By: Morgan Topol

My first day of high school was one I’ll never forget.

We were in health class, and we were sitting in a mobile trailer. I had a boyfriend at the time, and he happened to be in my class. The type of boyfriend you have when neither of you know how to drive. The “sit together in the cafeteria,” “hold hands in the hallway,” “have our parents take us to the movies” kind of boyfriend.

We’d been dating for two years by this point. We went to a year-round middle school, and we were on the same track, which meant we had classes together all throughout 6th, 7th and 8th grade. During that time, we’d go to band class together (I played the flute/piccolo and he played the trombone), and in the evenings I’d watch him play football for our school while cheering him on.

But, as you know if you read my “About” section on LinkedIn, I joined the marching band when I got to high school. It felt like divine intervention. I didn’t know why, but I knew it was the right decision, even though I’d seen every coming-of-age movie that told me it wasn’t. There was no debate in my mind – the passion was there.

He, as expected, continued to play football and joined our high school team. I can’t say I blame him; again, the passion was there. He’d played football for most of his life, and he came from a southern family who never missed a big game. He also played in a recreational league outside of school, and one of his friends from his old team, Joey, happened to be in our health class as well.

On the first day of class, we were all told to stand up and introduce ourselves one by one. When it was my turn to go, I stood up, told them my name, and said I was in the marching band. What happened next is something I wouldn’t hear about until days later – I was too busy introducing myself to hear the conversation that transpired between the two boys.

I thank the boy I was dating at the time for trying to spare my feelings, but in doing so, he gave unnecessary negative power to the word that was used against me. It was your classic game of telephone: he told his mother, who told mine, who let it slip out to me.

“He didn’t want to tell you,” my mother said, “but that boy Joey in your class called you ‘queer’ when you said you were in marching band.”

Yes, you’re reading that right. Joey didn’t know he was dating me – and he called me that. To my ex-boyfriend’s face. As I was introducing myself to the class. Given the negative connotation the word was used with, my ex-boyfriend at the time, rightfully, was fuming.

“That’s my girlfriend!” He apparently retorted in the trailer, just above a whisper. Again, this was my mother’s recount, as I was never supposed to know. Although it brought me great joy to hear that Joey immediately started apologizing profusely, it didn’t take away the pain of being called that word with such a negative connotation attached, particularly as a 9th grader.

College taught me many things. One thing I’m thankful to have learned during my time here is that the word “queer” doesn’t have to have a negative connotation. The word has more than one definition, and there’s so much more beauty in all of its positive connotations – so much diversity, creativity, individuality, community and love.

Now? I’m proud to have been associated with that word. I’m proud to have been associated with that word because of marching band. I’m proud to be associated with a word that represents a rejection of conformity, because that’s what I am, too. A person who is brave enough to defy convention in favor of being who they really are.

So Joey, thank you for the compliment. I wear it with pride. I don’t feel comfortable blogging about my sexuality, but regardless, the first definition of the word “queer,” according to google search, is “strange; odd.” I’d take that over “boring” and “typical” any day.

And to the boy I used to date? Thank you for sticking up for me in the 9th grade, and for trying to keep me from getting hurt. Really, I’ll always appreciate your kindness. At the time, I needed it. But all these years later, I’m here to tell you that the word “queer” will never have that kind of power over me again. It will only fuel me.