Pride in a Pandemic
Photo/Maximus Sevedge.
By Maximus Sevedge
I was eight-years-old when I was first called the word “gay” in my elementary school playground. I still faintly remember where I was called that word. On that picnic bench under the silver roofed canopy looking at the rock wall and the tubed purple slide with carvings of “sex” and cuss words, probably from the 6th graders, I was reading a Magic Treehouse book when I heard a kid run towards the bench on which I was sitting. A fellow classmate looked down on me, “You’re so gay,” he said with a cocky tone.
Right when I was thinking of words to say, he ran back onto the rock wall to the left of me, probably joining their friends to ride down the purple slide. I did not pay attention to them.
All I could think that day until I got home to my recently widowed mother’s house was:
“What does that even mean?”
I remember going home and asking in a trembling voice:
“Mom? What does the word gay mean?”
My mom responded, bright and cheerfully:
“Honey, the word gay means two boys or girls that love each other very much, those kids don’t know the meaning and use it for hate, don’t let them.”
My mom thought that this was just typical kid slander, classic “boys will be boys” behavior. She knew that I was being teased, but she could not always protect me. She did not think I was gay because I was still a child; I did not know I was gay when I was eight.
My dad passed away on August 21, 2008, when I was five from an accident from his workplace located here in Reno. His passing broke me and my family’s heart. My mom and dad were not married, but I like to think they would have been. The two of them were inseparable, and now my mom was raising two kids and a teenager, alone. She had to stay strong—we had to stay strong.
My elementary school was mostly Hispanic, some Black, some white. Our school felt like a pie chart, and I was the little slice saved for last at the Thanksgiving feast no one wanted. I was also bullied by some of my classmates because I was different and would rather sit under a tree and read books, rather than throwing rocks at each other and running aimlessly.
I learned about the LGBTQIA+ community when my uncles became more open to me about themselves and the community as I grew older. A community about love and acceptance. I knew about this community when I started to learn more about my two gay uncles. I knew that they were gay, and my family accepted them. One night, I was falling asleep in my top bunk. My little sister was below me on the bottom bunk. The room was illuminated with a soft white light by the night light. I looked at her dolls and toys that I played with her all the time, rather than action figures and other masculine toys. I knew that I was different, but I did not know how yet.
I blew out the 12 candles on my birthday cake realizing a new era in my life was starting soon: middle school. I also woke up that morning, June 26, 2015, to see on the news that pride flags were filling the streets of Washington D.C. as gay marriage was now legalized in the United States. I was excited! I kept thinking to myself how nice that is, but I did not know I was “different” yet. I was excited for other people, just not myself at that time.
The first day of middle school. My uncle pulled into the school parking lot by the bike locks, I was wearing a green collared shirt and black jeans, the uniform. I was nervous, but I had to be brave. This was a new journey in life and wherever it took me, I was ready. My middle school experience, heck I could write a whole book about teachers I loved, hated, did not trust, playing violin in a chamber orchestra at my school, anime club, and much more, but when I walked through those main doors I realized, I had new friends to discover, new things to learn, new discoveries in things I love or will soon to love, and that’s they year I found out that,
“Maybe I am gay.”
Moving into 8th grade, this year was when I figured out and said to myself,
“Yeah, I am not straight, but I still don’t know how to come out yet, it still doesn’t feel right.”
Middle school was the time where I knew that I was gay. I loved drag queens, and queer culture was surrounding me in a clear vision of rainbow. My uncles knew I was gay from a young age. I acted more feminine compared to my family members. The anime club helped me surround myself with people from the LGBTQIA+ community at my school. However, classmates continued to heckle me with senseless taunts and use of harassment. I could not be my true self in my “safest” environment.
I settled in what I thought was the best way. Bisexuality. I knew that I did not like girls, but I still did not want to be bullied, so I faked my sexuality and it ended up backfiring. I got into an abusive relationship with a woman who encouraged my negative thoughts, and she told me to continue with unhealthy habits like not eating for days on end. She kept degrading me.
“You’re no one.”
“No one loves you.”
I did not feel any passion when I was with her, and I did not feel love. I finally woke up and left her. Her reaction was abysmal at best. She threatened to assault me at school and to spread rumors about me. I was horrified. I am not the kind of person to get in trouble, I was a quiet kid, and I did what I did when I was told to do it. I spent months at lunch eating with teachers to feel safe. I would be purposely late to class to avoid her, even passing to class in the outside courtyards when it was freezing. I did not feel safe. I tried to make a complaint to my counselors but I had no “evidence” as she deleted all the messages she sent, blocked me on everything, and acted as if nothing had happened in those dark halls of our school.
“Are you kidding me!?” I thought to myself enraged. But I left peacefully (not trying to get suspended before graduation), my thoughts however went numb in the sandstorm of confusion and thoughts of, “Maybe it is my fault.”
But in a way this did help me. I became stronger, and I knew from then on that I needed to fight back if necessary, but the most crucial thing I learned was that I was gay. I liked guys, and I needed to face that head on. Do not thank her; she will never get credit for making me stronger.
High school was the real start of becoming my true self. Over these four years, I learned many things from my teachers, family, swim team, and color-guard.
I started quarantine in 2020 thinking that my whole year was ruined, like everyone else's plans got cancelled: trips, prom, even not seeing my friends was a struggle that everyone had to apply into their new daily life. I knew I was doing the right thing staying inside as it allowed me to take a deeper look inside of myself. Over the months leading up to my 17th birthday, I felt a new aura make a presence, an aura of truth about myself, my sexuality, and my purpose during quarantine, creative thinking. I tried to stay active to make my mind think, even playing video games expanded my mind to new ideas.
I blew out the 17 candles on my 17th birthday on the yellow cake with chocolate icing that my sister made for me. My sister was the first person I came out to after my horrible relationship. She has supported me in many ways that did help me eventually come out to my family, like when my older sister was going to prison. Even though I never spoke to my older sister all that much, it hurts to see your sister’s mugshot on the television before you go to school. She was strong. As the smoke lifted from the blown-out candles, the claps from my mom and uncles rose from the dining room. I give my sister a hug like I have not seen her in 20 years, my biggest supporter deserves my biggest hug.
August of 2020 (two months after my birthday), we learned that my mom’s strength was going away, her skin was starting to turn yellow, as well as the white part in her eyes. She was in a state of pain that I have never seen my mother in before. She was going to the hospital for jaundice. Now, I am not a fatalist, but I always assume the worst of the worst. I figured, now is the best time to tell her my true self. I walked into the living room hallway, my mom sitting on the blue couch watching the Food Network, and I told her:
“Mom, I am gay”.
She looks at me with a tired look in her yellow eyes,
“Okay.”
I gleefully almost waltzed back into my room and started crying happily. Though her response was underwhelming at best, it was the best thing I could have wished for. I am lucky to be accepted.
I now try to be active for LGBTQIA+ fundraisers and organizations for human rights such as Black Lives Matter and The Trevor Project to keep kids who were not accepted safe. It is sad to think that some kids are kicked out by their parents, some were even killed by their own parents for their sexual preferences, and some kids like Gabriel Hernandez are even killed by their own parents for being gay. Even if I cannot donate I try to watch videos to help boost the spread of these stories—these people who are doing the right thing and they deserve to be heard.
I learned over these years and life experiences that I am who I am meant to be. It's okay to be a male and like feminine clothing and other feminine objects. It's okay to be confused about yourself. You are okay to find yourself in a safe way. I was meant to be gay, any amount of hate, change, and opinions towards me will not change that. But I am not done, not by a long shot. This is just the start on my “Queer Brick Road.” I want to change the world, not just to work a nine-to-five job, but to travel and be an activist who makes unsafe kids feel safe. The world needs to be more accepting now with COVID-19, a National Equal Rights Movement, and an election that can affect my future. Now is the perfect time to get our voices out.
Maximus Sevedge is a senior at Sparks High School who plans on attending Truckee Meadows Community College in the fall for an English Associates Degree. He aspires to help other young LGBTQIA+ kids who are struggling and be the kind of mentor he wishes he had. He loves swimming, binging anime, and shopping on Amazon for new room décor.