Delayed gratitude

One so rarely gets to say thank you to writers, which is why it was great, a moment ago, to shake Dan Savage's hand and say, "One so rarely gets to say thank you to writers, but thanks for helping me come out."

He had just given the last talk of a writing workshop put on by the Association of Alternative Newsweeklies. His speech was funny, spirited and obscene--and inspiring, like an even more gay Tony Robbins seminar.

After I thanked him, Savage looked surprised, congratulated me and shook my hand again. I started to say, "In the end, a bullying tone--"

He looked troubled and blurted out, "Yes, I get a lot of shit for that."

I said, "Well, it was just what I needed when you told a closeted reader, basically, 'Stop being afraid and live your life.'"

He now thanked me and, checking out my name tag (yes, even alternative journalism conferences have name tags), looked pleased to see that I'm from Madison, where he once lived--"Where all the gay bars burn down," he joked.

What I told him is true. His writing was, finally, what prompted me to come out as gay five years ago. I remember the day: I was lying on the floor of my rented Madison room, drunk and miserable. I was perusing the book Savage Love, a collection of his advice columns, and when I read where he told some closeted guy, "Get over yourself," something in me finally clicked. I was like: well, yes.

Next thing you know, I was gay. Thanks in no small part to Dan Savage. And goodness me, now he's a colleague.