Election Reaction

My therapy is my writing. Please understand that I am raw, emotionally and mentally. If reading this helps, then I have done my job. If you want to contradict and argue with these emotions, do it somewhere else. I had to take a mental health day to try to come to terms with this election and what it may mean for my family and community. Today, I have watched and read many reactions to this election. I have seen friends posting suicide notes, while other friends crack a beer and laugh.


November 9th, 2016

I have never had to use my protected time off work on the day after an election. At the same time, I have never been so terrified to leave my house. A few weeks ago, I dreamt of a Trump win and last night proved eerily accurate to that dream. The only part that did not happen was the eventual reveal that Russia had ensured his win and that Trump’s cries of a rigged election were silent pleas for help. But now we are on the precipice of a Trumpian era.

Anger. Frustration. Fear. These are feelings I am dealing with this morning, as I watch my social media feeds blow up. I am afraid of my fellow Americans in a way I never really have been before. I have never felt the need to own a gun and I am beginning to regret that decision. I feel like my husband and I have no real method of protecting ourselves and I do not know if we will need to or not. I do not know what the Trumpian era will do for our marriage and our rights. Will we have any kind of protection from anti-LGBT+ bullying tactics?

I am frustrated with folks who, in their absolute revulsion against Hillary and the establishment, opted to elect Trump. I get it, voting third party allowed folks options to vote their conscience and hope that their candidate earned enough of the vote to help with third party funding. The reality is, voting third party was also a way to say, “I don’t care of Trump wins.” And, for those folks who point out that if they had not voted for third party they were likely to not vote at all, an abstained vote would have also been a vote for Trump. Pretty much the only vote that were not for Trump were for Hillary, as she was the only one available that could have prevented his election. I will agree that this election certainly proved the power of the popular vote.

Anger was my companion after the DNC this summer. Polling data showed that Hillary Clinton could not win against Donald Trump. It also showed that the only Democratic win would come if Bernie Sanders was the candidate put forth by the party. Armed with this data, the DNC still opted to put forth Hillary Clinton. I definitely want a woman in President, but Clinton was not my candidate of choice. She may have won me over with a powerful woman running mate, but she opted to go with a white guy who seems incredibly lack luster. I liked her message about a strong, working, middle class. And I understand concerns about her credibility and her competency, not on the basis of her gender, but because she has made some questionable decisions. Those decisions do, in fact, make her a more qualified candidate, because at least she has political experience. Unfortunately, the Democrat spin doctors could not rally more support behind her. I think we failed when we were relying on “At least a vote for Hillary isn’t a vote for Trump.” It was an accurate statement, but the Democratic party and our allies needed to focus on action statements, we needed to focus on how a Democratic vote would benefit America. I voted for Hillary, but only because I could not vote for Trump and that is not a position we should ever be in. I wanted a democratic nominee that I could be proud to support, not because the alternative was terrible, but because they were an amazing candidate whose platform matched up nearly perfectly with my beliefs.

Numb.

What does the next four years look like? Posted on one friend’s wall was an anecdote from a colleague of theirs. In it, was shared that a friend of theirs had to go to their child’s school today after another student told them that they better pack their bags for their move back to Africa. This was from a child in elementary school. Admittedly, it is a comment much removed from me, but I believe the accuracy of it. This decision is not about adults. Our children are impacted by this decision in ways we cannot fully appreciate in this moment. We may chastise Millennials, but their entire worldview was changed by 9/11. This election and the hate before and after will echo in our young people for a generation or more. However, we must acknowledge that it is not just this election that will affect them, but how we as a nation choose to react to it.

Disbelief. I see friends posting about the hilarity of people’s reaction to this election. Or people asking for “Hillary supporters” to lose graciously. A brief check shows these messages as coming from heterosexual, white, men. None of them are in a position that is hated right now. They do not seem to understand the fear generated by this vote and my hope is that if they begin to see their friends and loved ones impacted negatively as a result of this election, they might wake up and understand that this is not a laughing matter. However, I will not hold my breath waiting for it.

How do we begin to heal from this? How do we come together as decent people and support one another against the possible backlash of this election? I do not know. For me, I must temper my anger. If I attack people, how will I be any better than Trump? If I let hate and anger and fear guide me, how do I act as a pillar of support for the people I love? Right now, I want to cry. I want to believe it was a horrible dream. That the election is still a few weeks away and that we can make a difference. I want to believe that we are all better than this and that we find a way to embrace one another and change. I want to believe that some good can come from this. Some terrible catharsis that we need in order to grow and become a progressive force for good.

I want to believe.

Gender - what is it good for?

I suppose this works as a follow up to the post I wrote the other day. The news of the day (well, really the last couple of days) is our public introduction to Caitlyn Jenner. The first moment I saw the cover and looked at Caitlyn I thought to myself, "She looks amazing!" What I saw was a woman who looked comfortable and confident in her body. When I watched the interview with Diane Sawyer, I saw something different, a person that looked uncomfortable. Perhaps this was partially projection on my side, but looking at the two side by side, there is a difference.

The downside to such a public transition is the very public voice that begins to emerge. Of course, in my news feed I see many comments of support. When I click on the various articles and links and look at the comments on them, a different voice is seen. People refusing to use the new name. Refusing to use the correct pronoun. People describing this as disgusting and against God's Will. And, of course, those who see this as nothing by a stunt to get more ratings.

My first experience with transgender folks was back in the late '90s. I was working for USWest at the time and one of my co-worker's husband was beginning to transition. As a male, he struggled with depression which fueled an alcohol addiction. He felt trapped in a life that wasn't right. He loved his wife, but hated his body and who he was. My co-worker had taken the job at USWest partially because she needed the pay it offered, but also because of the medical benefits it provided her spouse. These benefits included hormones and surgery.

This co-worker was the first I'd come out to at work. I was out in my private life and USWest had an LGBT employee organization that gave me the courage to be out at work too. After I told her, she had someone that she could open up to about what she was experiencing with her spouse. I didn't know really anything about transitioning. I especially didn't understand why someone would want to. I was raised as a boy and always felt comfortable with all of my bits and pieces. I couldn't really wrap my brain around the idea, but I lent a sympathetic ear.

The hardest part for my co-worker was that she wanted to get her spouse out of the house. Living in Helena, her spouse was terrified of going out. Of the looks and the comments. I left USWest and started managing a movie theater. It became their special treat with one another. They'd come during the week, when we didn't have many customers. They knew that I'd make both of them feel welcome. The first time I met my co-worker's spouse I was confused. I didn't know what to say or how to act, but I smiled and thanked them for coming in. I keep using the word spouse because that was how they preferred to recognize each other.

I understood immediately why her spouse was afraid to go out. She had a very masculinized body, even after being on hormones for quite sometime. She told me on one their nights out that she hated that all anyone saw was a man in a dress. I told her that I didn't see her that way and she told me I was sweet. But it was true. I didn't see her as a man in a dress. I saw her as a woman. With tears in her eyes, she kissed me on the cheek.

After I moved to Missoula, I had the good fortune of meeting other people who were in various stages of transitioning. I still didn't understand it, but I supported them. I made a few stumbles, mixing up pronouns or deflecting my own insecurities and lack of internal understanding with my usual off-color remarks. One particular moment of stupidity on my part came when I asked a friend if she planned to have surgery. She said she wasn't sure and my brain hit a speed bump. Until then, I thought the end goal of transitioning was complete transformation. I made a remark, which I won't repeat here, that ended up ending our relationship. It wasn't my intent to insult her or hurt her. I reacted without thinking. It has been years since it happened and I still feel utterly ashamed of it.

The first moment of understanding happened when I had my first complete physical examination from a doctor. I was thirty at the time, which probably sounds odd that I was that old before having a physical. I was never involved in any athletics or other activities which would require it and I had never thought to actually schedule an appointment to have one. After the urging of my husband, we agreed to do it together. Our doctor's office let us set up back to back appointments with our doctor and he examined us together. I was the first one of us to have to "turn his head and cough," and that was when it happened. He couldn't find my testicles. I was horribly embarrassed in the moment, especially when he looked up at me and asked why I had never noticed that I was different, given that I am a homosexual man and likely had seen other men. I figured everyone is a little different and just chalked it up to genetics. He eventually found them, but was concerned and ordered an extra set of tests.

When my lab results came back, I met with the doctor again. He explained that normally a male should have a testosterone level of between 300 - 1000. Mine was 60. Another round of tests looking at the pituitary gland and other areas that could affect it showed those levels as normal. He said it was possible that I was XXY. We could run tests to confirm it, but they'd be expensive and my insurance wouldn't cover it. This visit was the first time I had heard the term intersex and he used it to describe me. He wasn't convinced that I was XXY as I lacked many of the tell-tale body signals for it, including the fact that I had quite a bit of body hair. Before meeting with me, he had contacted an endocrinologist and showed him the test results and the recommendation was to treat me as if I was XXY and put me on testosterone replacement.

I remember trying to reconcile myself as intersexed. Up until that moment, my understanding of myself was that I was born male, I was raised male, I felt male. I had a rough time growing a beard, but had long attributed it to the Native American genes I'd inherited from my father. I had some struggles at first, but resolved that I was male. There was no question in my mind about this at all.

This changed a couple of years ago. It was a particularly icy winter day. As long as I can remember, I have been terrified of icy conditions, always afraid I was going to slip and crack my head open. I got to the bottom of my stairs and slipped on a patch of ice landed on the right side of my butt. After a couple of failed attempts, I struggled to my feet. I walked around the corner of my building to my car. As I stepped off the curb, my foot found another patch of ice and down I went, landing the same way as I did before. I was frustrated, cold and wet as I pushed myself up. I drove in the early morning darkness to work. I noticed I was running late, I tried to walk quickly and carefully towards the office doors. I saw the glimmer of another patch of ice and figured I would try to get to the get around it, but missed the snow covered ice patch in from of me. Down I went, but this time with more speed and force. Like the previous two times, I landed on my right side. This time was different. As I got up, I felt like I had taken a swift kick to the groin and my stomach was in knots.

I told the security guys about my fall and had to write up an incident report. I reported it to my supervisor and she gave me the Worker's Compensation information. I told her I was certain that it wasn't necessary, but took it anyways. The whole day was one of general pain, as anyone who has been kicked can attest.

I didn't realize anything was wrong until I got home and started a shower for myself. I saw the dark bruise along my thigh from my wallet chain. I could see each link in the bruise. As I started to wash up, my mind became aware even if I didn't want to be. Two things were missing. They might be different from other males, but I knew where they should be and they weren't there. My testicles had vanished. I was too embarrassed to insist on going to the ER, figuring a trip to Urgent Care in the morning would be ok. I was in shock. I couldn't really think. The next morning, the doctor confirmed they were not where they should be. After a trip to radiology to get an ultra sound, I was told by a student technician, a regular technician, and then a radiologist that they couldn't find both of them. The radiologist did find one, but not where it should be. Returning to Urgent Care, the doctor said that they may have retreated and the trauma may have caused swelling. He gave me some NSAIDS and sent me home. I dubbed this whole even "Finding Nemo," only we still hadn't found them.

I scheduled a follow up with my doctor for a few weeks later. They had moved, but still hadn't returned home. The doctor felt around and eventually found both of them but was unable to get them to go back to where they should be. He let me know that both of them were dislocated, something I didn't know could happen. It is rare, but can (and clearly does) happen. My doctor's initial assessment was that since they seemed to drop down to regulate temperature, it could be left as is. We could also set up surgery to pull them down and stitch them into place. The last option was to have them removed, since they weren't doing their normal job anyways. He cautioned that if they stop regulating temperature, it may lead to testicular cancer, at which point removal would be the only viable option. To date, I haven't had any surgery.

The accident brought back up the questions I had about my sex. Now, part of my external was missing. It created a good bit of dissonance for me. Inside, in my mind, I felt male. Outside, in my body, I felt distinctly not male. Given their size, I was surprised that it could feel so different, but it did. Over the years I have questioned myself if I'd feel more male if I had them pulled back into place. Or should I have them removed and see if replacement would work. Since I haven't done it, I don't know, but the veil had been pulled back for me. I realize that this isn't quite the same for transgender folk, but I started to understand. The accident dropped my testosterone level even lower (putting it at 40). I felt externally more akin to the doctor's diagnosis of intersex. But, that isn't who I am inside.

My mind started to settle when I took a class on Gender, Race, and Class. Added to this, I also took a class focused on Queer Theory. Through these classes and by reaching out and talking to my friends who are transitioning, I started to consider sex and gender differently. I realized that I could be intersex and male. That the bits didn't define how I, or anyone else, had identify or express themselves. I can be masculine most of the time and have my feminine moments and still be male. People transitioning don't need to have surgery. The goal, at least as I have come to understand it, is to be happy and healthy and be who you are supposed to be. And, ultimately, to have the world see you for who you are.

I have to thank all of my friends of all sorts of genders. I know I haven't always been the quickest learner. Sometimes, as much as I'd like to just be able to understand and empathize/sympathize, I need to experience some part of it. All of you have been wonderful about answering questions, especially when I have felt awkward asking. I have always felt like we have grown into a culture that is too afraid to ask personal questions. Sometimes the answer, isn't any of our business. And I am always ok with the answer of  "None of your business, Will." But, for me at least, the easiest way I can understand to question. To take the answer and mull it over and take into me all of what I can of it. Sometimes, it leads to more questions. Other times, it clicks and I get an "AHH GOT IT!"

I decided to write this after seeing so many hurtful comments out there about Caitlyn and others in transition. To me it seems odd. As we grow up, we change. For me, I have changed names a few times. I was Cody for a while (and still am to my family). I have been Bill. Most of the time, anymore, I am somewhere between William and Will. And when I am especially Irish, I am Liam. I am not the same person I was when I was 6. Nor am I the person I was in my twenties. I can't even say that I am totally the person I was three years ago, before I started school. At no point, was I ever met with resistance about my changes. No one ever told me that it was disgusting that I had changed. Nor was it unnatural. Or against God's Will. Now, admittedly, these types of changes aren't the same as people who are transitioning. And most people, looking at me, wouldn't know that I am classified as intersex. But, I feel like people should accept the changes people make in themselves. It takes a good deal of courage to be who you are. Love them. Accept them. Support them. Even if you don't fully get why they might have changed-- because life is too short and precious to fill with hate.

Oh, is this your Wife?

I saw a great picture recently saw this picture come across my Facebook feed. Being in a gay relationship, I have had people ask this question a number of times. And it gets more frustrating each time it's asked.

The hardest one was from my mother. I called her to share with her that my partner and I had exchanged rings. It was private, just something between us. I meant the world to us. We sobbed and held each other and promised to be with one another for the remaining days of our life. The first person we called after was my mother. We were still in the car. Britain was holding my hand as I dialed. We were still teared up, and my eyes were blurry from the tears as I dialed the number. She picked up and a smile spread from ear to ear.

"I have something to tell you," I knew I was going to be a smart ass. "We're pregnant."
"Oh my... wait, what?" She was very confused.
"Nah, Britain and I wanted you to be the first to know," I took a deep breath. "We exchanged rings."
There was a moment of silence and then she finally spoke up. "That's great. Are you the wife?"

My heart sank when she asked the question.

Growing up, I would occasionally act effeminate. When I would do it, it wasn't because I thought I was a girl or even that I was gay. It just felt natural. My mother had the same response each time: "You are too butch to be gay." It was her mantra. Any time I would act "girly" or "gay it up" she would tell me that. It was her way of telling me to man up and act like a boy.

Toys were another place she would try to "butch" me up. For years, I asked for an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas or my birthday. When Santa failed to bring it, I would ask why he didn't bring me the one thing I really wanted. My mother's response was,"Santa doesn't bring girl toys to boys." I should have figured the whole Santa thing out sooner. Maybe if I asked my Grandma for it, I would have found it under the tree. My Grandma was the one that would get me all my Care Bears and other "softer" toys.

These memories flashed through my mind when my mother asked me if I was the wife. I was hurt and offended. I suppose I had associated a number of negative feelings with being feminine in any way. I felt like I was a man. I dress like a man. I was raised to be a man and I am a man. Why the hell would I be the wife?

After a moment, I answered, "No." I know I sounded a bit indignant.

"Is Britain the wife," she sounded extremely confused.

"No." I wanted to yell. I am a man. He is a man. There is no wife. Relationships do not need a perfect binary experience of male/female or husband/wife to be validated.

"Well then how do you..." I cut her off. I finally realized what was prompting her questions. I have never had THAT talk with my mother. And, while we do have a pretty open relationship, I don't imagine I will ever have that talk with her.

I have had similiar experiences when some of my wonderful heterosexual friends have asked these types of questions. I have come to realize that in many cases, they are not asking because they want to define our relationship through heteronormative roles. It is more like when you are trying to learn a new language. If you have a native tongue, you are often going to filter other languages through it. And I do appreciate when my friends have even reached out to learn the lingo or idioms, like tops and bottoms or pitchers and catchers. It is still frustrating that they want to define relationship roles through something as private as what we do in the bedroom. However, for me, I have realized that I define myself by what I do in the bedroom. After all, I proudly announce to the world on a regular basis that I am a homosexual man.

Most people, once they get to know Britain and I realize that our relationship isn't really about husband and wife or any other role-specific terms. Hell, even in our own relationship, we have a hard time really defining roles. Sometimes, we are partners or lovers; at other times we are best friends; some days we act very much like siblings; and sometimes, we act like the parent of the other.  But in the end, the roles I prefer are just simply Brit and Will.

For those straight folks, friends, families, and allies, my best advise is to not make assumptions based on your own personal experience as to who is what in the relationship. Even within heterosexual relationships, gender roles don't always apply to who or what your function. If your friends are open, they may explain how things work. They might not. Listen for titles they may use to describe one another. I usually refer to Britain as my husband, husbear or partner, depending on the audience. He usually picks the same ones. Ask them if they are ok with you using them to refer to the other. I am always fine with people asking about Britain using any of those terms. And know that we love that you are interested and want to be accepting and loving of who we are. It means alot to us.

Holding Out For A Hero

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

He's gotta be strong

And he's gotta be fast

And he's gotta be fresh from the fight

I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light

He's gotta be sure

And it's gotta be soon

And he's gotta be larger than life

When I was younger, I knew I was different from other kids. As I have shared before, I didn’t know I was gay. Instead, I just understood that there was something inside me that made me different from my friends and family. I thought that meant that I was a wizard, a great knight of old, and for a while I thought it meant I was a vampire.

When I got to be about 10 or so, I started checking out comic books.  Not the Archie comics they sell next to Reader’s Digest. Instead, I was drawn to the colored pages of comics like Uncanny X-Men, Spider-Man, and the Avengers. There was just something about the Marvel comics that captivated me for years. It wasn’t until Spawn #1 that I even strayed from Marvel titles.

Reading stories about mutants, folks that were different from most of Earth's inhabitants, made me happy. Despite a constant sense of depression (discussed in a prior post), these comics brought light into my world of darkness. It made me feel that there was a place for me. I hoped that the feeling of being different might mean that I could develop cool super powers (they never developed damn it). But it gave me something that, at the time, I didn’t understand. But now as an adult, I realize that it made me feel normal.

When I started to identify that I was in fact gay (or the first stages of accepting it), I started to look for gay characters in the media I enjoyed. I was 16 at that point. I had heard about Northstar, the first gay super hero in Marvel’s line. I checked out some Alpha Flight comics. He wasn’t really an appealing character to me. Maybe I just don't understand Canadians? I just never really had any connection to the character.

As time has gone by, more characters within the Marvel universe have come out. Some of my favorite gay characters are Colossus (from the Ultimate Universe), Wiccan and Hulkling. I feel a strong connection with these three characters. Colossus is a Big Guy and just happens to be gay. Wiccan and Hulkling, despite being teenagers, have one of the best relationships I have seen in comic books. Admittedly, my husband and I kind of remind me of these two (sans mutant powers that is).  

My husband also chanced upon the revelation that Rictor and Shatterstar are also queer. The squeal of excitement that he made in the comic store when he saw the kiss still stands out in my mind as a reason why I love him so much.

I am excited about DC's announcement that Green Lantern, Alan Scott, would be reintroduced as a gay man.  In addition, June also sees Northstar marrying his longtime boyfriend Kyle. Good timing, comic book companies, as June is Gay Pride Month.

For a comprehensive list of Queer characters, check out queersupe.com

So who is your favorite gay super hero? Do you think those spandex-clad characters might all be a bit homoerotic? Let me know what you think.

Coming Out and Coming to Terms

It pains me when I hear about people committing suicide due to being bullied. Every time I see it, I think about my own time when I was suicidal. I am thankful that I was never really bullied. Instead my torment came from a much more personal source. Me.

I didn’t always know I was gay. Some people do. My partner is one of them. I always knew that I liked guys. I was fascinated by them. I remember being little and my dad telling me not to stare at people when we were changing to go swimming. So I clearly had queer tendencies as a young person. But I didn’t know that they were queer. I thought it was normal. It was just another part of being me.

Somewhere along the line, I got the idea in my head that having feelings for another guy was wrong. My parents never talked about it one way or another, although I know now that they are very liberal in their views. I know that my feeling of wrongness happened before I had ever heard a minister talk about same-sex relationships.

This sense of wrongness bred in me a hatred that was so intense. I wanted to die. There wasn’t a day that went by between the ages of 10 and 22 that I didn’t wish that God would take the breath from my lungs. I didn’t want to have the feelings I had. I would spend nights praying that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

I started to come out to people when I was 16. And even though every person that I told was ok with it, I still wasn’t. Inside, I still didn’t like myself for who I was. Added to this was the fact that I never saw any big gay guys in the media. They were all skinny guys that were only into other skinny guys. This made me feel even more alone in the world, which added to my hatred.  Eventually it got to be too much, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.

When I think back, I am so glad that I didn’t go through with it or was prevented from doing so. I blacked out before I could. Instead of slitting my wrists, I had cut my upper arm with what I found out were Norse runes used for protection. Basically, they meant Strength, Victory, Honor and Intuition. It was probably the most powerful message that could be sent to me. It meant that I was worth saving and that I was meant for something. It was in the hours after coming to that I finally started to accept myself for who and what I was.

I was still afraid of being alone. I didn’t know anything about Bears and the Bear community. I didn’t know that there were guys out there that would be attracted to me and love me for being me. But it showed me that there was a reason to live. Since that time, I have learned how to love myself and in return be capable of loving other people. And I am grateful for all of the people that love me.

If you are reading this and feeling like there is no point, please I urge you to reach out. There are people out there that love you and who can help you love yourself. Please check out the following resources. And remember, it really does get better.

The Trevor Project

National Suicide Prevention

American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

What the Hell is a Bear?

Growing up a big, hairy gay male wasn’t always easy for me. When I was younger, I was teased for my large frame. As I started to realize my attractions, I felt further dejected. There weren’t any characters that looked like me. They were all slim and or muscular guys that were attracted to men that mirrored them. I thought for sure I was going to be alone my whole life, as I didn’t have the build that seemed attractive to these men.

I didn’t really have any kind of gay role models. Hell, I didn’t even really know any other gay men. I knew they were out there. Just didn’t know any personally. Thankfully that changed when I moved out on my own. I met a young couple that lived in the same building I did. We would hang out as often as possible. Thankfully they were quite willing to answer all of the questions that had built up inside me. One day, I shared with them the fear I had that I would grow up alone. That I felt no one would really be attracted to a big, fat, hair guy. They both chuckled. One of them shared with me that I was a “bear.” I remember looking at them quite perplexed and asking what that meant.

There is a whole sub-community within the larger gay community of men that are just like me. This small revelation gave me hope. I knew that I was attracted to guys that were like me, large (not necessarily fat) and hairy. But the fact that my attraction was so radically different from the image that the media had fed me for so long made me even more miserable. But now I knew there was no need to be miserable any longer. There were guys out there that not only would be attracted to me, but that it was ok for me to be attracted to them.

It took a few more years before I found other folks in the bear community. Thinking back, I wish I had just gotten on my computer and looked up more information about bears. Turns out that bears tend to really utilize technology to their benefit. They were some of the first to use the internet to find one another. Now, there are tons of gay sites out there to meet all sorts of people. When I met my partner, he was the first bear that I had really gotten to know. He in turn introduced me to several other bears and together we continue to find more guys that fit in our community.

When I identify myself now as a bear, I have straight friends that ask me what that means. So I figured I would put together a little primer for them. Scouring the internet I found the following information to help those who don’t know what a bear is or don’t know much about the community.

There isn’t a clear picture of when the Bear subculture began. Some say that it started as early as the late ‘70s, while others suggest that it started in 1986 with Bear magazine. Regardless of when it began, it has stuck around. Bears tend to be heavy-set men who tend to have hairy bodies and facial hair. However, these are not strict requirements. There are muscle bears, with little body fat and there are those with little body hair as well.

One of the things that I think really defines the bear community is acceptance. The bears I have found online and in person accept people for who they are. This is especially important for those that, like me, thought there wasn’t a place for them in the gay community. There are bears of every shape, race, age, etc. which is incredibly empowering. In addition, bears tend to be friendly and easy going. Both of these are also very inviting.

Bears  have certain terms that they use to refer to one another. Even I get confused by them at times. So I include a brief lesson on bear vocabulary. Use at your own risk.

Bear Basics

Bear – “The most common definition of a "bear" is a man who is hairy, has facial hair, and a cuddly body. However, the word "Bear" means many things to different people, even within the bear movement. Many men who do not have one or all of these characteristics define themselves as bears, making the term a very loose one. Suffice it to say, "bear" is often defined as more of an attitude than anything else - a sense of comfort with our natural masculinity and bodies that is not slavish to the vogues of male attractiveness that is so common in gay circles and the culture at large.” – Urban Dictionary definition

Cub – A term used to describe a young, husky, hairy gay man, essentially a young bear. Typically, cubs have smaller frames than a bear does. It can also be used to describe the submissive partner in a bear relationship

Goldilocks – A woman that hands out with a group of bears. These are our “fag hags”

Otter – A slimmer or less hairy bear

Wolf – A bear that is rugged and outdoorsy

Types of Bears

Black Bears – Bear of African-American descent

Brown Bears – Bear of Latin descent

Daddy Bear – An older or mature bear

Ginger Bear – A Bear with red facial and or body hair

Grizzly Bear – This can mean a couple of things. First it could reference someone that is extremely masculine/dominant. It may also reference someone that is extremely tall, heavy or hairy.

Koala Bear – A bear of Australian descent

Panda Bear – A bear of Asian descent

Pocket Bear – A bear that is short in stature

Polar Bear – A bear with white or grey hair

Hopefully, this helps folks out there understand who I am and the community that I belong to.