I always hear so many people who have such fond memories of high school. I do, but they’re of people, not the place. I went to school to learn so that I could get the hell out of my very small hometown and not look back.

Except that I do have to look back. Right now, my hometown is embroiled in a struggle that’s being forced upon them by the actions of a small group of parents and four of the school board members and it’s having repercussions that are negatively affecting students’ outlook toward the rest of the world.

High school, the place, was absolute hell for me. Because of a rumor my brother started when I was in fifth grade, a rumor that kids don’t forget ever, and because kids are the meanest little creatures on the planet, I was the lowest of the low in the pecking order. It was so bad that, when I was in junior high, I moved to live with my father so that I could get away from it. And oddly, it had nothing to do with me being gay.
 
When I was there, I had my first sexual experience with the boy next door. It was amazing, it felt right and I finally had the word to put with the feelings I’d been having since I was about, oh, six years old or so. I also found out that most of society thought it was wrong and that, because of what the Bible said about it, I was going to Hell for it. I didn’t care. I started questioning the Bible and my faith, at the tender age of 12. TWELVE YEARS OLD and I was already a very independent thinker.

After junior high, I chose to move back to Wyoming to go to high school. I was in school for all of three days when people resurrected The Rumor. There were several days in September of my freshman year that I was “sick” due more to stress than anything medical. Sure, I was throwing up several times a day, but again, stress-related, not illness. I finally just started to push through and ignore the bullshit as much as I could and keep my head down and not get involved with anyone or anything that would draw attention to myself.

It was a long four years of band, drama, journalism, Academic Decathlon and keeping to myself. I had a few good friends. I had more people who were more intimidating than hostile . The one and only time I got anywhere near being in a fight (from which I ran away) was in my freshman year at the end of lunch. Sean Brandt (I use his name because I might forgive, but I never forget) came up to me on my walk back to school and said, “I heard what you said about my ass,” (which I had never mentioned) and swung at me. I moved fast enough to only take a little bit of it on my chin, and then ran my ass back to school. I was already late, but damn, I could have won track meets with that speed. While I was in my locker getting my books for the class for which I was already late (Biology with Mrs. Pollet), he walked behind me and shoved me into my locker and kept going. The halls were empty, so nobody saw it, and I didn’t report it. Keep my head down and get through it. He never brought it up again.
By my senior year, I was a total wreck. There was The Rumor, and there was the growing fear that someone would find out about the crushes I had on various people in my school, crushes on guys. Because, really? DAMN, I went to high school with some truly good-looking guys (and let’s keep in mind, shall we, that at the time I was age-appropriate. I’m not a pedophile; most of those scumbags are straight). P.E. classes were my own special hell. Thankfully, I had a lot of self-control and very few opportunities. There was rarely a week when thoughts of suicide weren’t part of my world.

Then I had a friend spend the night (let’s call him Dex). Dex and I had sex that night, and quite a few other times throughout my senior year, all under the noses of my friends at school and my parents. I wasn’t keeping secrets from anyone that most people wouldn’t keep secret anyway. How many high school kids tell their parents or friends that they’re having sex? Dex moved away before I graduated, so I was solo again.

I went to college in Powell. I chose Powell, because I had a scholarship for anywhere in Wyoming, and Powell was the farthest away from Wheatland as I could get and still stay in the state. Somehow The Rumor followed me up to Powell, and it could have only done that through a very few people. I’m pretty sure I know who it was, but I can’t prove it and it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. It died pretty quickly because, well, I don’t think anyone gave a shit.

I met my first real boyfriend, Dwayne, while I was in Powell. He was the husband of a good friend of mine, who introduced us, knowing full well that he was bisexual and I was questioning my sexual identity. We were together for about six months during my sophomore year. When we broke up, I told my friends Sandy and Heather about it and what I went through for high school and up until then with my sexuality.

I moved out of Wyoming and to Wisconsin where I came out at the age of 21. Four years later, in 1998, a young man named Matthew Shepard was killed in Laramie, 70 miles from my hometown of Wheatland, because he was gay and some small-minded bigots decided that they didn’t need any fuckin’ homo faggots in their precious little backwoods.

It could have been me for all of those years. It could have been me many times over. I don’t know which deity was smiling on me, nor do I know why, but I am thankful for His or Her intervention.

These banners being removed from the schools in Wheatland are distressing for many reasons. The biggest reason is that, had they been there when I was in school, I probably would have felt a lot safer. I would have possibly been able to talk to my friends or teachers or parents about what I was going through. If I’m calculating right, during my junior year, there were about 10 kids, that I know of, who were gay or lesbian who were hiding it from everyone. Had I known about even one or two of them, my time at WHS would have been exponentially better. Someone else to hold the secret, someone else to trust. With these banners being taken down and the town being removed from the “No Place For Hate” program, it sends a crystal clear message to the GLBT kids at Wheatland High School and West Elementary: Stay hidden because nobody is going to protect you. Nobody cares if you’re gay, keep it in the closet, and pretend you’re someone you’re not. We don’t want your kind around here.

Hate and intolerance have to be taught. They’re not natural emotions. Thank you, Joe Fabian, Lee Dunham, Clara Powers and Kelly Tyson, for fostering hate and intolerance in the children of Platte County School District #1, and for sending a clear message that hate and intolerance are something that all teachers in the district are welcome to teach. Also, thanks to Dallas Mount and Jay Houx for your weak, half-assed support of the program, but not of the sponsors. Evidently, hate and intolerance is okay for you, too.

To the students formerly in the No Place For Hate program (since, y’know, it’s been pulled from the district by the group sponsoring it), my sincere condolences go out to you. Keep the fundamentals of the program in your hearts and minds. There truly is no place for hate in you. Should you need anyone to talk to, there are a lot of teachers and parents who don’t agree with the decision. And for those of you who are 18 or who will be 18 before the next election that your vote will count, make it heard.
Sincerely,
Jeremy Bredeson
Proud member, WHS class of 1991