I remember being happy when I used to race around our cul-de-sac with my friends on our big wheels, playing Indy 500 by driving endlessly around the circle or Dukes of Hazzard by jamming the pedals, turning the handlebars, and letting the plastic rear wheels slip and skid across the pavement. I remember being nervous when I let homework assignments go and having to face teachers the next day in English class. I remember being so scared to take the trash cans through the clump of trees near the street that I would drag them, running, twice as far as I had to just to avoid the serial killer who was undoubtedly lurking in the dark.

I remember being so ashamed of my bad acne that I learned to get ready in the morning without having to look at my face in the mirror. I remember feeling lonely when, despite my mother assuring me they really did like me, none of the people I considered friends ever called just to hang out. I remember the embarrassment on one occasion of showing up at a movie theater after being invited to meet some friends to discover they’d met earlier and went to see a different movie instead (it was thus the first time I saw a movie by myself in the theater, because I was too embarrassed to admit to my family that I’d missed them).

I remember the terror I felt when I was walking down a street in Muncie, IN, talking to a camp counselor when we realized we were being followed by some local kids who intended to beat the shit out of us because they suspected we were gay. The irony was that I didn’t even know for sure that I was gay–I was still trying to figure it out for myself. I remember thinking later that those who believe being gay is a choice should ask themselves if they can really believe someone would choose a life that would put him on the receiving end of a barrage of punches and kicks that left him broken, crying, and helpless in the middle of a street, too scared to get up for fear that his attackers would come back to finish the job. My attack wasn’t even that bad–at least I was able to stand and limp back to the dorm instead of being killed or tied to a fence post and left to die.

Despite these darker memories and events, my collective impression of my childhood is generally bright, because I was surrounded by such an amazing, loving family. I had parents who provided me with everything I could have ever wanted, who let me try every sport or activity I wanted to, and who supported me when I ultimately chose to study music in college (one of the least practical degrees one can ever attempt to earn, even when it comes from a top school like Eastman). My sisters played with me and there was never a time when any of us were made to think we couldn’t do something because of our gender, whether it was me wanting to be a “Cupcake” when they joined Brownies, playing with their toys, or my younger sister playing little league baseball with the boys. We all ate meals and played games together, and made each other laugh until we cried.

My parents succeeded in convincing me that being ahead of other kids my age in school didn’t make me a nerd, it made me special, and that intelligence was a trait to embrace, not wish away just to avoid being outcast by my peers. They taught me that it was up to me to choose whether being alone meant I would be lonely or become independent. They allowed me to bite off as much as I wanted to chew as long as I took responsibility for my actions and decisions. My parents taught me to stand up for myself, and if I got knocked down to pick myself up, dust myself off, and move forward as a stronger person. That’s how I eventually got up that night in Muncie–laying there all night wasn’t going to solve anything, and staying down meant the bad guys won.

I suppose it’s not terribly important that I remember other specifics from all those years ago. In many cases, it’s probably for the better. The important thing is that those experiences have made me the man I am today. Every time I picked myself up and moved forward, I became a little more sure of where I was going, more secure in my ability to get where I wanted to go, and stronger than before. Perhaps although we don’t always remember exactly how we got here, the fact that we’re here means that we’ve managed to do the most important thing of all: survive.

For example, sexuality isn’t considered by most straight people to be related to their self-esteem or confidence (except perhaps in specific acts like dating), but gay people will likely tell you a different story. It is related to straight people’s self-esteem in that they don’t suffer from the negative self-esteem that results from being harassed and discriminated against by ignorant people who simply don’t understand them. Their self-esteem is bolstered by being a member of the majority, but of course they don’t recognize or appreciate this. I can tell you that coming to the realization I was gay in a conservative environment had a profoundly negative effect on my self-esteem. The impact of having certain traits and characteristics becomes crystal clear when they land you in a minority.

The problem seems to stem from the idea that because these people take the social acceptance of their sexuality for granted, when they see “different”, they think “wrong”. Couple this with the idea that they have been conditioned by homophobic and/or religious propaganda to hear the word “gay” and think “men having sex”, and “open service” takes on a completely different meaning for them than it does to me. Why else would they immediately jump to pornographic shower scenes and sharing close quarters on ships? They don’t even consider the idea that I might just want to live my life with someone I love and who loves me, that I can call or write to when I’m homesick on deployment, or who will have dinner waiting for me when I return home from weeks in the field.

Although sex is an element of sexuality, it is only one small part of it. There are, unfortunately, varying and conflicting standards of how “sexual” sexuality is. I was once told by a coworker that his opposition to gay marriage was that he didn’t want his children to see gay people walking down the street holding hands. I asked why that was an issue (particularly since hand-holding isn’t normally an indication of a state-sanctioned, legal contract between two consenting adults), and he suggested that it was because his children might think it was normal and could potentially turn them gay. I wondered–if there was any logic to be found in that statement–how it happened that over decades of seeing straight couples everywhere I looked that it didn’t rub off on me, even a little.

I’m constantly told that people are uncomfortable with gay sex and therefore I should be wary of public displays of affection with another man. How is it that me holding hands with another man in public is somehow less appropriate than a straight couple doing the same thing? How do seemingly rational people see the image of two male hands casually touching in public and translate it to hot, sweaty, man-on-man action? The idea that two guys holding hands is inappropriate because it conjures images of hardcore gay sex proves not only that they have extremely active imaginations, but also that gays are held to a completely different standard when it comes to our daily lives. We are seen as being only a sideways glance away from indiscriminately grabbing the nearest guy and having our way with him and it is up to laws like DADT and DOMA to protect the rest of the population from our ravenous sexual appetites. I actually pity those who spend their lives fearing gay people because they are too ignorant to understand the role sexuality plays in everyone’s lives, not just gay people’s.

If every time I saw a man and woman holding hands I envisioned them having sex, or if seeing a man wearing a wedding ring made me think of how he and his wife spent their honeymoon locked in a hotel room for a week as newlyweds, I don’t think I would ever walk down a public street. If a man and a woman playing in the park with their child were most certainly pedophiles acting out some sick fetish, I wouldn’t want them in my neighborhood, either. Yet this is how gay people are seen, and as ridiculous and irrational as it becomes when put into heterosexual terms, it’s still socially acceptable to see homosexuality as the root of all evil in the world. Disclosing my sexuality is not, as some would have you believe, meant to express or imply a desire to explicitly describe the details of my sex life with their children. Further, my decision to live openly gay is no different than their decision to live openly straight: an otherwise insignificant issue that is made significant only by their discomfort, as opposed to a conscientious attempt by me to destroy the moral fabric of their lives while promoting some nefarious agenda.

Several months ago, when Army PFC Bradley Manning was arrested for allegedly leaking classified and unclassified military documents to WikiLeaks, it took only a short time before his sexuality was brought to light. It was as though being an alleged traitor wasn’t enough, it was that much worse because he was a gay traitor. And it wasn’t long before some people began to make the argument that he was a traitor because he is gay. Even his own attorneys are suggesting that his sexuality played a role in his decision to compromise national security, a defense that the Log Cabin Republicans have subsequently been compelled to rightfully condemn.

People who are inclined to see sexuality as relating only to my sex life will condemn me for publicly acknowledging my sexuality. Although it is not my intent to be known as a gay Marine, there will inevitably be those who see me only this way. The truth, however, is that I don’t consider myself a gay Marine any more than I consider myself a left-handed Marine or a blond Marine. My sexuality is no more a threat to anyone else’s life or family as theirs is to mine, but it is clear we have a way to go before everyone comes to share this understanding. Believe me when I tell you that, as a general rule, gay people do not wish to be defined by our sexuality any more than straight people do. It is an aspect of our lives that has a profound impact on who we are as people, but no more than anyone else.

You can download or listen to a recording of the interview here (via Dropbox, right-click to download).

For example, several were from the same person who left his phone number (among misspellings and grammar errors in all caps) and dared me to call him and tell him I’m gay. Something tells me the conversation wouldn’t be very enlightening:

“Hello, I’m the gay guy you gave your number to.”
“Fag.”
“That it?”
“…”
Click.

One comment I couldn’t tell if it was a joke so I erred on the side of people taking it seriously rather than ironically and left it out. It just said, “This is so gay.” Well, duh. That’s the point.

I’ve been asked by some people if I intend to start doing media appearances now, and I’m contemplating writing a book (or maybe something shorter, like a Kindle Single). The command has given me their full support and encouraged me to do whatever I feel is right. At this point, I’m not inclined to do much more than keep writing here, partially because that night was just one night and I already told the story and partially because I see myself as a career-oriented Marine and I have a lot more to do in my career beyond this. As I said to someone in an email this morning, I can’t wait until taking a date to the ball isn’t considered news.

All that being said, though, it’s clear that Brandon and my night at the ball is something people want to read and hear about. Should it be news? No, but it is. Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgenders, queers, dykes, fags, homos, and the otherwise not-entirely-straight among us have spent decades (if not centuries) being ignored, harassed, arrested, abused, assaulted, and killed just for being who they are. So it is a big deal when we can just be like everyone else and go on a date to a special event with a special person.

I am not an activist, I am a Marine. I do what I believe is right, and that which serves my sworn oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. I believe that repealing DADT was the right thing to do, and that doing so strengthened our military and our nation. I also believe that the fear and hesitation people had were unfounded, and my story is proof. I intend to work personally and professionally to ensure the transition to a post-DADT military continues to be a smooth one, and now that there are openly gay service members all over the world we will be able to assist our military in moving forward and growing stronger.

I’m therefore going to ask you to help me out by forwarding, retweeting, facebooking, and emailing the link to everyone. I would love for more people to pick up the story so we can reach even more. It’s important that young people know it gets better, that veterans know their hardships were not in vain, that victims of assault and abuse are remembered, and that those who would prevent us from achieving equality are corrected in their perception that there is something less or abnormal about us.

Please keep writing and posting comments. I promise I’m reading them–as is everyone else.

As for the comments themselves, I do moderate them. The ones I approve are completely untouched–I would never try to change what someone else is trying to say. There were some comments I did not approve, though, because they were filled with hatred and ignorance. My hope in posting this lengthy 4-part blog entry is that people will come to understand a side of DADT that they never heard about in the press or debates, not re-hash the debates all over again. All the tired arguments about religious objections and showers have been heard before, and if people still feel the need to make them, they can do it somewhere else. I’m not going to let a few haters try to destroy the positive energy you’ve all generated through your love and support. (I also happen to believe that if any of those comments made it up on these posts you all would rip them to shreds and I am just trying to save them the public humiliation.)

Just a note on contacting me: I have received dozens of Facebook friend requests, but it’s my personal account and I have always had a pretty strict rule about only being “friends” with people I know or have at least conversed with on more than just a couple occasions. If I don’t approve your friend request, it’s not because I’m ignoring you or being rude, it’s just because we don’t know each other. I do, however, have subscriptions enabled on my profile and my privacy settings are pretty liberal, so if you really want to see my posts there, feel free to subscribe. As for Twitter, I welcome you to follow my tweets, but that’s my personal account, too. I don’t have a staff to keep me up to date on everyone, so please don’t be offended if I don’t always follow back–that’s not really what the system was designed for anyway. If you want to talk to me directly, send me an email to my Facebook account or my personal email address–I can handle those much easier than all the replies to posts on WordPress.

Finally, I’m not sure if it came across in the posts how much strength and courage it took Brandon to get through that evening. It’s been said that Ginger Rogers never received enough credit for doing everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in heels. Not only did Brandon have to deal with the pressures of being the only guy there on a date with a male Marine, but he didn’t know much about the Marine Corps, knew nothing about protocol or the ceremony, and certainly didn’t know anyone who was there. He made it through gracefully (and handsomely, if I may say), and the confidence he portrayed was both calming and inspiring.

I have spent most of my career being single. Anyone who has been in a relationship with a Marine knows it’s difficult. Long hours, short-notice trips, weeks in the field, months on deployment, weekends/holidays/birthdays missed–these affect all of us. DADT just added another complex layer to an already difficult endeavor. For someone to be in a relationship with me, he would be to required accept the fact that I was going to lie about who he was if I mentioned him at all. When asked by commanders and coworkers if I was married, I’d say no even if we lived together. It is the epitome of a double life: on the one hand there is a special person who makes the unique challenges of your life remotely bearable, while at the same time you’re denying to anyone interested that he even exists. If you do let down long enough to go out in public together, your head is on a swivel, always looking out for anyone who may see you doing something that could get you in trouble. Even going to the gym could be a challenge–you want to spend the time together as a couple, but if there are Marines at the same gym, you’re just “workout buddies” and it becomes even worse: he has to stand there while you deny your relationship in front of his face. How many times can you do that before you just give up trying? I have no idea what that must have felt like for the men I dated. I do know that it killed a piece of me every time I had to do it.

I never compromised my integrity–I did what I had to do to survive. When my recruiter asked me in 2002 if I was gay because it was easier than explaining the DADT policy to a straight person (which I must have been if I wanted to be a Marine), he wasn’t trying to violate the policy. I wasn’t about to let his careless question keep me from my dream of becoming a Marine, so I told him no. In recruit training, I had a drill instructor who regularly motivated the platoon by suggesting that “females and faggots” were the only ones who couldn’t do what he was telling us to do, and if we were men we would try harder and do better. Like any good recruit I bit my tongue, yelled louder, moved faster, and did my best to prove to everyone around me that I was good enough that they wouldn’t wonder if I was gay. When I was drugged and assaulted on a trip in 2004 that resulted in my unauthorized absence from work the next day, I declined to file a report at the hospital because doing so would have elicited questions from my command that would have likely ended up in a DADT investigation. When my name was mentioned in the investigation of another Marine in 2005 I contacted an attorney at SLDN and waited for a call from investigators that thankfully never came.

The Marines I worked with over the years who said and did these things never knew they were talking to or about a gay Marine–I’m confident if they did that they would have been professional enough to choose different words, or not let their suspicions turn into witch hunts. But I knew, and every time I swallowed an objection, ignored a comment, or kept my mouth shut in a discussion I thought of all the people in my life who made me the man I was, and silently apologized to them for not being able to show the Marine Corps just how proud I was to be me.

September 20, 2011 changed all that. For most Marines it was a non-issue. For some it was the day the homos infiltrated the Marine Corps. For me, it was the day I got my dignity back. I wouldn’t have to stand there and listen when confronted with ignorance, I didn’t have to endure another conversation in which I was told that gays didn’t belong in the Marine Corps, that they shouldn’t be allowed to share the same barracks or serve in combat, that they shouldn’t be allowed to marry, or that their parents had failed and that’s how they came to be gay in the first place. I didn’t have to pretend I was single if I wasn’t. But it was all easier said than done; I had spent nearly a decade avoiding personal relationships with fellow Marines and had learned that pursuing romantic relationships was futile. For years I’d had an excuse to be single (not to mention that I was legally required to be), and now that I didn’t have to be it was harder than I expected it would be. The idea of ever having a fairy tale wedding had been my impossible dream for so long that finding Prince Charming came to seem like the easy part.

I took Brandon to work with me on November 10 to show him where I work, and hopefully set him at ease with some of the customs, courtesies, and traditions of the Marine Corps. On that day, as every year, the Marine Corps Recruit Depot has a uniform pageant that showcases Marines and battles from throughout our long history and culminates with the cutting of the traditional birthday cake. Attending the ceremony allowed him to get a snapshot of our history and also gave me the opportunity to explain some things like when to stand, who the people were, what the different uniforms and rank insignia meant, etc. He was completely overwhelmed, but really tried and I appreciated it. I took him back to my office and showed him where I work. I showed him the sign in front of my building with my name on it under “Commanding Officer”. I pointed out and introduced him to a few of the people we would probably see later. I was trying to be cool about it, but the whole time I was constantly thinking to myself, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

It was unlike any time I had ever shown someone where I work before. Over the years I have brought my family to events and showed them my office. My mother giggles like a little girl when we drive on base and the guards call me “sir” and salute. She’s even asked if we can drive off-base just to come through the gate again. My parents came to my boot camp graduation in Parris Island, saw me play with the Marine Corps band in Twentynine Palms, saw my graduation from Officer Candidate School, and watched my grandfather pin on my second lieutenant bars when I was commissioned. They came to my change of command ceremony last year when I assumed command of a company for the first time, and my mother sobbed when one of my Marines delivered flowers to her. On a few rare occasions over the years I ventured to take a boyfriend on base, times that I couldn’t bear to not have the person I was seeing at the time there, if only to witness the big events–a promotion, a graduation, a deployment. Looking back, though, I wonder if it was even worth it; in the stress of those situations I barely even looked at him, afraid that someone might see the way I looked at him and know–as one always knows–when couples look at each other.

After the ceremony, we left and tried to have a normal day. I changed back into civilian attire and we went to have lunch. After lunch, we went home and watched a movie, trying to ignore the anxiety about the evening that was to come. It felt like I was getting ready for a first date, which I guess I was. Ironing his suit that had made the trip in a suitcase from his home in Indianapolis, getting dressed in my Blues and realizing the jacket was a little tighter than I remembered, sharing the bathroom while he trimmed his beard and we did our hair–things I’d done many times before, but never quite like this, and never for such a big event as the Marine Corps Birthday Ball. I realized that gays take forever to get ready, even when one of us is a Marine.

Continued in Part 4

We got a cab to the Manchester Grand Hyatt in San Diego and walked to the entrance. Standing there and looking around to see Marines throughout the lobby, we both thought, “What the hell are we doing here?” We looked at each other, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. We were careful from the very beginning not to be too close to each other. At one point, while the one of us who passed land navigation as a lieutenant in Quantico, VA managed to get lost on the way to the bathroom, our hands bumped and we quickly pulled them back. We made our way to the bar because the glass of wine and cocktail we had while getting ready weren’t taking the edge off as effectively as we’d hoped. A Marine I knew from work walked up and introduced his wife.

I had gone over the next moment a million times in my mind. Was Brandon my “friend”? My “boyfriend”? My “date”? How should I represent our relationship in the most respectful way to people who might not be happy we were there together? I knew there were people who didn’t yet know I am gay (not because I had avoided telling them, but because it hadn’t come up yet in day-to-day conversation), so how would I introduce Brandon in a way that made it clear but still allowed them to avoid being caught off-guard? What about the people who suspected I was gay but that I’d never confirmed it to? How do you tell people something they already know without feeling like an idiot when they look back at you and say, “No kidding. Who didn’t know?” (Trust me, it happened plenty of times before when I had stressed about “coming out” to people who had known far sooner than I did.) I thought briefly about whether any straight Marine had ever asked himself those questions, or even considered whether it would be appropriate to take a date.

I took a sip of my drink and a nervous breath, put my hand in the small of his back and said, “Happy birthday, Corporal. This is Brandon.” Whew. One down, two thousand to go–the entire Depot was here and we were just getting started.

We made our way to the ballroom and introducing Brandon became easier as we went. As I spotted people I knew, particularly senior officers and commanders who I knew supported me, knew I was gay, and knew I had brought a date (I had planted the seed with my Commanding Officer and Executive Officer so they wouldn’t be caught off guard), I introduced Brandon and they were all as nice as could be. My Regimental Commander, a colonel, asked him if it was his first Marine Birthday Ball, I think realizing as soon as the words left his mouth how silly the question must have sounded. The memorable part of that moment, however, wasn’t the potential embarrassment of asking the gay date of the gay Marine if he’d been to such an event before, but that he asked the same exact question he would have asked any Marine’s date. I wasn’t pretending to fit in any more, trying to disguise the unique part of me that I couldn’t tell anyone about, I was just another Marine celebrating the birthday, and Brandon was just another date. Never before in my life had it felt so good to be no one special.

The rest of the ceremony went just like that. I introduced Brandon to everyone I knew that night, and as we got progressively more comfortable with the routine (and the drinks finally began to kick in), I started greeting Marines who I wasn’t as sure would be as comfortable or supportive. I was surprised by their warmth, and Brandon got some time to talk with other dates who were making fun of their Marines for all our pomp, circumstance, and strange (but very typically Marine) behavior. At one point in the evening, one of the women who works on the Commanding General’s staff approached us specifically to tell us how glad she was that we could be there together.

At the end of the ceremony we decided we would leave the ball before things got too crazy, and we weren’t sure we wanted to press our luck with dancing together. Besides, the officer in me is always inclined to leave events like that early–I don’t want to get drunk in front of the Marines, and I don’t want them to feel like they can’t be comfortable because their boss is hanging around. We began gathering our things and saying good-byes, and the usual question arose: “Where are you going now?” At every event I’d been to before–balls, ceremonies, receptions, family fun days–I had either made up a prior engagement or just claimed to be tired. For the first time, I didn’t have to lie. We were going to Bourbon Street, a gay bar in North Park, because we wanted to escape the chaos that was about to envelop the Gaslamp District of San Diego, and because after the pressure of being the only gay couple in a room of 1200 Marines and their dates we wanted to have a few more drinks and blow off some steam.

To our amazement, two of my fellow captains said they wanted to go with us. “You know it’s a gay bar right? With gay people?” They knew, and they also wanted to get out of the immediate area and the sea of Marines that were about to make the San Diego Police Department earn their night’s pay. We went downstairs to the front of the hotel and spied the long line for cabs and valets. Brandon walked up to the bell stand and asked one of the bellmen if the hotel had a courtesy vehicle. He said there was a Denali and he would see if he could drive us. When he pulled the truck around and the five of us (one officer and his wife, another officer, Brandon, and me) piled in, he asked where we were going. I told him we were going to Bourbon Street in North Park and asked if he knew where it was. When he smiled and said yes, I realized there had been no coincidence in how Brandon had chosen him to ask for the ride–not even military-grade top secret intelligence systems are as reliable or accurate as gaydar.

Bourbon Street was a blast. The staff, at first nervous when three Marines in dress uniforms with chests full of medals got out of a big black truck and walked confidently into the bar, were very accommodating. Everyone in the bar was looking at us and wondering what the hell we were doing there–I wondered, too. But when people started to see Brandon and me together, they knew, and everyone appeared somewhat in awe of what was happening. We continued our celebration there all night, more Marines and other San Diego-based service members stopping by to wish us a happy birthday, buying us drinks and having a great time.

I was overwhelmed by the whole occasion, and happily surprised at how well everything had gone and how supportive everyone had been. There was one particular moment, however, that struck me and I’ll never forget it. Brandon and I were standing in the middle of the room, him handsomely as ever in his suit after his first Marine Corps event, me in my dress blues on my 236th birthday, surrounded by an amazing group of gay and straight civilians and Marines, and I looked at him. We had survived a night I thought would never come, and with it behind us there would be many more: maybe for us, but definitely for all those who will come after we have been long forgotten. I thought to myself as I looked in his eyes that we’d done it, and I kissed him.

There is an enormous pressure–perhaps self-induced, I admit–to prove that I can do my job as well as (if not better than) anyone else. I had always placed this pressure on myself, as all of my gay military friends had, because I felt I had something to prove, even if no one else knew I was doing it. For my entire career I lived with the idea that people–from conservative civilian lobbyists to my fellow Marines to my Commander in Chief–believed I was incapable of succeeding as a Marine because I was gay. They thought we had no place in the military, and therefore it was up to us to be beyond reproach and the very best in our fields. In many ways that pressure has since been compounded, because it’s no longer a secret struggle.

The world is watching as we expose our true selves. Those who opposed repeal are scrutinizing every one of us, waiting for the opportunity to say that repeal was a mistake. As an officer and a leader of Marines, I lead from the front, setting the example for junior Marines and officers and to prove that there is no need to describe my service as that of a gay Marine, but just a Marine. Because of this, every word I say, every order I issue, every email I write, and every look I give is a conscious effort, as carefully thought out and worded as the letters, essays, and interviews I gave prior to repeal. Each and every moment of my life holds in it the possibility of discredit and disservice to my Corps. I cannot fail the Marines who are counting on me to pave the way forward as a Marine in a post-DADT military.

This year’s Marine Corps Birthday Ball was perhaps the most obvious example of this new pressure. Every year on November 10, the Marine Corps celebrates its birthday (November 10, 1775) with each unit–no matter how large or small–commemorating the occasion with a formal event called the Birthday Ball. Marines dress in their most formal uniforms and bring their guests, dates, and spouses to celebrate the birthday of our beloved Corps. This year, the 236th birthday, was my first opportunity to take another man as my date. I had always wanted to take a date, but DADT had prevented me from doing so. Certainly I would have been allowed to take a woman as my date, and no one would have thought anything of it, but it would have felt like a lie. For some of those years the person I would have liked to take was waiting for me at home, not allowed to go with me.

Since my Marines and my command already knew I was gay, I assumed they were already working up to the idea that I might take a man as my date. The Commandant had even been quoted as being “fine with it.” I wanted to take a date obviously for my own enjoyment–it would be my first time being there with someone, but also as an opportunity to show people that there are in fact Marines at MCRD who are gay and that we are every bit as entitled to celebrate one of the most cherished traditions of the Marine Corps with someone we care about.

I met Brandon several years ago via MySpace (that should tell you how long ago it was–does anyone even use MySpace anymore?). We had the opportunity to spend an amazing weekend together before my deployment to Iraq in 2007 and stayed in touch ever since. He has been a wonderful friend through everything over the past several years, and I deeply appreciated his continued friendship despite personal hardship and thousands of miles. I asked him to go with me because of how much he means to me and his friendship through some of the most challenging times of my military career, but also because I knew that the experience would require the character and strength of a very special person.

I knew that we would be the only male/male couple at the ball (I knew a good friend of mine would be half of the only female/female couple there). I knew that people would be staring at us, talking about us, and probably avoiding us. I knew that as a civilian, Brandon had no idea about our customs and courtesies, but I knew he wanted to understand them and would be respectful of them. I knew that there would be some people who were supportive of us, but I also knew that most people would just be professionally accepting of the fact that we were there together. I knew that there were some people who would not at all approve of the fact that we were there, but could only hope they would be professional enough to keep those opinions to themselves.

Continued in Part 3

The general opened the session by introducing his wife, who was traveling with him. He said that he wouldn’t be where he was today without her many years of sacrifice and support. I honestly have no idea what he said after that. I was overcome by the contradiction between that statement and his testimony on keeping DADT in place and spent the next twenty minutes alternating between finding the appropriate wording for asking the Commandant a question and convincing myself that I should just keep my mouth shut. Anyone who knows me also knows that once an idea enters my head, there’s really only one way things can go–I am, after all, a Marine.

I waited for the questions to begin, raised my hand, and was handed a microphone. “Good morning, General. My name is Captain Matthew Phelps, I’m a Series Commander with India Company, 3rd Recruit Training Battalion. Sir, in light of the recent issue of the proposed repeal of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, can you tell us how, as leaders, we can reconcile the conflict between stressing the importance of family support for our Marines and denying our gay and lesbian Marines even the opportunity to have a family?” He responded as one might expect a man in his position to respond: Congress had asked his opinion, he gave it, and there was nothing for us to discuss until they reached a decision. A few weeks later, Congress voted to repeal the law upon certification by the President, Secretary of Defense, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. On September 20, 2011, the law was finally repealed.

The stress of living under DADT is not something I can begin to describe. Whether you’re straight or gay, there is little that comes much more naturally than who you are attracted to. Whether you want it to be true or not, you still know, and you know that there’s no changing it. Now imagine that everything you know and love could disappear if anyone found out who you’re attracted to–even if you never acted on it. Imagine you could be fired and humiliated for it, or even go to jail. Imagine that all it has to take is a rumor or suspicion, and that an accusation from anyone could be devastating to your career. How would you deal with people you work with, who stand next to you in formation? How would you approach your job knowing that saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could provoke them to taking their suspicion to your commander?

Even now, as I learn to live without the stress of hiding my sexuality from my fellow Marines, I am realizing the sacrifices that gay, lesbian, and bisexual Marines have made since even before DADT was enacted. At certain points, it was everything I could do to keep from going insane. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I searched for outlets to vent my frustration. Most often, these outlets came in the form of telling people what I could about what I was going through, confiding in friends and family, and trying to convey this frustration to the general public and anyone else who would listen, through carefully planned and worded essays, letters, and interviews.

I sent this letter to the Marine Corps Times in response to a letter to the editor that appeared in the February 2, 2009 issue, but it was never published. In May 2010, I wrote this letter to President Obama as a part of the “Stories from the Frontlines” campaign by Servicemembers Legal Defense Network but didn’t sign it, as doing so would have been a violation of DADT. I appeared as “Michael” on KABC-AM’s John Phillips Show December 17, 2010 (just days before the vote in Congress to repeal the law) to discuss my personal experiences under DADT. I worked with SLDN on arranging interviews with other various outlets and spoke with producers of some of the shows. As repeal approached this past summer, I was interviewed by Chris Heath of GQ Magazine for “Tell: An Intimate History of Gay Men in the Military“, where I was quoted as “Marines #2″. For the actual repeal day, I spoke to a few news outlets in San Diego and appeared again as “Michael” in interviews on the local Fox, NBC, and CBS affiliates (links here, here, and here). I returned to the John Phillips Show (this time as “Matthew”) again on October 12. While attending the 2011 OutServe Leadership Summit in Las Vegas, I did interviews for this article in Frontiers magazine and this one in Der Spiegel, a German news magazine. Throughout all of this I became increasingly involved with SLDN, OutServe, and the Military Acceptance Project, who awarded me one of the first MAP Salute awards.

Despite all of this work with the media, I always obscured my identity not only for the sake of anonymity under the law, but also for the sake of avoiding the attention being so vocal could have brought on me and my Marines. While there was a part of me dying to just let people know and get it over with, I didn’t want my Marines to find out I was gay from newspaper headlines, and I didn’t want to give the impression that I was seeking publicity. Speaking to the press was not about recognition for myself, it was about providing a voice to those who were most impacted by DADT but weren’t being heard in the debates. It was never about me, it was about all of us. I was in a position where I felt I could speak safely and I did. As a Marine, it is my duty to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and I therefore had no choice but to seek and seize opportunities to do so.

All of the work I and countless others did had paid off and the law was history, but although that chapter was closed and that most difficult time was behind us, a new chapter was beginning. I was among the many people who thought it would be easier with DADT behind us, and in many ways it has been. Whereas I used to get frustrated trying to figure out how to answer questions about my personal life without being specific in referring to dates’ and boyfriends’ names, or even clubs and neighborhoods, I can just be honest. [Despite repeal opponents' insistence that sexuality doesn't come up in day-to-day military life, I would invite any of them to come with me to work and see that the opposite is true. Not a day has gone by since repeal when it hasn't come up in some way or another.] My entire chain of command knows and has been supportive. Contrary to what you may be thinking, this is where things get tough.

Continued in Part 2