Those rumblings you hear beneath the red clay of Moultrie, Ga. are the signs of a movement — a movement to right the damage caused by our careless usage of words. This movement seeks to cushion one particularly stigmatized group from the blows of modern spoken and written English, and has taken to newsprint to do so. The movement is in defense of the Gays.
“I would like to direct this message to those people who mistakenly refer to homosexuals as gays,” writes the author of a letter to the editor in the Moultrie Observer. “Homosexuality is not a choice, but making reference to it as ‘gays’ is.”
A ground-breaking letter, with a sentiment towards homosexuality likely unique in the region. But, mind you, the intent of the letter is not a defense of homosexuals from the assaults of Bible-beating puritans, but an inquisition into the word “gay.”
My surname is Gay and there are thousands of others who proudly carry this name. I know for a fact that they feel the same humiliation and disgust when our name is used or identified with homosexuals.
Pity poor Max Gay, of Moultrie. It was Mr. Gay who took the time — the agonizing time — to author the letter and defend his family stock.
While the letter provides no further biographical information about the author of the letter, we can only imagine what hell the times have wrought on Mr. Gay.
Please people, do not use my or my family’s name when you need to refer to homosexuality, either verbally or written. It would mean much to those of us who proudly carry the name Gay.
Perhaps Max Gay was lucky, and was born in the 1920s — Maximillian W. Gay, Jr. His colleagues in school would have loved him for his name. After all, back then, ‘gay’ meant joyful, and is there anything more joyful than having Max Gay along for the ride?
“Let’s bring Max along to the party,” the popular children in Mr. Gay’s school would say. “He assures us of a whizz-bang good time.”
And that would have been that. Gay was happy, and Max would have been at least a good luck token to any social gathering, lest he be marred by some unmentioned disfiguration. And even still, perhaps.
In some parts of the country, Mr. Gay may have even been sheltered from a name-calling onslaught should he have been born up until the 1980s. The traditional meaning of “gay” permeated popular culture throughout the nation for decades. For example, the state song of Kentucky – ‘My Old Kentucky Home’ – initially asserted that the state’s ‘darkies’ were ‘gay’ before legislation in the 1980′s altered the anthem. The original opening verse:
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
‘Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn-top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.
In 1986, a change was made. No longer was Kentucky’s entire African-American population to be labeled as “gay.”:
The sun shines bright in My Old Kentucky home,
‘Tis summer, and people are gay;
The corn-top’s ripe and the meadow’s in the bloom
While the birds make music all the day.
Instead, all of the Commonwealth was to be equally included as “gay,” with all discriminatory barriers to the seeking of joy removed.
It was famed cultural observer and plagiarist Mark Twain who noted that he wanted to be in Kentucky when the world ended, “because it would always be 20 years behind.”
But, we can all recoil in terror at the plague of insults Max Gay would have faced in any community in the nation where “gay” no longer clung to its roots. There, not only would the playground judge him as a homosexual, but also a MAXIMUM homosexual. The bitterness and resentment that would grow inside him are unimaginable to us — those without a mis-used surname — but also probably to his siblings and parents. Jim and Judy Gay, well certainly they would have faced some minimal taunting. “What, are you gay?” the bullies would mock. But Max Gay, oh lord, the magnitude of pain is unimaginable.
“What, are you the GAYEST??”
Even if, by the grace of god, Max Gay was birthed in the days prior to the spread of “gay’s” new meaning, he can no longer be expected to use a credit card or check without inquiry from a snarky waiter or sales clerk. Surely, Mr. Gay would — at the least — be taunted by staff behind his back, if not to his face.
“Here you go, Mr. Max Gay. Just need you to sign on the line,” they would say amid stiffled giggles. “Yes, just write ‘Max Gay’ — your name — right here.
“Max Gay.”
It is no wonder Max Gay is the source of this effort to seize the word “gay” for his own purposes. Indeed. Where anti-gay advocates have failed at reclaiming the rainbow, perhaps Mr. Gay can succeed in reclaiming his the word for his own purposes.
After all, what would you do if you were in his shoes?
“To those who prefer gay instead of homosexual, please put you own surname in place of Gay and think of the effect it might have on you and your family,” he adds.
