Carly Chiavaroli Jesse Hicks English 202A Behind the Rainbow: Observation at the LGBTA Resource Center If I asked

a student, What flag represents freedom to you, and what are its colors?, they would probably say the American Flag, and red, white and blue. For some that might be too mainstream, but I certainly do not expect them to say red, orange, yellow, green, royal blue, and purple. I would not expect them to say the Freedom Flag, the same flags that hang in the windows,on Bouckes left side, that they probably pass everyday without a second glance. And why would they? The gay people flag, as Ive heard it called, doesnt mean much when youre straight, when you arent hiding your same sex boyfriend/girlfriend from your family, or wake up a woman in a mans body or vice versa. My research, then, is dedicated to the LGBT people, and the straight allies who see more than a rainbow hanging in a window. The Freedom Flags hang the windows of the LGBTA (Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Transgender and Ally) Resource Center, are a welcome sight against the austere brick of Boucke. The bright colors lift my previously foul mood, left over from mathematical frustration. These observations begin from my second visit to the center. I enter Boucke, following the dim, dingy hallway about halfway until I reach the entrance of the center The center is flanked by a glass display case and a magazine rack. I pause here to look at the photos of grinning, LGBTA youth, proudly displaying their banners. A flashy add on the rack, entices gay couples to vacation in Key West. Chuckling at the vacationers mugging for the camera, I slip the add into my bag and open the door. I am promptly greeted by a conga line of two; a familiar center worker named Bryan, and a laughing, dark skinned youth Ive never seen before. The

hub of the resource center is a long room, with small offices and a study lounge jutting from the center. As I enter Im struck by the change in atmosphere, from the almost oppressive quality of the hallway to that of a childs bedroom; a safe, bright place where the world is quiet. I feel like I can breathe, and the last of my moodiness evaporates. I also attribute this to my desire to join Bryan, and the mystery boy in their dancing. An extensive movie, an dbook collection extends down the length on the wall opposite me, and wraps back around to the check out desk on my right. Bryan has been tanning, and is sporting a corporate causal look today; a pacific blue polo shit (non- popped collar thank you very much), kahkis, and white tennis shoes. His hair is best described as dirty blond porcupine quills, but his stocky muscular frame has an easy grace about it, much at odds with gel stiffened hair. Bryan wears wire frameglasses that at present threaten to be flung across the room, and I have yet to see him not wearing a smile. I smile as then dance awkwardly towards me, Bryan rolling his eyes as hes pushed forward. For a moment I contemplate joining them, but the center director Jennifer waves me into her office. She is pleased to see me again, exuding a mothery warmth as she shakes my hand. He hair is down this time, framing her lined round face. She is wearing another lavender top . Im brought before the Programming Coordinatior, Michael who quickly reviews the contract I obtained during my first visit, and signs the one I present to him. Everything is efficient and effortless, sort of like Michael himself. Hes is tall and lean, a Hawaii native with almond colored skin, dark, coarse hair, and dark eyes. He is dressed impeccably in black, pressed, slacks, a silk collared shirt and tie and highly polished black dress shoes. A general observation of the office reveals that the men dress very consciously of appearance, while the females seem to dress for practicality and comfort. Im always amused by this switch of gender norms, and I feel it adds to the unique atmosphere of this place, where normal rules are not adhered to.

I recognize the LGBTA centric magazine Out nestled among several others Ive never seen before. The covers catch the eye immeadiately, featuring eye poping patterns, people Id desparately love to talk to:The Man Who Once Had HIV, a woman tricked out in Napoleanic war regalia, KT Hara, lesbians, gays, and drag queens. The titles are as colorful as their covers; Bitch, Curve, Transgender Tapestry, Myasapo, Poz Trikone, Advocate and OP. My curiosity beyond piqued, I reverently pick up OP and examine the cover. The title of this issue is Schooled spelled out in a messy cursive scrawl across what appears to be a heavyset African-American punk boy. I turn the page and blink several times to make sure, that I am, in fact seeing an add for fake penises. The Perfect Packer for Everyday! the add jubilantly announces, featuring three disembodied penii floating over fancy, cursive script. I quickly turn back to the cover and finally notice, written very small under the issue number, Transgender Men. Clearly punk boy, had not always been a boy , and was probably sporting a Perfect Packer at that very moment! I felt blood rushing to my face, and a feeling of shame and embarrassment swept over me. probably had to wake up every morning and make sure it was on good and proper before leaving the house. I feel extrodinarily embarrassed, ashamed even.