Invisible Men
Birthday Reflections
On turning 45 and the doubts and lessons of Gay men my age.
Invisible Men
I was told I’d never make it to my 40s. Sex-ed, bullies and movies said I’d die of AIDS or loneliness. There were no sitcoms about middle-aged Gay men. My script was written: I’d be cast as angsty, closeted teen then addicted, suicidal hustler then funny, fashionable sidekick, then creepy, flaming villain. Then I’d vanish.
How could I expect more? So many heroes died by 40. My addiction and suicide rates are higher than straight counterparts. My own community’s ageism suspends youth and virility by any needle, pipe, muscle-ripping regimen necessary. In our cultural eugenics, 40 was the other side of an action movie bridge, broken and perilous.
I am 45 today. My need for sexual validation has simmered a little bit. Chips on my shoulder are melting and Gay bashing scars look kinda cool. I earned rights and built tools unimaginable to my ancestors. What I sacrificed and valued means the future doesn’t start from scratch. I don’t have to buy or sell scripts about invisible men.
In our fatherless culture, my elders call me baby and my children call me Daddy. I am the last first generation.
Invisible Men appears in from POST & SENTENCES, poems and essays.
Happy birthday from 61. It keeps getting better as you continue to learn to love the gay skin you are in.
Happy Birthday, and may the year ahead be a special one.
I hit 45 last year, and for me, that was a year-long midlife coming-to-terms. My former partner had died at that age, and I never imagined myself becoming any older. I had also built incredible things and achieved my biggest dream of publishing a book.
In the end, reaching 45 made me want to see what I can do in another 45. It also made me no longer afraid of when it all comes to an end. I’m living in my purpose now and celebrating my life. I wish you the same.