LiberalNation
05-27-2010, 10:16 AM
http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2010-05-26/gay-army-soldier-in-afghanistan-on-dont-ask-dont-tell/
You don't know me. I'm in my early 40s, a career army officer, born and raised in the South. For the last 10 years, I've been in a committed relationship. But revealing who I am would mean breaking the law and risking getting fired, despite 18 years of service to our country, three combat deployments, promotions and a presidential commission to lead troops.
As I write this, it's just past 11 p.m. on Tuesday night in Afghanistan, a day that started like most other days. Yet, today was different. Today, I read that the White House struck a compromise with military leaders, gay advocacy groups and Congress in a deal that could—just might—make 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' a memory by Christmas.
Throughout the day, family and friends called and emailed to ask me how it felt.
I didn't know what to say because I think that, on some level, I just felt numb. And here in Afghanistan, it was something I couldn't share with anyone, and so I just went back to work.
When I joined the army as an ROTC cadet, I knew I was probably gay. I say "probably" because I had girlfriends on and off, and—to be honest—had convinced myself that I could cure that gay thing through enough prayer and enough girlfriends. Problem was, the sex never really worked. Never felt right. Never was right. So, I became good at other tricks. I was always "too drunk" or "had to get up early" or—pathetically—"was injured during rugby."
The deceit, of course, exacted a toll. I was drinking too much, had anger issues, became estranged from the ones I loved. I had decided that celibacy was the way to go when I met a fellow combat arms officer, who was gay. We had similar backgrounds and similar career paths—both at the top of our respective battalions. We were quite alike, except for one small detail: This officer, a West Point graduate, lived an open life. "I'm a damn good infantry officer, a distinguished honor graduate from Ranger school, promoted early to Major," he'd say. "I believe in the Army's core values. And I don't want to lie."
His determination scared me more than a little. I desperately loved my job. It felt like a calling to command my first unit. Here I was, a junior Captain, fast-tracking toward Major. The soldiers respected me, and it was rewarding to do something I was good at. To do what my fellow officer did—to live in the open—was too risky. What if people saw us together, that big gay officer and me? Might as well wear a boa in front of my troops, I thought. And so I cut him off, and fooled myself into believing that I could do without a partner until I retired from the army in another 20 years.
You don't know me. I'm in my early 40s, a career army officer, born and raised in the South. For the last 10 years, I've been in a committed relationship. But revealing who I am would mean breaking the law and risking getting fired, despite 18 years of service to our country, three combat deployments, promotions and a presidential commission to lead troops.
As I write this, it's just past 11 p.m. on Tuesday night in Afghanistan, a day that started like most other days. Yet, today was different. Today, I read that the White House struck a compromise with military leaders, gay advocacy groups and Congress in a deal that could—just might—make 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' a memory by Christmas.
Throughout the day, family and friends called and emailed to ask me how it felt.
I didn't know what to say because I think that, on some level, I just felt numb. And here in Afghanistan, it was something I couldn't share with anyone, and so I just went back to work.
When I joined the army as an ROTC cadet, I knew I was probably gay. I say "probably" because I had girlfriends on and off, and—to be honest—had convinced myself that I could cure that gay thing through enough prayer and enough girlfriends. Problem was, the sex never really worked. Never felt right. Never was right. So, I became good at other tricks. I was always "too drunk" or "had to get up early" or—pathetically—"was injured during rugby."
The deceit, of course, exacted a toll. I was drinking too much, had anger issues, became estranged from the ones I loved. I had decided that celibacy was the way to go when I met a fellow combat arms officer, who was gay. We had similar backgrounds and similar career paths—both at the top of our respective battalions. We were quite alike, except for one small detail: This officer, a West Point graduate, lived an open life. "I'm a damn good infantry officer, a distinguished honor graduate from Ranger school, promoted early to Major," he'd say. "I believe in the Army's core values. And I don't want to lie."
His determination scared me more than a little. I desperately loved my job. It felt like a calling to command my first unit. Here I was, a junior Captain, fast-tracking toward Major. The soldiers respected me, and it was rewarding to do something I was good at. To do what my fellow officer did—to live in the open—was too risky. What if people saw us together, that big gay officer and me? Might as well wear a boa in front of my troops, I thought. And so I cut him off, and fooled myself into believing that I could do without a partner until I retired from the army in another 20 years.