On the Strength of a Rumor
Jun. 24th, 2018 01:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mrdreamjeansI'm watching the Pride events from afar today. I did spend time at the Pride Festival yesterday, manning the Twin Cities Country Dancers tent, teaching passersby CW dancing when they were interested in doing so. As I type this many of my close friends are dancing down Hennepin Ave in the Twin Cities Pride Parade. I had planned to participate, but talked myself out of it. There is absolutely no good reason why I couldn't have done so.
At the age of 64, I've attended Pride celebrations in Minneapolis, Houston, Dallas, Portland, Seattle, Toronto and Berlin. Yet, I've never marched in any of the parades. The why is complicated. I have held on to the damage from an incident that happened in 1978. In writing this post, I am hoping to once and for all move past my reticence.
First let me list why I should be marching in this Parade. My entire family knows I am gay and have shown no signs there love is conditional. Like many men of a certain age, I didn't discuss my orientation in the workplace; I assume most people figure it out as I am single. My current employer knows I'm gay, but I don't discuss it with my co-workers. I strongly support the organizations, the groups, the politicians who embrace the LGBTQ community. My ass should be marching! So, why isn't it?
In 1978, I was working for Brown & Root, a conservative engineering and construction firm (part of Halliburton) as a technical editor. It was my first significant employment following graduation from Texas A&M University. I had beaten out 500 candidates for the position. Our Graphics and Publications Department had a supervisor for editors, a supervisor for word processing, four editors, 21 word processors and a department manager. In my first year, I received four promotions and four raises. I really enjoyed the work!
In my second year, I was made temporary supervisor of the word processing department. All of the word processors were women. I was 24 years old; all of the women were much older than me, except one. I described my management style at the time as allowing myself to be mothered. The young woman, a superior typist, would complete her assignments quickly and cause trouble. She would start rumors, lie, anything she could think of to pit the other women against each other because it amused her. It escalated when she took on a boyfriend who beat her. Her behavior became so disruptive a disciplinary action was necessary.
In following procedure, I triggered an event that changed my life. This young woman responded by skipping up the corporate chain three layers; she registered a complaint that my actions were wrong. I had punished her because I was a gay man and hated women, not because she had done anything wrong. It might sound silly now, but her complaint against me fell on fertile ears, though it was all hearsay. (She made it up to hurt me.) My boss's boss (who had never met me) told my manager that, though my work was documented as superior, I was to receive no more promotions or raises during my employment with the company. I should be grateful I had not been fired. I told no one. I was not out to my family, even out to myself. I was embarrassed because in my deepest heart, I thought I mght be gay. There was no way to appeal this manager's announcement. I've held this injustice inside for decades, let it sabotage me, allowed it to influence my actions. I want to let it go.
It's only now in the 20 teens, I tell the story here. Of course, none of this was an issue in my theater career; but, growing up in Texas with this experience as a first taste of conservative corporate America, I have remained wary, reticient in the workplace to be who I really am. I should have been braver. I should have been prouder. I should feel freer. Yet, I still won't share anything like this damaging tale on Facebook 40+ years later. Sad, really, as it's a cautionary tale of what happened to one man on the strength of a rumor.
At the age of 64, I've attended Pride celebrations in Minneapolis, Houston, Dallas, Portland, Seattle, Toronto and Berlin. Yet, I've never marched in any of the parades. The why is complicated. I have held on to the damage from an incident that happened in 1978. In writing this post, I am hoping to once and for all move past my reticence.
First let me list why I should be marching in this Parade. My entire family knows I am gay and have shown no signs there love is conditional. Like many men of a certain age, I didn't discuss my orientation in the workplace; I assume most people figure it out as I am single. My current employer knows I'm gay, but I don't discuss it with my co-workers. I strongly support the organizations, the groups, the politicians who embrace the LGBTQ community. My ass should be marching! So, why isn't it?
In 1978, I was working for Brown & Root, a conservative engineering and construction firm (part of Halliburton) as a technical editor. It was my first significant employment following graduation from Texas A&M University. I had beaten out 500 candidates for the position. Our Graphics and Publications Department had a supervisor for editors, a supervisor for word processing, four editors, 21 word processors and a department manager. In my first year, I received four promotions and four raises. I really enjoyed the work!
In my second year, I was made temporary supervisor of the word processing department. All of the word processors were women. I was 24 years old; all of the women were much older than me, except one. I described my management style at the time as allowing myself to be mothered. The young woman, a superior typist, would complete her assignments quickly and cause trouble. She would start rumors, lie, anything she could think of to pit the other women against each other because it amused her. It escalated when she took on a boyfriend who beat her. Her behavior became so disruptive a disciplinary action was necessary.
In following procedure, I triggered an event that changed my life. This young woman responded by skipping up the corporate chain three layers; she registered a complaint that my actions were wrong. I had punished her because I was a gay man and hated women, not because she had done anything wrong. It might sound silly now, but her complaint against me fell on fertile ears, though it was all hearsay. (She made it up to hurt me.) My boss's boss (who had never met me) told my manager that, though my work was documented as superior, I was to receive no more promotions or raises during my employment with the company. I should be grateful I had not been fired. I told no one. I was not out to my family, even out to myself. I was embarrassed because in my deepest heart, I thought I mght be gay. There was no way to appeal this manager's announcement. I've held this injustice inside for decades, let it sabotage me, allowed it to influence my actions. I want to let it go.
It's only now in the 20 teens, I tell the story here. Of course, none of this was an issue in my theater career; but, growing up in Texas with this experience as a first taste of conservative corporate America, I have remained wary, reticient in the workplace to be who I really am. I should have been braver. I should have been prouder. I should feel freer. Yet, I still won't share anything like this damaging tale on Facebook 40+ years later. Sad, really, as it's a cautionary tale of what happened to one man on the strength of a rumor.
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no subject
Date: 2018-06-24 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-06-25 11:06 pm (UTC)As an aside, I do find it discouraging to post anything here. There is so little response ... I had for posts in a row where barely no one acknowledged my words existed. If I didn't look here for you, Tim Learmont, Van and one other person, there would be no good reason to continue writing ...
HUGS!
no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-07-15 02:39 am (UTC)