As a child I never knew the strength and magnitude of homophobia until I experienced it first hand. When I continued to experience it by being bullied, and called names, I felt that my tormentors were just stupid kids messing around. When I saw my friends, and then my brother Dijan experience homophobia my views and feelings shifted.Men Dating Tips Online Dating Manual
My brother Dijan ultimately died due to the ignorance of homophobia.
I have been looking for my brother Dijan for almost a year. I looked everywhere, always coming up empty handed. I got to a point where I just didn't know where else to look or who to ask.
On Monday March 14, 2005, my sister called me crying and screaming that Dijan died back in 2004! My cousins on my mother's side were tracing their history when they found Dijan's name and all of his information listed on Ancestry.com! I was sick. I was shocked, devastated, and absolutely infuriated that my family was not contacted by anyone.
After my mother's death in 1972, most of my siblings were split up. Some of us grew up with my Grandmother Louella. She always told me that I had other brothers and sisters, the family just didn't know where they were. I was reunited with my Dijan in the summer of 1981. I was ten, and he was fifteen. I was in foster care at the time, and he was in a group home. From that point on, we became the best of friends. He became my strength, my confidant, and my source of happiness while away from my Grandmother. He would ride his bike to my foster home everyday after school. I noticed when he was around, no one called me boy or bull dagger. He tried to protect me. He taught me how to fight!
While in foster care I endured all kinds of horrible things that no little girl should have to face. My brother knew something wasn't right. He promised to protect me no matter what, he also promised we would be out of the system and back with our family. He told me not to worry and that people were just jealous because we were different!
Prior to my twelfth birthday, we both were back in the arms of our family! During my adolescent years, Dijan began to open up and talk about the foster home and group home he was in. He showed me burns on his legs, among many scars and wounds. I wasn't surprised. He talked about how his foster parents abused him physically, emotionally, and allowed sexual abuse from other people in the home. He told me, my sister was the only one in the home who called him by his name. He said they named him faggot, punk and sissy! When he would not answer to it, they would punch or slap him.
During my adolescence, I wanted to come out to Dijan. I was scared and nerves. The strange thing is through the years all of my friends knew he was gay. I didn't see it. I would say that's just my brother, that's his personality. When I finally came out to him, he said "Chile Please, I knew when you were little"! After I came out, my life changed for the better! I went everywhere with him, I learned so much about our people and the gay community. I learned the good and the bad! Where ever he went, I was always with him.
Dijan was so sweet, charming and funny. He had a great sense of humor. I can not remember a time when we are not bent over with laughter. He was always writing poetry to me and our mother. He insisted that I pursue my poetry. He said you never know, maybe it will grow into a career! When I lived with my brother in my early nineties, I found out he was talented and creative. He loved taking ordinary clothes and turning them into something amazing and spectacular! I was proud of him!
The flip side of my brother's creative spark is that he was isolated. He was so alone, and surrounded by pain. He was very aggressive and manly, but timid and in fear of what people were going to do or say to him. Dijan was most afraid of what the family thought of him. He said they always made him feel there was something wrong with him or he was not good enough.
Straight people would call Dijan sweet! I saw him targeted over and over again. I remember people teasing him, yelling that he had sugar in his tank. I hated they way people treated him. I always wanted to shield Dijan, so that his emotional and physical wounds would begin to heal. Wounds caused by his caregivers, and a system that was supposed to protect him. I suppose my love was never enough.
My brother Dijan ultimately died due to the ignorance of homophobia.
I have been looking for my brother Dijan for almost a year. I looked everywhere, always coming up empty handed. I got to a point where I just didn't know where else to look or who to ask.
On Monday March 14, 2005, my sister called me crying and screaming that Dijan died back in 2004! My cousins on my mother's side were tracing their history when they found Dijan's name and all of his information listed on Ancestry.com! I was sick. I was shocked, devastated, and absolutely infuriated that my family was not contacted by anyone.
After my mother's death in 1972, most of my siblings were split up. Some of us grew up with my Grandmother Louella. She always told me that I had other brothers and sisters, the family just didn't know where they were. I was reunited with my Dijan in the summer of 1981. I was ten, and he was fifteen. I was in foster care at the time, and he was in a group home. From that point on, we became the best of friends. He became my strength, my confidant, and my source of happiness while away from my Grandmother. He would ride his bike to my foster home everyday after school. I noticed when he was around, no one called me boy or bull dagger. He tried to protect me. He taught me how to fight!
While in foster care I endured all kinds of horrible things that no little girl should have to face. My brother knew something wasn't right. He promised to protect me no matter what, he also promised we would be out of the system and back with our family. He told me not to worry and that people were just jealous because we were different!
Prior to my twelfth birthday, we both were back in the arms of our family! During my adolescent years, Dijan began to open up and talk about the foster home and group home he was in. He showed me burns on his legs, among many scars and wounds. I wasn't surprised. He talked about how his foster parents abused him physically, emotionally, and allowed sexual abuse from other people in the home. He told me, my sister was the only one in the home who called him by his name. He said they named him faggot, punk and sissy! When he would not answer to it, they would punch or slap him.
During my adolescence, I wanted to come out to Dijan. I was scared and nerves. The strange thing is through the years all of my friends knew he was gay. I didn't see it. I would say that's just my brother, that's his personality. When I finally came out to him, he said "Chile Please, I knew when you were little"! After I came out, my life changed for the better! I went everywhere with him, I learned so much about our people and the gay community. I learned the good and the bad! Where ever he went, I was always with him.
Dijan was so sweet, charming and funny. He had a great sense of humor. I can not remember a time when we are not bent over with laughter. He was always writing poetry to me and our mother. He insisted that I pursue my poetry. He said you never know, maybe it will grow into a career! When I lived with my brother in my early nineties, I found out he was talented and creative. He loved taking ordinary clothes and turning them into something amazing and spectacular! I was proud of him!
The flip side of my brother's creative spark is that he was isolated. He was so alone, and surrounded by pain. He was very aggressive and manly, but timid and in fear of what people were going to do or say to him. Dijan was most afraid of what the family thought of him. He said they always made him feel there was something wrong with him or he was not good enough.
Straight people would call Dijan sweet! I saw him targeted over and over again. I remember people teasing him, yelling that he had sugar in his tank. I hated they way people treated him. I always wanted to shield Dijan, so that his emotional and physical wounds would begin to heal. Wounds caused by his caregivers, and a system that was supposed to protect him. I suppose my love was never enough.
