I had no idea what the word “gay” meant until I saw the third episode of Glee, the 2009 Fox series about show choir and teen drama, which has since become the source of some of the most heinous jokes, storylines and covers in television history.
In this episode, Kurt, a flamboyant, fashion-obsessed high school student, shoots down his friend Mercedes’s confession that she has feelings for him. He tells her he likes another girl, so, naturally, she throws a rock through the windshield of his car while singing Jazmine Sullivan’s “Bust Your Windows.” They have a falling out, but he later admits that this was a lie to cover for the fact that he’s gay, and the two make up.
Most already knew the real reason Kurt wasn’t into Mercedes since anyone who understood the stereotypes associated with being gay would instantly clock Kurt’s lie.
But I didn’t.
Kurt and I shared this monumental moment — it was the first time the character had ever shared this part of himself with another person, and it was also the first time I learned that being gay existed.
No one had ever explained Queerness to me, so I fumbled through teaching myself what it meant as the show went on. It hadn’t occurred to me yet why I cared — Kurt was a man, he acted nothing like me, and, frankly, I thought he was annoying. But something about the way he described what it felt like to be an outsider struck me.
Even though I was just about to start middle school and had absolutely no idea who I wanted to be, I already knew that something about me was off. How come I couldn’t place what was wrong? How come I felt like I was offending everyone around me without even saying a word?
One thing was certain — show tunes never let me down. I’d switch on an episode of Glee, and for 40 minutes, I’d live in blissful ignorance of the uncertainty eating away at me.
But when my favourite character, Santana — the snarky, miniskirt-wearing, hyper-feminine cheerleader whom I adored, despite her sometimes misguided opinions — came out as a lesbian, everything shifted into place.
It took me longer than it should’ve to connect the dots and realize I was Queer, but I needed to see a reflection of my thoughts in front of me to finally understand. The forced crushes, the constant uncomfortable tension in some of my friendships — it was all starting to make sense. Sure, this confusion was quickly replaced by shame over who I had turned out to be, but at least I could sit in that feeling with the knowledge that I was something.
Santana loved someone who wasn’t a man and did so without having to reject her own femininity. But her story was a flawed model of what relationships should look like — communicating your feelings through song instead of just talking to each other doesn’t usually go over well in the real world. Still, it was the closest I had ever gotten to an accurate representation of my experiences.
Watching the show was a nightly ritual in my family. Over dinner, we’d plow through almost entire seasons, and I’ve probably rewatched the series enough times to recite the script by heart. Looking back, I may have been exposed to it earlier than I should have been. It was a questionable decision on my parents’ part, but I like to think it gave me a great sense of humour compared to other kids my age.
As I pieced together the reality of my own Queerness, I realized I could use Glee to my advantage.
I quietly observed how my family reacted to certain topics and storylines and then, based on that information, decided whether my own feelings were best kept to myself. It was a space where I could see how they responded to Queerness without taking any risks by bringing it up (and at the same time, see whether they might be supportive of me pursuing a performing arts degree — an arguably worse fate than kissing girls).
I’ve since come out as a theatre kid. I broke the news that I wanted to pursue music, and, much to my surprise, no one had a problem with it.
We don’t talk about me being Queer though. Mostly because I’ve done everything in my power to skirt around the topic — I’ve never mustered up the courage to say it to their faces, instead, I keep hoping they read my writing or notice the way I dress or pick up on some other sign.
But one day, I hope we can rewatch Glee together and see if anything new comes to the surface.