Brian McNaught's Gay & Transgender Issues in the Workplace Blog

Barney Frank and I had the same boss, and the lion just died. His name was Kevin White, the legendary Mayor of Boston in the late, turbulent 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s. He was the most important city advocate for gay people in the country when I worked for him from 1982 to 1984.

Boston wasn’t Narnia, but the administration worked to make it as close to Camelot as you got in the period of national racial turmoil and anti-war anger, and the Mayor was the city’s visionary, ruling lion. Kevin White pried open the doors of white Irish domination of "the Hub" and brought into government the best and brightest minds of all races, genders, faiths, and orientations. One of his protégés was Barney Frank, whom the Mayor talked out of an academic career and into one of political public service. The people who surrounded the Mayor, such as Frank, and my brother Tom, were referred to as "goo-goos" for "good government" men and women. Read more…

The Garden of Eden is not a mythological place like heaven and hell. It is located in our own zip codes, on our own streets, in our own homes. But there are no cooties allowed in the Garden of Eden, nor shame. If you think you have cooties, or you are ashamed of who and what you are, you’ll never find it no matter how hard you search.

The Garden of Eden is bliss, or, if you prefer, great happiness. It is a moveable feast that travels with you to school, work, and recreation. It is there when people love you and when they hate you. It is there when you are considered a failure and when you are considered a success. You can feel it in the White House and in jail. But you can’t feel it if you have cooties, or are ashamed of who you are.

Children tell each other that they have cooties, with the intention of causing shame. But children first learn of cooties at home. Cooties are things that other people find disgusting. A guest at lunch yesterday told us that because she had polio as a child, her mother told her, "God gave me five normal children. What happened to you?" Polio is cooties. If you believe you have cooties, you feel shame. If you feel shame, you can never experience bliss. If you can’t experience bliss, you can’t be in the Garden of Eden. Read more…

Everything was going great until I flipped the bird.

It felt like a joyful morning. I had hugged Fannie, the woman who manages the flowers in the grocery store, and I had led the produce personnel in a round of "Happy Birthday" for Emmanuel, their manager. When I wished him "Happy Martin Luther King Day," he responded, "And it’s my birthday." How could I let that pass?

Then, as I pulled out of the parking lot, a guy on the sidewalk was yelling at the top of his lungs to someone I couldn’t see, "You faggot!"

"Hey," I yelled in a disapproving voice from the car.

"Mind your own business," he angrily yelled back. "I’m not talking to you."

"I don’t like that word," I replied in an attempt to have him understand.

"I’m a Vietnam vet and I can say anything I want," he screamed. "Why don’t you come out here and try to make me shut up, faggot."

The light changed. It was time to move on, and I chose not to let it pass. I flipped him the bird. Read more…

My friends waited outside the movie theater for me as I finished washing my hands in the men’s restroom. As I was leaving, I watched an older man back up from the urinal and turn toward the sink. His knees didn’t work well and he was struggling for balance. I was going to step in and offer help until I noted another older man standing by watching his friend with loving concern. I lingered and watched them stand side by said in front of the mirror.

"Now that’s a wonderful look of love I see," I said to them, and to the other men in the restroom.

"It reflects 56 years of being together," the more physically able of the two responded with a big grin.

"Good for you," I replied. "Ray and I are just babies at 35 years."

"Oh, no," he said. "You understand." Read more…

As American lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender organizations think about expanding their services beyond U.S. borders, it’s really important to spend time asking if our services are wanted. Sometimes, even when we think we’re doing a good thing, other people don’t want or appreciate our help. Read more…

Each time we visit a foreign country, Ray and I bring home a culturally significant object as a remembrance of our trip. In Salzburg, we just bought a hand-crafted tableau of miniature figurines selling Christmas items in a lavishly decorated store. The very proud artisan explained that the heads and hands of the shopkeepers were carved from wax by a 90-year-old woman. The one-room store is picture-perfect in every romantic detail, including an elaborately decorated Christmas tree with candles, assorted wreaths with bows, teddy bears and multiple other children’s toys, tiny colorful glass ornaments, and Victorian shopping bags.

The appeal to us of such a piece of art is its siren song of a perfect life. In this tableau, as well as in all of the real life rooms I decorate at home, and sometimes admire by peeking through my own windows, there is a search for storybook comfort, peace, and happiness. I do the same with the table decorations for holiday and birthday celebrations. The goal is to have Ray, me, and our friends wander into a world we hoped was real as children, and long for as adults.

Regrettably, I have tried to do the same romantic sculpting with my friends. I figured that if I worked hard enough at making everything fit a beautiful script, we might all enjoy relationships that were picture-perfect, filling us with comfort, peace, and happiness. But people can’t be glued into place as tiny teddy bears can be in a miniature tableau. Friends don’t like their lives to be scripted by others for roles they’re unable or unwilling to play. However, what they sometimes miss when they start moving the furniture of the relationship around, is that they had also scripted me in a role. We all do it, some knowingly, and some not. Read more…

Chippey is Santa’s eyes and ears. He’s an elf on a shelf, and he comes in white and black. There are also female elves, but at the moment there are no Asian or Latino elves to report back to Santa on who has been naughty or nice. I suspect there are no transgender elves for sale yet either but, given his outfit, I’d say Chippey has some sugar in his tank. Read more…

It always makes me sad when I see an obese person on an airplane need to ask for a seatbelt extender and look self-conscious. Some passengers look away, trying to spare the person any more embarrassment than he or she seems to be feeling already. I try instead to make eye contact, nod, and smile as warmly as I can.

Do you think there are seatbelt extenders for the selfish? If the manifestation of our egos got on a plane, do you think the self-obsessed would want us to look away as they asked for extra help to fit safely into their seat? Would eye contact, a nod, and a warm smile comfort them? Read more…

My friend Barney Frank has announced he won’t run for another term of elected office in the U.S. House of Representatives. If you’re real quiet, you can hear the sounds of ecstatic cheers and "high fives" from the people across America who thought of him not just as Barney "Fag", but as the single strongest voice for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender liberation in American history. He is their Santa Claus this year because he’s promised that he’s going to go up the chimney, like smoke that will drift away and never be seen again. (They really shouldn’t count on the last part.) Read more…

You could say that you wrote me a loving greeting over the holiday, and I wouldn’t know if it was true. My mailbox was full, and for two days everything sent to me by e-mail bounced back to the sender. It wasn’t until I became aware of the problem, and disposed of the junk mail and the old, unnecessary information, that was I able to receive new correspondence. Making the decision as to what was spam and what was important provided another opportunity to observe and learn.

I wonder if the storage space in our brains is also limited and needs to be emptied periodically. The heart has unlimited seating, but with our brain, does too much data close down our ability to think clearly or learn new things? Some older people complain of "senior moments" when they can’t easily recall a name. Perhaps it’s because our mental file folders are stuffed to capacity. It’s easy to see why. Read more…