Photo courtesy of ncobs.org.
My parents decided it was time for a change — for two weeks, anyway. Playing video games, surfing the web most of the night and sitting on my butt were out. I was going to the wild. No phone, no technology. It’d be tough, but I could handle it.
You all remember our Outward Bound trip in 9th grade, right? We explored New York City, rode subways, and lived in basements. Some people liked it, others did not. Well forget everything you think you know about OB.
I signed up for a hiking/canoeing trip in the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina. It had all the elements of an ordinary summer trip – climbing, swimming, exploring the wilderness, etc. And sure, the physical hardships were tough – walking miles in the rain and eating baked beans – but most grueling were the unexpected psychological challenges that I had to face.
When we arrived in North Carolina, I met up with the trip leaders and started chatting with the other kids. These were not New York City private school kids. No, these were rural Southern students. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we didn’t have a ton in common. Where they might get in their car and go out to McDonalds, I would take a subway downtown to a Japanese restaurant with my friends. What’s the problem? We would all be in the wilderness anyway, probably foraging for our food in a few hours. With introductions out of the way we hopped on a bus to base camp and collectively cringed as our cell phone service got weaker and weaker and ultimately petered out.
“The morals and teachings that I’d picked up back at home were truly unique. “
As you know, in any group of 12 teenage boys spending 24/7 together, a social hierarchy will undoubtedly be established. Certain kids will group together and become friends, while others will schmooze with counselors and/or pour over the trail maps. Most of us got along well, but there was one kid who simply wasn’t going to fit in. Not because our interests were different. The thing was: Steve* was gay. Not the “that kid’s so gay” kind of gay. He was openly and confidently gay.
To you and me that last detail is insignificant. We’re Fieldston kids, and we often take the values we’re taught for granted. But when I was out in the wilderness surrounded by violently anti-gay kids, I realized that the morals and teachings that I’d picked up back at home were truly unique.
It was like I was transported to a different planet. The intolerance and downright bullying hit me like it did in one of those typical high school movies. Except this was real life. This was a real kid, and these were real bullies. Sure, we’ve all sat through Ms. Dow’s ethics classes and heard about openness and standing up for the right thing from Ms. Merriweather. But out there in the cold, dark Appalachian Mountains, I was all by myself. I had no allies. Shrouded in darkness, I watched as the others sat idly and eerily quiet on the sidelines and witnessed some of the cruelest things I’ve ever seen boys do to one another.
At one meeting, to intimidate and scare Steve, some of the kids recounted stories of what they would do to “faggots” in their local towns. “We’d go to their houses at night, knock down their doors, and beat the shit out of them,” one particularly passionate boy proudly declared. “I hate them, they should die,” another said. So – as I’m sure you’re wondering – what did I do? The only thing I could do, defend.
It felt like the big game day after years of practice. Adrenaline rushed through my blood, as I took the plunge. “But why?” I asked. “Why do you hate them?” “Because they’re faggots,” was the response. What was that supposed to mean? How could I respond to such an illogical statement like that? “There’s a kid on our trip who’s gay, and what you’re saying probably makes him feel terrible.” “Good.” “Your words hurt,” I tried in vain to explain. “Well then he’s a pussy.” I told them that their jabs and threats were one of the main catalysts resulting in suicide among kids our age. “Well then, they’re weak.” I clutched my pocketknife tightly to my side, as my new ‘friends’ yelled curse after curse at me.
I call them friends, because they were and are my friends. We laughed on the trails, helped each other out with the heavy packs, and even shared personal stories. But when it came to this point in our ‘journey’, my ‘friends,’ became deadly assailants. Words became weapons, and I was close to tears. No one came to my aid. Our guides, who were told to “facilitate” rather than intrude, sat and silently listened while the bullying persisted.
In a desperate attempt to direct the negative attention away from me, I asked the target of all these insults how he felt. “How does it make you feel, hearing these things?” “Terrible. I feel awful, and I don’t understand why,” he replied. The group looked at him. This was the first time Steve had really voiced his feelings, and it seemed to be making an impact. He continued, and by the time he was done there was a noticeable mood shift in the group. Hearing a real live gay kid tell you to your face how he feels when you whisper about him behind his back, appeared to do the trick.
“Inevitably, the teasing resumed the next day and the next day, and the next.”
The next morning we woke up and ate an awkward, quiet breakfast. I wondered if things would be different, and they were – for the day. Steve was included in more activities and whispered about less. But, inevitably, the teasing resumed the next day and the next day, and the next.
There’s no heroic or happy ending to my trip. I wish I could tell you after that eventful night everyone’s minds were changed. I wish I could say those kids went back to their small rural towns, and preached acceptance at their schools. But alas, dreams are really just dreams. One of the kids bullying Steve was kicked off for aggressive behavior and rude language. The other bullies kept it up, but managed to escape any consequences.
Once the trip ended one of the participants created a Facebook group to stay in touch, which of course Steve was not a part of. In fact the group is used to this day to further humiliate Steve, with comments like, “I found out what Steve likes more than boys’ butts and Minecraft. Choking on fat fucking cock.” So, if I wasn’t able to change these kids’ minds, what did I get out of my Outward Bound trip? As it turns out, I was exposed to a slice of the world beyond Fieldston. I finally, seriously got out of the sweet, carefree bubble that is our school. I experienced another world. Not the hypothetical situations we discuss in class, or the trips we take to Europe with ‘teen tours,’ or even the community service in Peru.
Fieldston — at the same time as shielding us — is also training us for battle. Training us to get up and stand behind what we believe in. So, if you’re thinking about heading ‘outward bound,’ I say go for it. You may just find out that when you return, the hard part won’t have been the physical survival, or not bathing for days at a time, or the 48 hour solo stint with only water. Part of you might still want to clutch onto that pocketknife, but you’ll be a lot surer on the inside about who you are, and what you believe in. That’s what those two weeks did for me. I’m content when I look at my dirty hiking boots and my ‘Certificate of Accomplishment,’ but I’m also sure I won’t forget Steve and the lessons he taught me on my adventure to the middle of somewhere anytime soon.
