. I’m growing my hair for Locks of Love, so it’s around 8 inches long right now and rather curly. Not always fun.

Imagine what’s going through my mind when an older man in a polo and khakis walks toward me from his car. He’s just gotten out of his totally not cliché Cadillac, running his hand over his bald spot, then through the remaining salt-and-pepper hair on the back and sides of his head. He adjusts his glasses. He puts his keys in his pocket. As he steps forward, he looks up at the sign on the storefront and squints his eyes to read it. We pass each other and he glances at me momentarily. I’ll go ahead and tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, “He is judging me so hard right now. He thinks my hair is too freakin’ feminine. He thinks my shirt is too flowy. He thinks I’m showing too much leg. I can see it in his face.”

Alright, let’s start unpacking this. 1) I didn’t even really see much of his expression. How I decided he was thinking all this – In retrospect, no clue. 2) I shouldn’t care either way. I like the way I look. 3) There’s more to the story…

As I continue walking, I notice another man getting out of the front passenger seat, dressed similarly to the driver and of a similar age. He follows the first man into the store. “Um, wait…” I turn around and watch them enter the store together. When I resume walking to my car, and once I’ve gotten my stupid hair out of my face (it’s a good cause, it’s a good cause, it’s a good cause), a dark spot on the bumper of this white, totally not cliché Cadillac catches my eye. I walk closer to get a better look at it. It’s a dark blue square. It has a yellow equal sign in the middle. Underneath it says “2007 Member.” It’s an HRC bumper sticker. Jaw-dropping. “I…am…so…stupid.”

I wanted to kick myself in the face for falling into this rather obvious life lesson waiting to happen. I had pre-judged someone I had assumed was judging me, only to find that he was probably not only accepting of me, but he may very well have been gay himself. If that’s the case, it’s also probable that he’s gone through far more trials and tribulations as a gay man than I. I try so hard to resist judging people without grounds, and this is just one more reminder that I always have more to learn about people, and myself.