Hannah Hooker, Arkansas

So I knew I was gay somewhere around the eleventh grade. I should have realized it years earlier when I played house with the little girl down the street and had her to kiss me before she “went to work.” But instead, I was sitting on the curb in my front yard chatting with a pal, and she started telling me about her weekend adventures, which included getting drunk and kissing another girl on a dare. I was so overwhelmed with some emotion I couldn’t name at first. But, the longer she talked, the clearer it became that I was feeling raw, vicious, disgusting jealousy. When I went to bed that night, my thoughts were something along the lines of, “Well Han-Ban, you haven’t done anything the easy way so far, I guess sexuality isn’t going to be any different.”

It was a hard decision, but I decided I would put coming out on hold until I graduated from high school. I couldn’t think of another gay person in my high school, and I just didn’t think I had it in me to be salutatorian and the only open homosexual in my tiny town. Not to say that I kept my emotions totally to myself. I flirted and kissed girls all the time, and no one suspected that I was anything more than a free-spirited teenager looking for popularity. I also had a boyfriend. He was one big fat sticky situation. I loved him in whatever way I could, and he loved me with all that he had, and I thought, Isn’t this what we all want? Why would I ever give this up? 

Luckily for both of us, college did what college does. I made friends who made me feel, for the first time, as though it literally didn’t matter what I did, they weren’t going anywhere. And, I felt the same towards them, which is a pretty powerful feeling. I started dropping an interest in women into casual conversation with trusted pals, just to test the waters. I got all calm and accepting responses, and I was just about ready to make my presence as a lesbian known on campus, when my best friend and I kissed in the middle of the night on one of her visits to my school. Oops! Two days later is was in committed relationship with someone who was nowhere near coming out. Back in the closet I went. It didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing who I was, and not living loudly was practically against my genetic code. Plus, I’d never lied to my parents before about anything. 

Finally, the summer after my freshman year of college, I managed to snag my mom away from the house. In my constantly classy way, at the gas station up the road from my home I said to my mother, “I’ve been dating a girl for five months.” She responded with, “OK.” That was that for about a day. Then, when my kid brothers were out of the house and my parents and I were in the living room, my mom said, “So Hannah, what does this dating a girl thing mean?” I said, “Um, that I’m gay, Mom.” She said, “Really?” My Dad said, “Duh.” 

I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl, after all. With the rents in full support, I was ready to pump up the volume on life again. After that first relationship ended, I totally embraced the lifestyle, which meant....well, not a whole lot. Other than who I was dating and flirting with, not much changed. I still look completely and utterly like me everywhere I go, and I still keep it classy yet chaotic in every situation. A lot of people still don’t suspect upon meeting me that I’m anything other than that free-spirited girl who looks like your average, rebellious, heterosexual WASP, but whenever I’m asked, “Wait, you’re gay?!” I always respond, “Duh.” Thanks, Dad.