Bear: a Nickname with a Tragically Awkward Interpretation

When I was a kid, "gay" was a word used to describe the ultimate boogeymen: A group of men who would hunt you down if you weren't careful and rape you. Men with uncontrollable libidos out to do Satan's work who cared nothing for emotion and certainly not love. Indeed, this persisted until I finally left my tiny, isolated private school and made my way to Oakland Community College, and then from there to Michigan State University. These "homos" were evil men, men that sinned daily and laughed at God as they did it. "Faggots." "Queers." Rainbow-flag-waving maniacs who french-kissed one another in public to defile the very air they breathed.

Certain things began to happen, though. I read a book called The Forever War by Joe Haldeman, where a man continues to jump forward in time, observing different human cultures. At one point, his jump lands him in a culture where homosexuality is the norm and heterosexuality is a deviancy.

Hmmm... I thought. What would that be like?

Wheels started turning. I imagined myself in that position, where people told me I was a sinner for liking women and denied me homosexuals' rights. I would be frustrated beyond belief. Why can't they see me for who I am? I'd whisper in fury. It came to me then that these "gays" were no different than me save our sexual orientation. 

And at Michigan State, I met gay people. They didn't seem wierd or monstrous. They seemed like average, everyday people trying to get by in life. I began to understand then. Gay is not a choice; gay is how you're born.

It wasn't until a couple of months ago that I was sitting in my office and my friend Scott said "So why do they call you Bear?"

I relayed to him that my high school friends had made a picture of the front half of a bear and the back half of a whale and then posted it on my locker. They thought it was great fun; I didn't know what to think, but the name stuck. I was Bearwhale and that was that.

At college, I made friends pretty quickly, and some of those friends asked me what they could call me as a nickname. I answered "How about Bearwhale?"

They looked confused as an awkward silence settled in. "It's a long story, but-" I began to say, before one of the girls blurted "How 'bout we just call you Bear?"

I finished my story and turned to Scott. He sat in silence for a second and then said, "Oh. I thought maybe you were gay and that's where the nickname came from."

I stared at him. What the hell does that mean? He told me that big hairy men in gay communities were known as "bears." Seeing as how I was a 6'6" big, hairy man, he drew what seemed to him to be a perfectly normal conclusion.

I assured him vehemently that I was not gay, but straight, and had no idea of the implications of my innocently chosen nickname "Bear."

People look at me oddly when I tell them that they can call me "Bear," and I have been left with the awkward thought (every time I see them start at that) that they now believe I am gay. However, I'm glad I know now. I'll be careful to whom I hand that name out to avoid any awkward invites to a date by the same sex.