Excerpt from Chapter Twenty-Four (June 1999): . . . . Toward the end of the month, Sue invited me to a small gathering held at a French restaurant in downtown San Francisco. I readily accepted, feeling more than ready to shed my recovery-induced hibernation and toast to this new level of completion.On the way, I realized that there would be people there whom I had not seen since I began this journey. But when I felt excitement rather than hesitation at the thought of such exposure, I again saw just how much this recent surgery had given me.
At the restaurant, Sue saw me approaching and quickly ran over to hug me. She was in full party mode, eyes sparkling and filled with energy. She had saved a seat next to her and as I went to claim it, I heard my name. When I looked up, I saw a balding, round-faced man one of Sue s former roommates.
He held out his hand and as I reached to shake it, he looked directly into my eyes and said, "Dhillon, you look great. You really do."
To this day, I have not forgotten that look. It was a look that held nothing but pure joy and excitement. It was a look that said, "I am so, so happy for you." And it was a look that made me feel deeply ashamed.
When Sue first moved to San Francisco, we got together once a week for dinner and bad television. We alternated between her place and mine, so during the times I went to her house, I frequently ran into some of her roommates. I was always friendly to the females, often flirting with one I found attractive.
But when it came to her one male roommate, I found myself feeling irritated and standoffish like he had somehow stepped into our space.
But below that was another, deeper judgment. Something about his meek, passive, personality brought out a lack of respect in me. I would always think, "Christ, where s your backbone?"
Looking back now, I know that my behavior was largely fueled by a cramped, competitive, resentment. Some deeper part of me was thinking, "It s not fair. I m more masculine than him and yet he s got the pecs, the dick and the male recognition."
As I now interacted with this man throughout the rest of the evening, I kept thinking, "How could I have been so cruel to someone so kind?" I was incredulous. It almost felt like I must have been in some sort of drug-induced blackout or haze. Like I had not been myself. For I felt nothing but warmth tonight. Clear and simple.
As I drove home later that night, I thought about how many times I must have hurled hateful and demeaning comments at other men because of my own cramped situation. I even thought about my own political work and the marches and angry speeches. And I wondered how much of my contribution was truly about that cause and how much was about using the cause as a vehicle for my own personal, repressed, or unresolved rage.
I thought about so much that night.
