When Mike and Christina asked me to baptize their firstborn, I was obviously honored, and a bit intimidated. I grew up thinking of baptism as the initiation into Christianity. But that’s not what they had in mind. They wanted something more personally meaningful to their spirituality, and they felt confident they would get that from me.

From a little research, I was glad to learn that the rite of baptism is understood as both an initiation and as an adoption. There are different rituals associated with traditional baptisms, from pouring a small amount of water over the head of the infant, as was done to me at a Catholic Church on the eastside of Detroit 64 years ago, to the full immersion of the individual into a body of water. Some native cultures initiate members of their group into the tribe with rituals that include piercings, tattooing, and sex. We’ll just be utilizing the water at low tide. We’ll all wear white to make the occasion a bit more memorable, and we’ll each tell Easton our positive intentions for him in this life. Our words will be our "welcome" into our family’s circle of love.

What is the significance of a heterosexual couple asking a gay man they know not to be a Christian to baptize their new baby? I feel that it stands along with President Barack Obama, the most powerful and influential person in the world, stating publicly that he supports the right of gay and lesbian people to marriage equality.

When Easton’s father was born, Ray wasn’t asked to be his godfather. This troubled my spouse for many, many years. He and his brother Bob were closest among the seven boys. Ray felt certain that his being openly gay disqualified him from the honor. We suspect that 30 years ago it simply would have been too difficult for Bob to have a gay godfather for one of his sons. And the grandparents on both sides of the family would have been very upset had he dared.

When Bob and his wife brought their three young boys to visit and stay with us, or when we visited them, Ray’s and my relationship was described to the children as being "a good friendship." A few years later, after Bob separated from his wife, he began bringing Mike, Tim, and Matt to visit us in Provincetown over the Fourth of July. Initially, when these handsome, young teenagers walked down Commercial Street, they were a bit intimidated by the sight of drag queens, of female impersonators, of men in leather, and of same-sex couples walking hand in hand. The boys drew the attention of many of the gay men on the street, and sometimes they looked to their father or their uncles, Ray and Brian, for assurance that they were safe.

Provincetown is also where our young nephews ate lobster, salt water taffy, and fudge, went on whale watching boats, played Mexican Train (dominoes) with their dad and uncles, went fishing for striped bass, water skied, and learned from seeing the great variety of people walking the streets that there was more to life than what they had experienced in Wichita, Kansas.

In a very short amount of time, the three boys were eager to head down Commercial Street on their own. They learned to enjoy and ultimately love the street musicians, the campy cross dressers hawking their shows, and the young and old gay people, who snuggled with their partners on park benches in front of Town Hall. Being with their father and gay uncles in Provincetown over the Fourth became a tradition they all looked forward to as they grew into young men. They knew that Uncle Brian would make his spaghetti sauce, that Uncle Ray would make pancakes and strawberry shortcake, and that they would watch the harbor fireworks from the third floor deck of the house. In P-Town, they felt a sense of family, safety, and fun.

When the boys began to marry, or to date seriously, they asked permission to bring with them their wives or girlfriends. The kitchen table was then surrounded with new, smiling faces, and the house was filled with the sounds of new laughter. Bob would look proudly at his family, and gratefully to Ray and me for creating the space in which they all felt connected.

When Bob was in his final bout with cancer, the boys and he came to Provincetown for what would be his last Fourth of July celebration. He sat wrapped in a blanket as we watched the fireworks. He was bald from the chemotherapy and he was in constant pain, but he always had a smile on his face. He was at home when he was with us, and he was happiest when he was with his three boys.

The following Fourth of July, Mike and his wife Christina, Tim, and Matt, came from around the country to be together again, and to scatter their father’s ashes in the place they all considered sacred. Together, we walked out in front of the house at low tide, stood in a circle, spoke from our hearts about Bob, and then poured his ashes into the receding water.

Given the expense, and the trouble it can be to get to the very tip of Cape Cod, it wouldn’t have surprised Ray and me if that was the final year that we saw the three nephews over the Fourth. But none of them wanted to stop the tradition. Coming to town each year was their way to stay connected with one another, to feel the presence of their father in the place that was more like the family home than anywhere else, to see their uncles Brian and Ray, to eat spaghetti and pancakes, to play poker, to watch the fireworks from the third floor deck, and to laugh freely in an environment that felt welcoming to everyone.

Now, they are bringing their children, and intend to do so even if not all of the brothers are able to come. This is where they feel they belong, where there are more traditions and shared fond memories than anywhere else. This is where they know they will join hands at every meal, think about the joy of the moment, and recall their wonderful father.

That is why young Easton needed to be baptized here. The water and the sand hold more meaning than any other water could possibly contain. Easton was formally baptized in an Episcopal Church, but this baptism is his adoption into the love of his family, and into the world in which his grandfather, father, uncles, and great uncles played. It’s what his parents most wanted for him.

The words that will be spoken won’t be remembered by Easton or by the rest of us in the circle. But, the experience of carrying their son or nephew into the low tide where they carried their father’s ashes will never be forgotten by Easton’s parents and uncles. And as he grows, Easton will walk on his own to visit the place where his married, gay, great uncles baptized him into a world that is far more enlightened and courageous than it was 30-plus years ago.

Patrick learned about me from a piece I wrote for CNN on "Why Gays Should Come Out at Work." He asked, and I replied, to the following questions.

Do you think helping a person to deny his or her sexual orientation is doing harm to his or her overall well being?

Yes. Studies have shown that forcing a left-handed person to use his or her right hand impacts their self-esteem. Diminished self-esteem impacts emotional health and productivity. The same can be said about forcing a person with a homosexual orientation to act as a heterosexual. Doing so increases the risk of physically and emotionally damaging behaviors, such as running away from home, engaging in high-risk sexual behaviors, like unprotected anal sex, excessive use of alcohol and drugs, and thoughts of self-destruction.

The happiest gay and lesbian people I have encountered in my nearly 40 years as a sexuality educator focusing on these issues are those who embrace their sexual orientation as good, and who thus feel free to pursue a fully loving life. I have never met a person who regrets coming out of the closet.

Gay people who deny their sexual orientation are unhappy people. Heterosexual people who attempt to have gay people deny their sexual orientation are abusing them, and are fully responsible for the unhappiness they create.

Let’s assume that a gay person has good reason for refraining from having sex, such as when he enters the seminary. Trying to make him feel guilty about being gay by referring to his sexual orientation as a "sin," "sexual immaturity," or as "disordered" has the opposite of the intended effect. Guilt is the energy for the repetition of unacceptable thoughts and feelings. The more a person feels guilty about his or her feelings, the less likely he or she will be able to respond to those feelings in an emotionally healthy manner. Instead, the gay seminarian should be encouraged to embrace his homosexual feelings as an important part of his make-up.

Although workplaces and schools have policies that do not tolerate prejudice and discrimination against homosexuality, there are still cases of homosexuals who are criticized and bullied. Are you able to identify the gaps in such policies and also suggest some solutions for schools and workplaces to look into such gaps so that homosexuals are not criticized and bullied because of their sexual orientation?

If a school, church, workplace, or other entity wants to eliminate bullying, it can do so only by providing to all members of its group a good education about sexual orientation, and gender identity and expression. Ignorance is the parent of fear. Policies don’t eliminate ignorance. Policies often make ignorant people feel angry. That anger gets taken out overtly and covertly on the people whom they fear.

Non-discrimination and zero tolerance policies need to be clearly stated, understood, and enforced, as promised. Equivocation on the enforcement of policy creates chaos. But for true change to happen, group members need to be given the tools to understand which of their behaviors are inappropriate and why.

Diversity education programs that simply include sexual orientation and gender identity as elements of an overall training are generally not effective in ending anti-gay and anti-transgender bias. The most successful education programs include "putting a face on the issue," which helps personalize the impact of bullying.

Although some homosexuals receive great support from their loved ones when they "come out," there are others who go through a great deal of emotional turmoil. Could you provide suggestions on how homosexuals could "come out" to their loved ones?

Telling the significant people in your life that you are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender is a very personal act, and should be done with wisdom, strength, and self-esteem. People who live in a culture or home, worship in a church, or work in an environment that is hostile to homosexual or transgender people face far more obstacles to having their coming out be remembered happily. But that doesn’t mean that an unwelcoming environment will create an unhappy coming out, nor that a welcoming environment will foster happy memories of coming out. A great deal depends upon the person who is coming out. He or she gives others the cues they need on how to respond. Disclosing that you are gay communicates shame. Declaring you are gay communicates pride. Prior to coming out, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people, to the best of their abilities, should surround themselves with emotionally healthy people, and learn as much as they can about the successes in the lives of others who are LGBT. The "It Gets Better" testimonies are a good place to begin the process of self-affirmation, prior to coming out in a public way.

What are some practical ways for traditional Christians to understand the teachings of the Bible regarding homosexuality?

They have to decide whether they believe Jesus when he said that the law was made for man, not man for the law. That’s true no matter where in the world they live.

To "abuse" means to "use wrongly or improperly; to injure by maltreatment." Some abuse is major, such as being tortured. Other abuse, such as being shoved as others exit the subway car, has less long-lasting impact. Both, however, are an assault on our sense of safety and wellbeing.

I have both been abused, and have been an abuser. I’ve been physically beaten, sexually mistreated, threatened with death, and bullied with hate mail. I’ve also repeated or cultivated negative stories about others when it served my selfish purposes.

The current Pope was abused as a child when he was forced to join a Nazi youth corps, and he has been an abuser, most recently in minimizing the life work of nuns, and the dignity of gay people.

We are all aware of the abuse of water-boarding. Gay people who were given electric shock treatment so that they might become straight were abused in a major way, too. We think of others being abused, and of others doing the abusing, but rarely do we see ourselves in the role of the abuser. Yet, gossip is abuse, as is withholding compliments. Not making eye contact with people you feel are less worthy is abuse, as is aggressive driving and horn honking. Refusing to talk with another person is abuse, as is refusing to listen. We abuse others with our angry outbursts, our profanity, our Bible quoting, and our unwanted solicitation telephone calls.

If I’m denied what is due me, or subjected to what is unwanted, it is abuse. If you think about it, all of us participate in some form of abuse every day.

We abuse ourselves. Drinking too much alcohol or taking unnecessary drugs is abuse, as are crash diets and running with a bad knee. Eating more than is sufficient is abuse, as is pretending that we have no connection with people who are hungry.

We abuse animals when we aren’t responsible caretakers, and we abuse the earth when we litter, which Ray and I won’t do, or leave all the lights on in the house, which Ray and I do. We abuse the earth when we leave the water running, and otherwise take more from it than is necessary.

When I read about corporations and individuals figuring out ways not to pay their fair share of taxes, I feel they are abusing the country they claim to love. During every election cycle, the airwaves and print media are filled with the abuse of political opponents. Rush Limbaugh is paid lots of money to abuse other people with his diatribes. His sponsors and listeners are as responsible for the abuse as he is.

The young men and women who have been sent to Iraq and Afghanistan to fight the "War Against Terrorism" have been horribly abused by our politicians, and by all of us who have not stepped forward to stop the physical and emotional carnage. The broken bodies and spirits of our youth, and of the people living in the war zones, will all be forgotten after we have officially withdrawn from these Middle Eastern countries. We may say, "Thank you," but then hope those with artificial limbs won’t show up at the supermarket and scare our children. I saw that happen during and after the War in Vietnam. All is forgotten except by those whose nightmares keep them awake.

Spousal abuse is one of the most horrifying forms of mistreatment, because love is promised to the person who is physically or emotionally traumatized. The person who seeks safety and comfort becomes a possession of the abuser, to be treated as he or she wishes.

I recently finished a book about gay male spousal abuse. The younger of the two men sought security in the company of the more experienced older gay man, and put up with abuse because he didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to be beaten up in the gay world. The people who denied him the opportunity to learn about the goodness of his sexual orientation, and the option of dating someone of the same sex in high school, were his abusers too. They created the circumstances that allowed for the abuse in his first relationship.

A lot of the examples we can give of daily abuse are signs of self-centeredness and selfishness. I know that when I abuse others it is because I am thinking only of myself. More serious examples of abuse are often signs of mental and emotional illness. Spiritually healthy people don’t want themselves or others to suffer. Love and abuse are opposites. If we love ourselves, and our neighbors throughout the world, we can’t engage in behaviors that assault safety and wellbeing.

You’re a terrific straight ally, Sydney, and your loving, thoughtful life is going to have a very positive impact on the happiness of many people. The fact that you are trying to make a difference at age 15 truly inspires me. Thank you. I’m proud of you, as I hope you are of yourself. I recommend that you contact Gay Straight Alliance and inquire about starting a Gay/Straight Alliance at your school, as has been done by over 4,000 schools in the United States alone. What your fellow students need is to see straight students standing up with confidence saying that, "It’s not okay to be anti-gay." Every time they use the word "fag," they need to hear someone they respect say, "Knock it off. That’s not cool." Or they should hear, "Hey, I’ve got gay people in my life. You’re creeping me out." Eventually, the ignorant ones will get educated and be quiet, if not supportive. It works all the time, and has throughout history on every issue of difference.

I know that it’s scary to stand up to your peers. Believe me, it doesn’t get a whole lot easier when you’re an adult. A lot of straight people in families and in corporations are afraid of speaking up in defense of the gay people they know and love. But I promise you, Sydney, when you do step forward and speak with a strong voice, other people will listen to you, and most people will agree with you. A lot of people feel as you do, but they don’t have the courage to say anything.

The world is changing because of people like you. My spouse, Ray, and I just saw the film 21 Jump Street. In it, two young cops pretend to be high-school students, and discover that everything has changed since they were in school. When they learn that it’s not okay to be anti-gay, one of them insists it’s because of the television program Glee. In Glee, straight students protect the gay students, as well as students with disabilities, students of different races and religions, and most recently, students who are transgender.

It’s often harder for older people to change their views and behaviors than it is for younger people to do so. Young people have to deal with peer pressure, but their minds haven’t yet been made up. When young people are exposed to differences that are treated with respect, as happened with me when I was in First Grade, they don’t use bad names to describe people who are different. When I was seven years old, three of my best friends were black, short-statured, or Jewish. Biases don’t have a chance to take root when the people around you let you know that being different is cool.

There are a lot of schools, perhaps yours too, that have "zero tolerance" policies on bullying. Many of them have assemblies, like those at your school, in which someone tells the students that bullying other students will not be tolerated. But until the students, faculty, and staff are made personally aware of the impact of bullying, and until they hear from their peers that bullying isn’t acceptable, nothing changes. Policies don’t change culture. One-on-one personal experiences change culture.

It’s been nearly 50 years since I was your age, Sydney, and believe it or not, people who I was nice to in grade school and high school continue to contact me to say what a difference it made in their lives. They remember feeling small and insignificant, and having a popular kid be nice to them. I was on the phone a few days ago with someone I hadn’t seen since I was your age. He was bullied at home and in school because of undiagnosed dyslexia. But he felt safe hanging around people like me who didn’t make fun of him, or who didn’t think of him as stupid.

The lives of the younger lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender students who follow you in school will be far happier because of you, Sydney. A straight kid with no personal investment, spoke up on their behalf. Your challenging your peers on their hostility toward gay people may not make all of the other students into allies, but it will make all of them think. And because they start thinking that maybe their behavior is unacceptable to a popular straight kid, they’ll start thinking before they speak. And if they think before they speak, maybe the children who are born to them who happen to be gay will have an easier time of it, all because of you, Sydney.

I promise you that if you announce a meeting for all the students at your school who see themselves as allies to gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people, the meeting room will be full. Initially, you might get push-back from those who don’t want things at school to change, but in a short amount of time, you and your group will be respected, and your work will make a difference in the school culture.

You’re now one of my heroes, Sydney. Thank you for being my ally. I promise to be yours too.

When Bob dropped off the book, Voyagers of the Titanic, and the research he had done on housemates Butt and Millet, who had nearby, but separate, rooms on the doomed ship, he, Ray, and I reminisced about Bob’s time in Washington, and the night he had Harvey Milk’s ashes in his closet. Lenny Matlovich, who was staying with Bob, wanted them buried in the historic Congressional Cemetery near Capitol Hill.

That same morning, I had two lesbian neighbors and their friend in a small boat, slowly touring the canals of Ft. Lauderdale. I explained that I was a bit late because Bob had dropped off materials he thought might make a good column. I asked one of the women, a lesbian in her early forties, if she knew who Bob Bauman was. "No," she said. I explained that he was the conservative, Republican Congressman from Maryland who lost re-election because he was "outed" in 1980. It was really big news in the national press, but my neighbor would have been only 10 at the time.

My guess is that my lesbian shipmates and their visiting guest from Ohio would have known the name "Harvey Milk" because of the recent award-winning film about him, but not the name Lenny Matlovich, whose face was on the September 8, 1975 Time magazine cover with the headline, "I am a Homosexual." It was the first time any national periodical featured a gay person. Leonard was discharged from the U.S. Air Force for being gay, and was as famous as Harvey Milk as a gay activist in the 1970s. His tombstone epitaph is, "When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one."

My friend Bruce Presley, who spent his life creating textbooks, and is now creating educational videos, wants to capture on film for the Stonewall National Museum all of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender civil rights pioneers who are still living. He, and many of our generation, fears that younger people have no awareness of what life was like for those of us who fought the battle for equality. Recently, when Bruce was speaking to a college audience about the conditions endured by gay people when he was in school, a lesbian student announced, "I wouldn’t have put up with that!" Indeed.

If Bruce had been alive in 1912, and had the ability to interview Major Archibald Butt and his lover, Frank Millet, what story might he have been able to save for us, so that YouTube- and Facebook-oriented young people might know about the lives of those who paved the way for zero-tolerance policies on bullying in schools, marriage equality, and the end of sexual orientation discrimination in the military?

It may be that Butt and Millet would not have agreed to be on camera. Though they shared a home and were constant companions—despite Millet being married—no one spoke at the time of them being "lovers," only of their great affection. But if they had agreed to be videotaped, we might have heard Major Butt disclose that the only argument the two of them ever had was over the rose wallpaper in their bedroom. Each man was considered manly and attractive, and each had achieved notable success in his career. It’s likely that Butt accompanied President Taft when he sailed into Provincetown, Massachusetts to dedicate the completion of the Pilgrim Monument. He may have done the same with President Teddy Roosevelt, with whom he also worked, when Roosevelt came to Provincetown for the laying of the cornerstone of the monument in 1907.

Butt and Millet would have had lots of stories to tell, had they dared. Decorum at the time required discretion. Their house was staffed by Filipino boys, and they had a "very delightful" young tenant, Archie Clark Kerr, who worked for the British Embassy, and was described as "high-spirited and mischievous." Years later, as the British ambassador, Kerr went to Iowa to stay with a strapping farm boy he met at a bus station in Washington.

There are stories of Butt’s heroism on the Titanic, acting as an officer to help women and children into the lifeboats. One woman, who had given music lessons to the Roosevelt children, recalled Butt tucking a blanket around her. Butt was seen standing at the railing when the ocean liner sank swiftly, killing 1,517 passengers and crew. It was assumed that Millet was standing with him.

When news of Butt’s death reached the White House, one reporter wrote, "…the name of Maj. Archie Butt, once synonymous of laughter and jest, now symbolic of heroism, was repeated while eyes blurred and voices became queerly strained." Shortly thereafter, by Joint Resolution of Congress, a memorial fountain was erected on Executive Avenue in Washington, D.C., and named the Butt-Millet Fountain.

If young, gay high-school boys, on a field trip to the Nation’s Capital, knew these names in advance of their travel, they might stop at the fountain and feel more at home. But unless we make the effort to learn and tell the stories, no lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender youth will know the names or the heroic stories of Archibald Butt, Frank Millet, Bob Bauman, Lenny Matlovich, or even Harvey Milk.

In today’s parlance, male-male, non-sexual relations are called "bromances." This refers to when guys, regardless of their sexual orientations, have intimate relationships with other men. They want to spend their free time with each other. For instance, they might go fishing together every weekend, just not at Brokeback Mountain.

But Mike Wallace, the recently deceased CBS veteran newsman, never courted a close friendship with the handsome man with whom he worked. Yet, he seemed fascinated by the recollections of his feelings, and wanted to share them with me at a conference at which I spoke about gay issues. He wondered what I thought about his belief that every man has such feelings.

If it’s true that every male has had, or will have, a male crush in his life, we have to accept that this is true for Pope Benedict XVI, Fred Phelps, Pat Robertson, Chuck Norris, Rick Santorum, George W. Bush, and Mark Wahlberg. How we men react to our male crushes depends upon a great many factors, including how often the crushes occur, our religion, our politics, our culture, and even our DNA.

This past week, I heard from two men who were dealing with their male crushes. One of them is married with children, and recently checked himself into the hospital because of suicidal tendencies. He called to say how terribly upset he is about how his persistent male crushes will impact his wife, children, his work, and his future happiness. The other man I heard from by e-mail is a 25-year-old Iranian who has lived in dread of how his male crushes have threatened his life.

We’ve made up words to describe ourselves based upon our crushes. If we have only an occasional same-sex crush, we call ourselves "heterosexual." If we have lots of same-sex crushes, we call ourselves "bisexual," and if almost all of our crushes are for people of the same sex, we call ourselves "gay."

Mike Wallace wasn’t gay. His male crush—or crushes—didn’t preoccupy his life. But, he was able to talk about them. I’ve found that only sexually and emotionally mature people are able to acknowledge their feelings to themselves and to others.

I’ve had female crushes. I believe that every man who identifies himself as "gay" has also had a female crush. I never wanted to act on those crushes sexually, but I have been deeply emotionally attracted to women in my life. I’m not bisexual in identity or behavior, but I think the labels "gay" and "straight" are dishonest representations of the human experience. Everyone is emotionally bisexual.

The other night at a dinner party, Ray and I met a former heterosexually married man who is now in a gay relationship. He has children, like many gay-identified men I know. In our one-on-one conversation, I surprised myself by acknowledging a long-felt observation: Gay-identified men who have been heterosexually married, and have raised children, tend to be more emotionally mature and responsible than gay-identified men who have never been husbands and fathers.

That’s not to say that late-blooming, former straight husbands and fathers can’t be annoying and embarrassing in their efforts to wrap themselves in gay liberation, and make up for lost sexual satisfaction, by wearing age-inappropriate clothing and dominating conversations with fifth-grade innuendos. But most formerly married husbands and fathers that I have met seem to be less narcissistic, and obsessed with youth and beauty, than are gay men who have spent their lives self-indulging.

A recent study published in The New York Times suggests that our DNA dictates whether we will be Republicans or Democrats, whether we will loathe our fantasies or enjoy them, whether we will keep small groups of loyal friends, or share our love with everyone, whether we will embrace religious dogma, or reject regimented living. Our DNA, then, can impact how we deal with our male crushes. My guess would be that our DNA also impacts how long we live in marriages that betray our feelings, and how long we live in countries that threaten our feelings.

Fear is a common denominator in all of our lives. We fear our feelings, the differences we see in others, and the insignificance of our lives. It seems to me that the well-balanced life is one in which we embrace all of our feelings. When we make decisions, they should honestly reflect our awareness of our feelings, the assumption that all other living things share our struggle with fear, and that how we respond to our feelings dictates the happiness we experience in our own lives, and that we create in the lives of others.

Men, like Mike Wallace, who have had a male crush, owe it to themselves and to those in their lives not to deny their experiences. Rejecting our feelings by creating religious or political wars against them is dishonest and destructive.

Over the weekend, Ray and I hosted two happy transgender people, one of whom is a very self-confident, transsexual woman, and the other is an exceedingly grateful, cross-dressing, husband and father. While sitting with them in the living room one morning, two stories jumped out at me from the newspapers we were reading. The first was about a 49-year-old, charismatic and inspiring, gay, male therapist in New York City who committed suicide after completing his prophetic manuscript, The Right Side of Forty: The Complete Guide to Happiness for Gay Men at Midlife and Beyond. The second article focused on the objections of animal-rights activists to farmers injecting dye into incubating eggs, which is often done so that children at Easter can have their choice of colored chicks, including ones in dayglo green.

So, what are the connections between our transgender guests, the suicide of the gay man, and the dyed chickens? I see the common denominators of "false feathers," and the toxicity of social whims. But what other patterns can be found, and could a life have been saved?

Chickens see color better than humans do, but like human babies, they don’t know what color they’re supposed to be. Unlike chicks, human embryos are not yet dyed with color, though it has been proposed that proper hormonal interference with fetal development could eliminate variances in sexual orientation, and gender identity and expression. If not dyed in the shell, chicks are sprayed with food coloring after they hatch. The same happens to infants. Once other humans designate the infant’s gender, babies are sprayed blue or pink. Those colors have intended meaning, but often they are false feathers.

The dayglo green, purple, pink, lime, red, and blue coloring of the chicks eventually changes when their feathers grow out. Though we say chickens have "bird brains," we don’t know how the dyeing process impacts their instincts, but we do know that most children get bored with the chicks soon after the bright colors of their feathers change.

My friend, Denise, a corporate play-maker, was spray painted blue when she was born, as was my author friend, Vanessa. Bob, the gay, male prophet who committed suicide, was dyed blue too.

Denise knew at an early age that she wasn’t supposed to have been painted blue. She was a tall, gawky, geeky boy who felt poisoned by the blue dye. One day, after a lot of thought and outside counseling, she took the spray bottle and made herself pink. But pink for Denise doesn’t mean the same thing it does to some pink chicks. Denise wears jeans instead of a skirt. She raises horses with her adult daughter, and she doesn’t paint her face. Denise is among the most relaxed pink people I know.

Vanessa never felt completely comfortable in the blue she was painted at birth. As a male, he married a pink chick, and had chicks of his own, but since childhood, he wanted to be allowed to express his pink side too. He wore his mother’s make-up and clothes when she was out of the house. But blue chicks aren’t supposed to pretend to be pink. Vanessa now wears pink a lot, so much so that her actual color is purple. She’s worked that out with her wife and her adult children, and she’s very happy, though making a living is a big challenge for her.

Bob didn’t see that his blue, male coloring was wrong, but he couldn’t live up to the expectations of a blue chick. Blue chicks aren’t supposed to want to mate with other blue chicks. He didn’t want to change his color to pink; he just wanted to build a life for himself that was outside the expectations of the people who sprayed the dye. He was a blue chick who was happiest when he was with other blue chicks that also mated with chicks of his color. That worked for a while, and then it didn’t. With age, his feathers changed to a less vibrant blue color, and as hard as he tried to experience it otherwise, he felt unwanted by the children.

Could we have seen the "numerical code," figured out the connections, and stopped Bob from suffocating himself with a plastic bag? Heterosexual allies have written to me after reading the story to ask me that question: "What could have been done?"

Sometimes, even when you find chicks just like yourself, you discover that they have created expectations of what your color means, too. In many places, gay, blue chicks need to be young and handsome, or rich and famous. This is especially true in "coops" like New York and Los Angeles. Bob was a good therapist who tried to convince himself, as he did other gay, blue chicks, that these expectations were as dangerous and unhealthy as dyeing a human baby blue or pink, and then telling them what those colors must mean.

I wish I knew Bob, saw the code in time, and followed it to Bob’s door. I would have brought him home with me to stay for a while with two old, gay, blue chicks who have found happiness at midlife and beyond. I might have suggested that for him to be happy with the change in the color of his feathers, it could require that he move to a place where children are less easily bored, and adults know that sprayed dye doesn’t define you.

But Bob’s suicide isn’t the end of the search for the clues we’ve been given. We’ve got to get the word out to as many people as we can that they shouldn’t dye chickens or children. Pink and blue are only colors. They are not determinants of our life. When we spray paint a child, we clog their pores and make it difficult for them to breathe. We don’t want them to be "bird brains."

We also must follow the clues and give clear messages to the chicks that prance around the room in their fancy colors. In order to fly, the colored feathers need to fall out, and in order to soar, the new feathers will only get strong enough with age.

On cruise ships, gay people gather the first night at a publicized meeting for the "Friends of Dorothy," a reference to Dorothy Gale from the Wizard of Oz. She wasn’t gay, but she believed in a place where dreams really do come true. Recovering alcoholics and drug addicts meet as "Friends of Bill," a reference to the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. On a straight cruise, there are a lot of gay people who have to decide which meeting to go to. It’s a lot easier to decide if you’re on a gay cruise, but most recovering alcoholics I know avoid gay cruises, where the captain of the ship is the designated driver.

I feel that people who don’t drink make most drinking people as uncomfortable as do atheists among theists. In the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender community, this can make life particularly difficult, especially if you are single. Those of us who are married, can stay home, eat at 6:00, have our ice cream at 7:00, and go to bed early. But if you’re a single person, the gay bars are the likeliest place to find other gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender people, but the only people who go to those places, you assume, are probably people who drink. Gay AA meetings become the sites for possible dating.

Recovered smokers, of which I am one, have a reputation for hating the smell of smoke. It can actually make us sick. If a former smoker watches a program such as Mad Men, which is set in the 1960s when everyone seemed to smoke, the lifestyle of cigarette butts and ashes is very unappealing. Today, it is a lot easier to turn down an offered cigarette than it was 50 years ago. In fact, people who smoke are often seen as a weak and sorry lot. Smoking in public places is prohibited in many cities. It’s considered cool to be a former smoker. We don’t make people uncomfortable.

Recovering alcoholics (we always use the "active" verb with the word "recover" to indicate the battle is never over) can be like recovered smokers. I admit that I don’t much like the smell of alcohol on someone’s breath, and Ray and I get angry at characters in movies and television programs who get drunk. Alcohol and drugs change a person’s sense of reality, and impact the comfort of those around them, just as cigarettes do. The more the person drinks, the less attractive they become physically and emotionally.

When I’m offered a drink, I ask for water without ice. That’s not a popular order in a restaurant, which counts on customers to create big bills with their orders for booze. In a friend’s home, particularly that of a new acquaintance, my request for water without ice can create moments of anxiety. "How about sparkling water, or flavored water?" they ask. "No, just tap water," I reply, "cold if you have it."

When you don’t drink, you become increasingly aware of the importance of alcohol in the lives of some other people. The first thing asked at a party, is often, "Where’s the bar?" Invitations to parties often say, "Drinks at 6:00. Dinner at 8:00." Wine is the customary gift to bring when invited to a person’s home for dinner. When you decline the offer of an alcoholic beverage, the responses often include, "You’re no fun," and "I can’t drink alone."

Prohibition, the period in the United States when serving and consuming alcohol was illegal, was as stupid a solution to the problems created by over-drinking as is today’s prohibition of the sale and use of marijuana. I don’t want to stop others from enjoying a drink, but I refuse to feel as if my not drinking is anti-social, anymore than my not smoking is anti-social, and anymore than my not being straight is anti-social.

Social attitudes change. We no longer admire those who smoke cigarettes. We now understand and accept that many people are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. One day, I hope we come to see that drinking alcohol for more than the simple pleasure of its taste, is not healthy or appealing, nor in the best interest of the general public.

Jean-Marc and Patrice had watched the Muppets as children 30 years ago in eastern and southern France. As they sat with Ray and me, with bowls of homemade popcorn, they excitedly named the characters as they appeared in the film, The Muppets: Fozzie Bear, Gonzo, Animal, and Swedish Chef. Ray and I were delighted to share that experience, which transcended language and culture.

Patrice, being a song and dance man, knew all of the lyrics to Kermit’s closing song: "I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it. There’s something that I’m supposed to be. Someday we’ll find it, the Rainbow Connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me."

That morning, Patrice was horrified to learn that a gunman had killed Jewish children near the town in which he had watched Sesame Street. He had been on the telephone with his mother and sister who still live in the area. At the same time, I received a request for help from a friend who had been asked to testify against a coach who openly harassed gay athletes and students. Immediately after watching the film, I got another e-mail regarding a gay man who was being discriminated against at work because he made others feel "uncomfortable."

Where is the disconnect between children across the world singing The Rainbow Connection, but not seeing that the black, Jewish, gay, Latino, and transgender people who upset them are just Fozzie Bear, Gonzo, Animal, the Swedish Chef, Kermit, and Miss Piggy, all hoping to find in life what they’re supposed to be?

Even if they have never seen the Muppets, or heard Kermit sing The Rainbow Connection, there’s not a person in this world who hasn’t heard the voice that calls them to be him—or herself. Half of our life’s job is to follow the inner voice that pulls us out of our closets of fear. The second half of our life’s work is to embrace the rainbow connection between everyone else in the world who is struggling to do the same thing.

I don’t know why it surprised me so much that our French friends shared the Muppets with us as a childhood experience. I’m now more aware that the Jewish children who were just killed in France watched the same television programs that Muslim children do. They sang the same songs. They laughed at the same funny stories. Why is it that Fozzie Bear makes all of us smile, but other human beings can make us so angry and hateful that we kill them?

The New Hampshire Legislature just voted to continue to allow Kermit and Miss Piggy to get married. "Oh, no," you might protest, "the vote was about homosexuals." Technically, that’s true, but in reality it was about allowing characters who are different from the majority to enjoy the same joys as the majority. The fear of difference didn’t dominate the day.

If you told the lone gunman in France that he wasn’t killing Jewish children, but rather that he was killing the muppet Gonzo, would his reaction to his actions be different? The college coach who says that the only people who are upset by her homophobia are racists and gay people, seems never to have found the Rainbow Connection.

None of us have the ability to avoid the harsh realities of life that exist outside of a children’s television program or film. Almost everywhere we look, and almost everything we hear in the media, creates in us the feeling that we are not safe. That is why we are made nervous by the presence at work of someone who is different. Ignorance is the parent of fear. Fear is the parent of hatred. We constantly are called upon to fight off the instinct to fear, and to hate. And more of us succeed than don’t.

Given all of the challenges we each face daily to be open to new interactions with people who are different from us, I feel that most people throughout the world do a pretty good job of seeing the Rainbow Connection. We have our moments when we want to lash out and punish the people who frighten us, but we’re held back by our memories of bears, pigs, frogs, chickens, and other assorted characters loving each other, and being happy. "The lovers, the dreamers, and me." We live and work everywhere.

"The messenger is the message," I said quickly, as he eyed other people he felt drawn to see. "Take good care of yourself, and don’t feel you always have to be ‘on.’ Tell your story. And be ready to let go." And then he was gone.

A few days before, a former television star/pop singer from France was sitting in my living room bemoaning his minor weight gain. The photo of him on the cover of his first CD was adorable. As I looked at the photos on the covers of the later CDs, it was clear he was aging. He was still handsome, but not in the same youthful way. Today, he is a popular cabaret performer for middle-aged straight people, many of whom have fond memories of his presence on a popular television program.

"You look terrific," I assured him. "You’re just aging like the rest of us. It’s the way of life. Embrace it. If you fight it, you’ll make yourself miserable."

Many gay men deeply mourn the loss of their youthful good looks. We keep old pictures of ourselves as young men out in the open so that others can say, "My, you were handsome." But, we translate that also to be saying, "What happened? You’re not as appealing anymore. Your hair is gray or gone. You’ve gained weight and lost muscle." We feel a moment of pride to be told we were good looking in our youth, and then we experience the cold splash of reality that we’re not as worthy of admiration and envy.

When Ray and I were in Austria for Christmas, we visited the castle of Empress Elisabeth, a woman who married the Emperor at a very young age, and who spent the rest of her life regretting it. She wrote:

"O, had I but never left the path that would have led me to freedom; O that on the broad avenues of vanity I had never strayed."

We are constantly reminded of the perils of aging in this culture. Today’s movie stars are tomorrow’s small-stage actors, if they’re lucky. The young, beautiful models on the runways know that their careers will be short lived, and they hope to become spokespersons for a cosmetics company. The Oscar winning film, The Artist, focused on the vanity of a silent screen film star whose fading fame created a nightmare for him.

Most young, gay men don’t read gay newspapers, and when they see a crowd of gray-haired, gay men, they flee. There seems to be no effective means of telling them how to avoid the painful experience caused by clinging to their youth. And even when they stop and listen, such as the gay superstar whom I met at Stonewall’s booth at Pride Fest, there is little chance that they will really understand and incorporate our mentoring.

That’s why it’s essential that we older, gay men and lesbians model for them the joys of aging. As hard as it is to say, and to believe, the next time a friend is touring our home and spots a picture of us from the past, when they say, "Boy, you were good looking," we need to respond, "And still am."

That’s not vanity. It’s the wisdom of acceptance, and of living in the moment. When Dan Savage proclaims, "It gets better," he’s right on the money. But it doesn’t stop getting better when you turn 40, 60, or 90.