Before I knew I was bisexual I was just insanely dramatic and weird around guys I liked. I had a crush on this guy in my ward - he was older than me, he played bagpipes and had a cheerful dog and an old Volkswagen bus that he worked on all the time. He also had nice scruff and unnaturally attractive hands and a good sense of humor, so I was like FULLY smitten.
I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickinā cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).
One day, Iām like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didnāt listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didnāt listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the worldās downfall because of our laziness and sin.
And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, thatās already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldnāt stand it. Iād get so mad Iād go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When heās already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten ratās ass if he doesnāt use the scripture study manual his dad uses? Heās so cool he doesnāt even need it? So fuck off?
And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. Iād just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.
āOh, Lizard, why arenāt you in class?ā Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? š« š¤
āWhereās your class, Iāll go with you!ā Oh no ty Iād rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty š©·
āLizard, you should go to class, Iām sure they miss you!ā And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didnāt hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all thatās left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith šāāļø
It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Menās presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadershipās attention, I started helping women.
Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.
For what itās worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young menās leader giving me side-eye, Iād start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. Iād wait until a momās baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and Iād swoop in like a knight. āOh, donāt you worry sister, Iāll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.ā
If it was a diaper change or something theyād tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, theyād be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.
So just like that, I was out of everyoneās sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camelās back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. Iād often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guyās bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,
āWhatās it gonna take to get you back to class?ā
The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.
āI want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.ā
I didnāt even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said āYes, his class is not edifying. Itās better to not go and hold babies.ā
And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. Godās revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.
Although I didnāt recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that Godās will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring menās made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.
Be gayer. Read Terry Pratchett. I love yāall š
