“Identity. That one word asks the most profound question…who am I? My simple answer is…I’m just me. But people seem to need to label others. I guess in a world of billions, it’s easier to categorize people. It allows for a sense of community. But the flip side is that when you lump people in to a group it’s easier to dismiss or judge them.
Growing up, my identity was centered on my race. I was born in Florida in 1969 at the end of the Civil Rights Era. The legal battles had been won, but the changing of hearts and minds was just beginning. We moved to Eastern Kentucky when I was young so that my mother could care for her ailing parents. Being African American would have been hard enough. But being bi-racial was deemed as something worse. Mixing of the races (that archaic phrase) seems to stir up people’s biases and fears. The thing I often heard was, “I’m not against interracial relationships, I just don’t think it’s fair to do that to a child because of the prejudice they’ll face.” The people who uttered these words failed to see that they were the ones making an issue out it. They were blinded by the deluded belief that their intentions where good…they were protecting the children.
But that’s the insidious thing about racism and its nefarious cousin, homophobia. People, who truly believe they’re righteous and are just trying to “save” others, are the ones who cause the most damage. And the truly sad thing is they’re often so busy judging others that they don’t see the blatant hypocrisy operating in their own life.
When I was young, the racism ranged from subtle to blatant. If I went in to certain stores, the workers would follow me around to make sure I didn’t steal something. At school I was bullied, verbally and physically…even spit on. And in any altercation, the word Nigger would often be the first insult hurled. But even in those unenlightened times I met good decent people.
The surprising thing is that today I’m not bitter about the past. All the credit for that goes to my wonderful mother, Elizabeth Reddick. I am blessed with a strong mother, who was ahead of her time. She divorced her first husband in the 60’s because of his drinking. Later, she married an African American man. And she found her spiritual path with The Baha’i Faith. I was raised as a Baha’i and the main tenet of our faith is Oneness. The oneness of God, the oneness of religion and the oneness, and equality, of all of humanity regardless of race, gender, creed or social status.
So, while I faced many forms of prejudice, my worldview was fashioned by my faith and my mother. My mom explained to me that people often feared what they didn’t understand. She urged me to pray for them and excuse their ignorance. She also instilled in me the core belief that I was just as God intended to me to be. Now, my mother didn’t know I was gay at the time, but I took her lessons to heart.
I’ve always known I was gay. I also knew that God loved me for who I was. So, thankfully there wasn’t any denial on my part. But there was fear. I saw how hard it was being a racial minority. I understand where the pain of being different comes from. People talk about praying for years to become straight. Well, when I was a child, I wished I were white. In some twisted way, I was content with people attacking me for my race, because it deflected from my sexuality.
Today, I look back on my childhood with fondness. I think the struggles made me stronger and more compassionate. I understand the kids I grew up with where raised in an era of racism. It warms my heart to see how they’ve evolved. Prejudice of any kind isn’t an innate trait. It’s learned behavior. And the only way to undo the damage of prejudice is with education and patience.
But it’s hard to be patient when I hear horrific stories of kids being bullied, assaulted, or kicked out on the street, because of who they are. It’s hard to be patient when I see my young GLBT brothers and sisters’ taking their own lives. It’s hard to be patient when I see the same twisting of religion that kept African Americans and women second class citizens in the past, being used to justify homophobia today. It’s hard to be patient when there are those out there, against every fact to the contrary, that still say being gay is a choice. The reason is simple. If people can say we chose to be a certain way, then they can blame us for any persecution we face. The truth is, it’s not a choice. So, knowing this truth, there’s only two ways to live. You can love yourself and pursue a life of happiness and joy. Or you can chip away at your soul by repressing who you are.
I wish there were some magic words that could end the torment that others inflict on the LGBT community. I wish I could tell every LGBT person, face to face, that they are loved and special. I wish I could share my acceptance and inner peace with others to help ease their pain and distill their fears. It’s hard to understand the world we live in. It’s similar to the 60’s. While many of the egregious anti-gay and lesbian laws have been lifted, there’s still a long way to go. We still have to change hearts and minds. And the best way to do that is for each of us to live our authentic life with integrity.
Who am I? I am Jeffrey Aaron Reddick. I am a bi-racial, gay, Baha’i man. I’m short. I’m 41. I’m a screenwriter. I’m kind. I’m imperfect. I’m human.
Each of those words describes a facet of my identity, but none of them are my identity.”
-Jeffrey Reddick