Little Homo On The Prarie

Each small act of living your life as a gay person in Oklahoma tilts the scale of change in our favor. Oklahoma needs its Oklahomos. And I am so glad to be here with you.

No one has to explain to you how traumatic growing up in Oklahoma can be.

And yet, there are things that I love about Oklahoma. I love Friday night football, and cookouts, and the Bedlam rivalry, and how kind strangers can be. I liked growing up in a small town where everyone knew everyone and it was a mental challenge to try to remember how everyone was related. (That can get you in trouble if you don’t know who you’re talking to.) 

And then there is the overwhelming list of things that makes Oklahoma a difficult place, not only to grow up gay but also to live an openly gay life. 

It seems like every day I hear of a new piece of legislation that seeks to deny rights for LGBT individuals. There is a church on every corner and I know that 90% of them think I’m going to hell. If I had a gay child, I would seriously consider taking them out of the school system. 

There are pockets of Oklahoma that I feel safe being myself in, but they are very small pockets and few and far between. 

I’d like to imagine and it’s easy to think that Oklahoma will inevitably be pulled along with the tide of progress. By virtue of time alone, this will become a more progressive place. This is a hopelessly naive thing to believe. 

I got a reality check from my roommate who teaches fourth grade. He has constant stories of kids still using the word gay as in insult, more feminine boys being teased, some of his students returning books if they happen to have a gay character. 

Yes, I can walk the dog around my neighborhood in OKC with a rainbow leash and not fear that I’ll be attacked or harassed. But not in every part of OKC. 

I have gotten comfortable staying in my own space and doing my own thing. I’m not being bothered. 

It’s an easy thing to do when you have privilege. 

I know many gay people who leave Oklahoma the second they have the chance. And others who leave when they’re tired of all the bullshit. 

In the same way that I wonder what happens when all the progressives decide to leave Oklahoma, I wonder what happens when all the gay people leave? 

I refuse to concede this place—my home—to people who wish and actively work against my freedom to marry the person I love, start a family, and live a life outside of the shadows. 

I respect anyone who leaves Oklahoma to find a better life, live in a more accepting environment, or simply remove themselves from the path of tornadoes. I don’t even know if I will live in Oklahoma forever. But while I’m here, I want to contribute to making Oklahoma a more open and accepting place. 

Oklahoma doesn’t make it very hard for people to shit talk on us. Talking shit about Oklahoma is like talking shit about my family. If you’re not in it or from it, you better keep your mouth shut. 

The title of this article is meant to be light-hearted, but I think it also points out a truth that gay people in Oklahoma are a kind of pioneer. There is a risk every time we put ourselves out there whether it be in politics, business, or any other public sphere. 

Our representation and existence matter because the gay community in Oklahoma, although long-existing, still does not enjoy all of the rights and privileges of the majority. Every one of our successes chips away at the structure that would seek to limit us. 

It can be very isolating to be gay in Oklahoma. Tulsa and Oklahoma City have an established community and space for people to meet, but rural areas can feel like being adrift at sea. 

I grew up in Oologah, Oklahoma—a town with one stoplight and potentially more cattle than people. 

One of the main reasons I made this website was in the hopes that some kid from the middle of nowhere would stumble upon it and realize they aren’t alone. That they’d realize that they are not weird or unnatural. And most importantly that they’d realize there are people out there that see them, and love them, and want them to succeed. 

That is what I needed when I was growing up. If I saw someone gay on TV, they didn’t look like me, dress like me, sound like me, or have the same life I had. It wasn’t until college that I met actual openly gay people. 

There were too many years in between figuring out I was different and finally finding out that I wasn’t alone. 

Sara and Parker Cunningham of Free Mom Hugs were the first gay activists that I became aware of in Oklahoma. I happened to board the same plane as them on my way to a gay Christian conference in Denver. 

Hearing their story and seeing the work they do gave me hope that yes, even in Oklahoma there is community and acceptance and love for people like me. 

In 2020, Oklahoma announced a new logo and tagline for the state: “Imagine that.” While I think we can all agree that the logo is atrocious, the tagline might hold a shred of hope. I know it’s not what Gov. Stitt imagined, but I imagine an Oklahoma in which the freedom of religion includes the freedom to live without the imposition of religious morality on my public life. I imagine an Oklahoma where I don’t have to fear holding my partner’s hand when I stop in any small town. 

Oklahoma doesn’t have to be an intolerant, inhospitable space for gay people: Imagine that.