What Baseball Taught Me About Being Myself |
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Everyone grows up with something that makes them feel 'different.'
Adversity can help us develop resilience.
Self-acceptance should be encouraged in everyone.
Now that baseball season is opening, I'm finding myself once again reminded of my deficiencies.
Let me take you back to the year 1981. At a large family gathering, the group decided it would be fun to play a game of baseball together—and as soon as they did, my heart sank. After all, I was already in college and no longer had to submit to the torture of gym class! And suddenly now I’m in a large field playing baseball? How can I escape this?
Growing up gay—but not knowing it—meant I knew I was different, and it was also made clear to me that my difference wasn't okay. I wasn't the boy I was supposed to be—according to my classmates, my father, my grandfather, and my neighbors. I wasn't engaged in sports or any of the things most guys my age were doing. I felt ashamed, self-conscious, and weak. My life was spent overcompensating for feeling different, for feeling self-conscious; I was constantly hoping to somehow “get in under the wire.” I privately felt this sense of not belonging (though of course I never articulated it to anybody, least of all myself) and experienced shame as a result; I was constantly making modifications to who I was based on whatever group I happened to be in.
The consequences were serious. People made fun of me and called me names, not only by my classmates but also by coaches and teachers. I was a boy, yet I loved spending time with girls exploring our shared interests—but had to keep that under wraps.
My story is a common one for many gay boys. The pain of being an outsider child doesn't go away when, as adults, we're finally experiencing good adjustment and happy results: The pain remains inside and is always easily accessible.
Here I was on the field in 1981. I already knew my place: deep in the right outfield, where there was little chance of the ball ever coming my way. It’s where most gay boys end up, where we can do the least damage to our team. And then came the ultimate humiliation as my mother—my mother—scored a home run! (In retrospect, I don’t even know whether she actually scored, but she hit the ball hard and decisively; I have been forever convinced that it was indeed a home run. By my mother, a better baseball player than me.)
Between my home and my office in Boston lies Fenway Park, and for years I’ve found myself walking to and from work against the flow of sports fans streaming in from all over to watch the Boston Red Sox play. At first, I was concerned that it might be obvious to them that I was gay (which is, of course, ridiculous: all they were thinking about was baseball!). But even now, in my early sixties, I still wonder what people think of me. Whether they “know.” I contain myself and act as though I’m unaffected, but of course I am: I still wear that shield of protection around myself that will be familiar to every gay man reading this.
But fortunately, that’s far from the end of the story. People who experience adversity are well-positioned to learn to thrive—and are more resilient as a result of their pasts. Research into the LGBTQ+ community has shown that people who have experienced early and ongoing struggles such as these can develop robust resilience. And while it’s important to appreciate that, and no one would ever choose to live through these struggles, they don’t just leave us in pain; they also allow us to grow, to become strong, and to bring that resiliency into all aspects of our lives so we can flourish.
Of course, we still live in a world that makes rules ill-suited to who we are, and I’ve experienced the other side of this as well. Throughout school, I was called a sissy, I was the last chosen for any sports team, and I dreaded the moments I had to participate. One day, miraculously, I was at bat and not only hit the ball—an accomplishment in itself—but even more miraculously hit a home run. I’ll never forget the feeling I had as my teammates crowded around me, giving me the approbation I so desperately needed. It was a stroke of sheer luck, but for days and even weeks afterward, I cherished the sense of belonging it had given me. For once, I fit in.
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We're Not All That Different
When I went to my twenty-fifth high school reunion, I was surprised to find that all those people who had made fun of me throughout school actually liked and admired the adult man I'd become. I realized that their rejection had been a stance they took to fit in. Who knew we were all just trying to belong!
It would be great to live in a world that doesn't isolate and mock kids who don't fit in, where cruelty has no place, and everyone can feel they belong. We don't live in that world, but it would be worth trying to achieve it. To allow kids to be themselves. To incorporate diversity in our schools, our institutions, our lives.
Maybe one day we'll get there. In the meantime, though, I'm staying away from the playing field, hopefully for a long time!
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