I’ve always felt on the outside of things. I’m from a working class family, and I went to a private grade school with the children of doctors and lawyers. Our teachers told us there was no class system in this country. But by the time I was six years old, I knew better. I was left handed in a time when teachers tried to make little kids change to right. I was overweight and that was the kiss of death to any popularity. I wasn’t good at girls’ sports, but I did all right at softball and basketball. I had trouble reading, and that put me behind in everything, plus it made me fell stupid. When my youngest son was diagnosed with dyslexia in the second grade, suddenly a lot of things made sense. This whole thing goes on through high school and into adulthood. I just wasn’t like other people. Then I came out. You would think I was finally home. But, no. I came out after being married for fifteen years, and I had two kids. Other gays didn’t have kids. Once again I was on the outside. To tell the truth, the only time in my entire life that I felt a part of things—a member of society at large—was on September 12, 2001.

I think we are more polarized than ever today. The religious right has reared its ugly head again, but it isn’t just that. I can deal with being called an "abomination" by the God fearing. This new polarization goes much deeper. We, the human animal, forget things so quickly. I remember September of 2001 like it was yesterday. The attack on this country was a traumatic thing for all of us. In the days that followed September 11^th flags started flying everywhere. I drove down Sangamon Avenue, and symbols of unity were lifting in the wind at every house. They seemed to say ‘we are united—we are one.’ I felt an intense love for this country—certainly that included the religious right, the skin heads, and the myriad of troubled souls that make up what we call America.

Ironically, despite this polarization, our community has come farther recently then the dykes and queens from before Stonewall ever dared to dream of. Our civil rights in Illinois are now protected under the law. That took a lot of hard work from some very smart and tenacious gay activists and a lame-duck Senate—one that didn’t have to worry about elections ever again.

I let myself hope that the change in the law would be noticeable. I hoped that I could be open and proud. But the sun came up the next day and life went on as before. I know we can’t legislate attitude; African Americans taught me that a long time ago. But I let myself hope that when all was said and done, I would feel different. I don’t.

The first weekend in March the Illinois Authors annual event will be held at the State Library. This event invites more than 30 Illinois writers to display and sign their books and give programs about writing. This year the theme of the event is "Diversity." Yet there are no gay and/or lesbian writers included. A guy in my writers group, a straight guy, has only had one book published and has already been invited at least once. He’s never won an award, never written a play, never judged a writing competition or any of the things I’ve done. But he’s straight. The woman who gave his name to the committee gave mine to them at the same time. I guess I’m just too diverse for them. The best I can do right now is try not to take it personally. If I can remember this is about them and not me, I don’t have to hurt over it. A couple of weeks ago my new publisher sent me the prepublication announcements of my new book (my fourth) that will be coming out in November of this year. In the bio the publisher had listed the name of my employer. And I wrote and asked them to remove it. I asked them to say that I taught writing at a community college and not give the name of campus because I didn’t want some bigot sending a letter to the dean about me. The publisher understood and removed the name of the college immediately.

I wish I had the courage to make a fuss about Illinois Authors, but to tell the truth I don’t want to be somewhere where I’m not wanted. The law says that my employer cannot fire me because of my sexual preference. Do I want to be the first test case? Hell no. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not an Aunt Tom. This stuff makes me angry. But living with prejudice is not a life of constant confrontations. Rarely does it come to fire hoses or police dogs. It’s a weight we carry on an uphill slope. If the Joneses next door are a little farther along than we are, there’s a good reason. There was a time I would I would have been right in the face of bigotry. But now I’m just tired. Thank God for the young people to whom we can pass the torch of equality when it gets too heavy. With their help we can keep trudging up that slope and keep gaining ground.

Check out Martha Miller’s web site http://www.marthamiller.net/ and her books, Skin to Skin: Erotic Lesbian Love Stories, Nine Nights on the Windy Tree and Dispatch to Deaths available from New Victoria publishers www.newvictoria.com , at Sundance Book Store, Barnes & Nobles, and of course Amazon.com.