I worked in the same school for sixteen years. I had developed close relationships and was well respected by my colleagues. I had an excellent reputation as an honest, fun person who was great at her job and always put her family first. That was all true, except for one thing. I hadn’t been completely honest with everyone about who I really was. I’m not sure why I felt I had to hide it, but I did. I guess I was afraid I would be judged, talked about, ridiculed, and maybe even treated differently. I’m not sure why I cared so much about what others thought, but I did.
Even those closest to me were surprised when I went into school on a Monday morning in May and announced my engagement. I was proud that I finally was part of the prestigious club that so many of my colleagues and friends were already members of. I was somewhere in the middle of the various age groups at my school. At the ripe old age of thirty-seven, there were plenty of staff members younger than me, and certainly plenty who were older than me, who were already married, most with children. I wanted to show off my engagement ring. I wanted everyone to know that someone finally loved me enough to want to marry me. I didn’t want to have to hide my ring or my engagement. I was tired of hiding, so I just went full speed ahead and never looked back in the only way I knew how. I answered every question that was asked and shared every detail I could. I stuck to the truth—almost one hundred percent.
What stands out most to me now is how hurt some of my friends were. I guess I had never thought about how my secret could affect, and actually hurt someone else. I suppose I was selfish in that way. My friends smiled and congratulated me and probably were truly happy for me deep down inside. But at the same time, they felt confused and betrayed. They couldn’t believe they hadn’t even known that I had been in a relationship with someone for almost two years. Of course, they wondered why I had kept my relationship a secret. That’s probably when the questions about this mysterious man in my life, Kevin, started. But it wasn’t until over a year later that the questions were asked directly to me.
It was the end of June, the Wednesday before the last day of school. My wedding was quickly approaching, but none of my colleagues or friends at school questioned why they weren’t invited to my summer wedding—at least not to my face. I had put the word out early that it was going to be a small celebration, pretty much for family and lifelong friends only. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or mislead anyone in thinking they should expect an invitation. But there we sat in a quiet restaurant on that Wednesday afternoon, celebrating a year of hard work and success in honor of our students that had just graduated hours before. Even though it was a tradition, there was something holding me back from wanting to go to the lunch at all.
I had plans to be in New Jersey that afternoon to be with my fiancé who had just experienced the death of a close friend. Rather than miss the lunch entirely, I promised to stop in for a quick bite. I just happened to be sitting in the middle of the table, about ten of us in all. I felt like a sitting duck, right in the center of the bullseye, perfectly situated where anyone at the table could ask me anything at all, and everyone would have the perfect seat to hear my response. It was coincidence. I know I wasn’t set up to be in that position. But I’m a true believer that not only does everything happen for a reason, it happens for the best. Sometimes it just takes a while to realize that.
Our meals hadn’t even arrived by the time the questions started. How did you meet? What does he look like? How old is he? What does he do for a living? Can we see a picture? We met at a bar in Manhattan. He’s got brown eyes and brown hair. He’s younger than me, only thirty one years old. He is the co-owner of a small business in New Jersey. It was all true, except for one minor detail. “He” didn’t exist. Everything I said about “Kevin” was true. It just so happened that Kevin wasn’t a real person. “He” was a “she,” and “Kevin” was actually “Katie." It was eating at me inside. I didn’t tell them this detail, but I figured it was written all over my face. I wondered what shade of red I must’ve turned and whether it was because I was nervous that they’d learn the truth, angry with myself for not being honest, embarrassed that I was different from all of them, or maybe even a little bit of all those things. As they continued to press me for a picture, I scrolled through my phone, pretending to look for just the right one. I even pulled up a picture of my soon-to-be-brother-in-law, just in case I succumbed to the pressure of putting a face to the name of my mystery man. I figured they wouldn’t know the difference and it wouldn’t hurt anybody to just show a picture of someone else. Thankfully, I never had to show the picture—I was saved by the waiter and couldn’t have been more grateful.
As our meals were laid on our placemats, I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly put my phone away, assuring everyone I’d show a picture of Kevin later. I ate as quickly as I could, shoveling food in my mouth to avoid having to make conversation. I found myself holding back tears and staring at my plate so that I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. I only made it through half of my lunch before asking the waiter to wrap up my meal. I reminded everyone that I had to get to New Jersey, which was the truth. I said my goodbyes and made a quick exit for the door, dashed to my car, sat down in the driver’s seat, and cried my eyes out until I felt there were no more tears. I sat there wondering what everyone was saying about me inside that restaurant. I knew that I must have been the topic of conversation. What kind of girl wouldn’t have one decent picture of her fiancé on her phone? After several minutes, I collected myself enough to start my journey to New Jersey. I cried much of the way and was grateful that the school year would be over in just two more days.
The next morning at work, I had a visit from a teacher. She and I were more acquaintances than friends, but that didn’t matter. She was the keeper of my secret. She was an openly gay teacher at my school and three years earlier, I had run into her at a gay lounge in Manhattan. I remember it like it was yesterday. I turned away from the bar, holding a drink in each hand, one for me and one for a friend. As soon as I turned away, there she was staring back at me. My eyes got big and she said, “I knew it!” with a giggle. I didn’t know her well, but begged her not to tell anyone back at work that she saw me there. She promised she wouldn’t, and I trusted her, someone whom I had hardly ever had a full conversation with in the past.
Now there she was at my door, just about three years later, telling me she had to talk to me. My stomach and heart both sank. I feared what she was about to say. Sure enough, she mentioned that she had spoken to some of our colleagues that I had had lunch with the day before and everyone was talking about me and speculating about my relationship and my lifestyle. She shared with me some of the comments people had said: He must be a different race. Maybe he’s disfigured. Maybe he is actually a she. This teacher told me this information not to hurt me, but to help me. She wanted me to realize that the truth would hurt a lot less than all of my friends and colleagues talking about me behind my back and making fun of me. I knew she was right, but there was nothing I could do except cry. I was miserable at work all day long, barely speaking a word to anyone, doing everything I could to keep from crying, which I did do from time to time throughout the day.
That night, I went to a local festival with my mother, my cousin, and my fiancé. We talked repeatedly about the situation and everyone’s advice was the same. The next day was Friday and it was the last day of the school year. I could tell everyone the truth and just see what would happen. If they understood why I had lied and forgave me, that would be great. If they didn’t respect me or disagreed with my lifestyle, then they would have all summer to get over it.
We had a staff breakfast the following morning. At the end of it, I asked my principal if I could speak to him privately in his office. I was so nervous and honestly felt like it was harder to talk to him than it was my own father. I sat down at the big conference table and just started crying. I told the truth and felt a combination of relief and guilt. I apologized for not having been honest, for not having invited him to my wedding. I explained how hard it had been for me to keep this secret my whole life and how ashamed of myself I was. His response, “Okay. Is that it?” caught me off guard. He explained that it wasn’t a big deal and offered me the opportunity to tell some of my other colleagues.
The next thing I knew, I sat in front of another assistant principal and a parent liaison, both friends of mine. Through the tears, I told the truth again. This time, the reaction was a little different. They both cried with me. One explained how her sister and brother are both gay, the other told how her daughter is a lesbian. I could see in their eyes that they truly supported me and felt bad that I had ever felt like I had to hide who I was or whom I loved. Then came round three. My principal called for several of my colleagues and friends that I had mentioned to him—people I thought I owed an explanation to. It took a few minutes for them to all gather in the principal’s office, all so confused and wondering what was going on, about an hour before the official end of the school year. There were probably ten people in that office at the time, and, once again, I came clean. I cried and I apologized. And right there before me, tear after tear fell, not from my eyes, but from the eyes of those friends that felt so bad that I went through all this alone and they questioned themselves and why I thought I couldn’t tell them the truth. Tear after tear, hug after hug, I was surrounded by people that truly cared for and respected me. They were proud to call me their friend and forgave me for not being honest.
It was only a matter of minutes that the word got out around the school. I was okay with that. I’m not really sure what people said exactly, but it didn’t matter. I told those people who I needed to tell face-to-face and they had my permission to tell anyone and everyone my secret. At that point, I was glad I didn’t have to do it myself anymore. As teachers passed me in the hall or came to see me before they left for their summer vacation, I felt nothing but love, support, and gratitude. Whether it was a rub of my shoulder, a whisper in my ear of “I’m proud of you,” or a simple smile and a hug, the secret was out and so was I. A giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
About a week later, my fiancé, Katie, and I sent out last minute invitations to all the people at work that I had regretted not inviting to my wedding in the first place—all of the people that I had come clean to face-to-face on that last day of school. I put in a special note, apologizing for the late notice and to my great surprise, all but two of them had not made plans yet for that August day and were able to attend my wedding.
Fast forward to my wedding day, all of my friends from work were seated together at two tables at the reception. Having had to take pictures and get ready for our introduction, I hadn’t yet had the chance to introduce my beautiful wife, Katie, to everyone. I didn’t have to. I later learned she went over to those tables herself and simply said, “Hi everyone, I’m Kevin." And with laughter and hugs, everyone probably wondered even more why I ever thought I had to hide my love.