*My goal in writing this blog is to record the discoveries, the beautiful and transcendent events, transformations and tender mercies I find in life which lead me to greater good. I do not wish to turn "flowers" into a "Gay Mormon" or "Moho" blog, although those types of blogs have their place. This post is a reflection on an experience which has fueled a lot of thought for me, and I'm sure posts on similar subjects will follow. I'm not afraid, nor am I ashamed, but I do ask any Reader to read with love and empathy.
My university's musical theater department is putting on a production of Adam Guettel's The Light in the Piazza. It's a beautiful story in which the main character (Margaret, a middled-aged mother from North Carolina) begins to see how love can make a person blossom as she witnesses the way her daughter (Clara, an innocent and beautiful young woman) grows when she falls in love with a young Italian man (synopsis here).
I've been brought on as the production's pianist. Auditions and call backs were held about two weeks ago. I was impressed with the exceptional level of talent and preparation that many fresh-faced and bright-eyed students brought to their auditions; I was also a bit unsure of how these young actors would be able to pull off characters who are 20+ years older than they. I knew that when my friend, Kathy, entered the audition, she'd be sure to impress. Kathy is a 40-something, conservative LDS woman, thoughtful and empathetic, and she has a fantastic soprano voice. The only thing standing against her playing the role of Margaret was the fact that she's a voice major (read: not a musical theater major). She gave a great audition and made both call backs, but didn't get the part.
We were talking in a hallway at school, just after auditions. I was tired from having just sight-read what seemed like the entire American Musical Theatre Songbook for the past three hours, and I was hungry. Kathy began a conversation I wouldn't quite realize I didn't want to have until it was too late.
"I learned a new phrase today," she said.
"Oh?" I queried.
"Yeah. We were sitting outside auditions, talking about the characters. The fact that Fabrizio is a tenor role came up and one of the girls said that whoever plays Fabrizio has to be able to 'keep his fruit in the fridge.'" Kathy giggled. "I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but I thought about it for a minute. And then, I got it!"
"Ah, that age-old stereotype that every tenor is a gay man, and Fabrizio is a straight role" I rolled my eyes and smiled.
"Yes, that." Kathy said. She paused for a moment, and then went on. "You know, they don't have to be gay."
Oh, shit, I grumbled inside myself. I don't want to have this conversation with you right now. Deflect Nic! Deflect!
"Oh, I think that depends on who you're talking to, Kathy," I shrugged.
"No," she posed. "It's a choice they can make. We all have to make tough choices. Why do they think they have to be gay?"
Now let me tell you, I love Kathy. She is a dear, dear friend, but I was incredibly stunned and hurt by what she was saying. I wanted to tell her that -- having discussed the very topic of whether or not anyone "chooses" to be gay with self-identified gay men and lesbian women, and also being a gay man myself -- I know that sexual identity is not a choice. True, identifying one's self as gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered is a choice of recognition and reconciliation with one's self, but the attractions which lead any human being to identify as GLBT is not. Coming out is a very delicate, difficult process (that action deserves a series of posts in and of itself), and I commend anybody who finds the courage to do it.
For my own reasons, I decided to withhold the disclosing of my sexual preference from Kathy. It wasn't imperative. We work regularly together in a variety of musical settings, but I don't believe I'll have much need of sharing any information about possible significant others with her. I said something about needing to heat up some food and get my blood sugar back in balance and I left, agitated and upset.
Perhaps playing Maragaret would have lead Kathy to make discoveries about why it is we love, and why we must give everyone the room and space to love whoever it is they love. Perhaps I should have used the conversation in the hall to give Kathy a larger vision of what is "right" and what is "wrong." Maybe, like Margaret's character, Kathy would have have the epiphany that LOVE IS FOR EVERYONE. I'm sorry she didn't get the role, and feel a little regret that I didn't say anything more.
"Love if you can, oh my Clara!
Love if you can, and be loved--"
May we all come to that kind of understanding.
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