Coming Out to Play, page 17
So I answered all of Anderson’s questions one at a time without breaking a sweat, and then he said, “Yeah, when I came out when I was in fifth grade . . .” and I thought, Does everyone even know you’re gay? Even though I knew he was gay, I didn’t know he was out; that’s how clueless I was.
Before I gave the final go-ahead to Nightline, I had to check with my mom to be sure it was okay to have another camera crew with me when I got home. I was in the early stages of working with my friend Steve Nash on a documentary about my life, so there was already going to be a camera crew waiting at the house when I walked in the door. And my mom was cool with that because she thought it could be helpful to other families to see how I’d been embraced after coming out. Like I expected, she said it was fine for Nightline to be there, too.
I was so excited on the flight to L.A. I was already excited just to be back in the United States after a year away. And now I was going home to see my family and they were going to see me as me, not someone I was pretending to be. For the first time I wasn’t going to have to be on guard. I wouldn’t have to censor myself, which meant I could really listen to what they were saying without always trying to anticipate a question they might ask that I’d have to duck or answer with a lie. So as I looked out the window of the plane, with the lights of L.A. spreading out to the horizon and Jeffrey sleeping at my feet, I thought about what it would be like to be with my family. And instead of getting that tight feeling in my stomach that I’d always gotten in the past when I was going home to visit, I had an overwhelming sense of lightness and clarity. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I had nothing to hide.
Our flight wound up being very late, so it was just my mom and my sister Katie who were waiting up for me when I got home at midnight. I know I had a big smile on my face as I walked through the door. Katie came running down the hall and hugged me and she was crying. Then my mom hugged me, too. Mom was more emotional than usual, but it’s always emotional with us when we haven’t seen each other in a long time. They both had such big smiles.
My mom was great on Nightline. If you’d told me a few months before that my mom would be comfortable being interviewed for a national television news program about her gay son, I never would have believed it. But there she was in the kitchen standing next to me saying these really supportive things. She said, “It was a time of sadness . . . to think that there was something my son suffered with by himself. And then it was a great moment of joy to think we were all together, that we could share it, and that we could start something new.” And I said, “Exactly true.” And it was.
The next day, when the whole family was home for dinner, and I was sitting around the table with my mom and my brother and sisters and we were laughing and joking and having a good time, I was thinking, This is what it should be like when you’re sitting with your family. I’d waited for so long for this moment, to be comfortable with myself, for them to know who I really was, and for them to still love me—and maybe even love me more because I wasn’t hiding. They could see that I wasn’t any different from the son and brother they had always known, but happier, because I was finally free to be myself.
I wasn’t home for long. A few days after landing at LAX, I was back on a plane, this time heading for Portland, Oregon, to be a panelist for an event that would leave me thinking that I wouldn’t be going back to school in London after all. Nike and GLSEN were cosponsoring the Nike Be True LGBT Youth Forum for high schools kids from across the Pacific Northwest who were active in their schools’ GSAs. I’d had a long relationship with Nike because they’d sponsored me since I was sixteen, so it made sense that they’d reach out and invite me to be a panelist. But until then I’d never heard of GLSEN or GSAs. Once I came out it was like getting a crash course in being gay. I’d been so deeply closeted that I really knew nothing about gay history, the gay civil rights movement, or organizations like GLSEN. Fortunately, I’m a quick study, especially if I’m interested.
GLSEN stands for Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network. It’s a national organization dedicated to “ensuring safe schools for all students.” What I learned at the Nike forum is that eight out of ten LGBT students are harassed at school because of who they are. And GLSEN’s mission is for “every student, in every school, to be valued and treated with respect, regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression.” It would have made such a huge difference for me if I’d gone to schools that lived by those values.
GSAs, or gay-straight alliance clubs, are school-based organizations at thousands of high schools and middle schools across the country, where LGBT kids and their straight allies can go to support each other and work on fighting discrimination, harassment, and violence in schools.
I was one of six people on the panel, which included a transgender man who cofounded TransActive; a lesbian who worked at Nike; the founder of the Trevor Project; the leader of PFLAG Portland Black Chapter; and Alex Horsey, a young man who founded and runs an organization called Project Believe in Me, which is a youth-led organization dedicated to ending bullying. The Trevor Project provides crisis intervention and suicide prevention for LGBT youth. PFLAG is an organization with chapters across the United States and around the world for parents, families, friends, and allies of LGBT people that’s dedicated to “moving equality forward.” And TransActive is “focused on serving the diverse needs of transgender and gender non-confirming children, youth, their families, and allies.”
We did two sessions, each lasting an hour, with a total of about five hundred students. At first I was nervous because I’d never done anything like that before and didn’t know what to expect. When we got to the auditorium, I stood off to the side with the other panelists and watched as the kids came in and talked to each other with a sense of excitement. You could tell these kids were a bit different and I could feel their positive energy. For one thing, they seemed so confident and comfortable with themselves. And a lot of them dressed in an edgy way, had dyed hair, or had crazy haircuts and more expressive makeup, not like you’d see in Rolling Hills Estates where I grew up.
The moderator, Tim Hershey, an executive from Nike, introduced us one by one and the kids all applauded as we came up on stage. Tim started off by asking us a half dozen questions. He asked us to give advice to young LGBT high school students based on our own experiences. When it was my turn to respond, I said, “It’s tough for me to give any advice because I didn’t come out until a few months ago, but from my experience I’d suggest finding someone you can talk to away from your friends and family. Someone you can trust, who will be supportive and keep your secret if you’re not ready to share it with anyone.” I wish I’d had even one person to talk to when I was young so I didn’t have to feel totally isolated.
When it was time for the students to ask questions and make comments, I was really impressed to hear about what they were doing at their particular schools to educate people and fight homophobia: “This is what we’re doing at our school . . .” “We’re the first GSA to have this or that program . . .” “We won the right to bring our boyfriends and girlfriends to the prom . . .” Their mind frame was so different from mine when I was growing up. If I ever saw something on television about gay men and women fighting for equality, I’d turn away or shut it out because I was so closeted. To hear these students talk so confidently and optimistically about what they were doing was inspiring. From their comments I could tell they really believed that they could make things better, and by the time the two sessions were over I was convinced they would, and that maybe I could, too.
One of the students who came up to the microphone to ask a question started out by saying, “This was the best day of my life!” It felt like he was speaking for me, because it turned out to be one of the best and most transformative days of my life, too. These brave students made me realize what a coward I was by comparison. I was never a part of any of these clubs when I was in high school. I never spoke out when people were treated badly, whatever the reason. But here they were, already out at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old, fighting against discrimination and for equal rights and respect for everyone, when all I’d done was come out and share my story. And it wasn’t like I came out because I was trying to help anyone. I was just trying to save myself by getting out from under all the lies.
The first thing that occurred to me after attending the forum was that Nike could do these events all across the country, videotape them, and put it all up on YouTube so young people around the world could watch and be inspired by their peers and the panelists. I could see how much these kids got out of the experience, meeting other students who were doing the same thing, drawing strength from each other, and making new friends. I said to my agent, “Nike should do twenty or thirty of these a year,” and while it turns out they weren’t interested, that didn’t mean I couldn’t do something on my own. I thought, I’m twenty-five. I have this public platform. I’ve had such a positive response. I can’t just go back to London and go to fashion school, not when I have the chance to help young gay people feel better about themselves than I did at their age and to help the LGBT civil rights effort move forward. God had given me this opportunity and I felt an obligation to embrace it, because it felt like the right thing to do.
That’s when I decided to go back to playing professional soccer. I had the chance to use that platform to help people, and if any of these kids had been in my position that’s what they would have done. Even without much of a platform they were willing to organize, speak to school administrators, and go into regular classes to talk about their experiences and educate people. As an out professional soccer player, I could do my part by setting an example and being a role model for that young Robbie Rogers who was just starting out in his sport and wondering whether he could be himself and still do what he loved. And even for kids who weren’t interested in sports, if they saw me doing what I wanted to do as an out and proud gay man, then maybe they would feel that they could be themselves and do the things they dreamed of doing. I could be an example of someone whose difference not only didn’t get in the way, but also made his life better.
These amazing kids at the Nike forum—in combination with the hundreds of young people who wrote to tell me that I’d inspired them to come out to their parents or given them the inspiration to stay alive—inspired me to test myself, to see if I had the courage to go back in the locker room and onto the field as an openly gay man. After Portland, I decided it was time to find out if I did.
CHAPTER 14
BACK IN THE GAME
It was one thing to challenge myself by saying that I was getting back in the game. It was another to actually do it. Before I called my agent to tell him what he’d wanted to hear since I first told him I was quitting—he’d been calling me once a week since December urging me to go back to playing—I needed to test myself both physically and emotionally to be sure I was strong enough and brave enough to do it.
I knew I could train with the LA Galaxy if I wanted, but before I got in touch with Bruce Arena, the Galaxy’s coach, to take him up on his offer, I wanted to sound out one of my friends, Landon Donovan, who played for the Galaxy, to see what he thought the reaction would be from his teammates. The truth was that despite how inspired I’d been by the kids at the Nike forum to step forward and be brave, I was terrified at the prospect of walking back into the locker room as an openly gay man. What if they ostracized me? That fear had kept me in the closet for years. And if they did ostracize me I couldn’t imagine returning to professional soccer. I knew I didn’t have the emotional strength to do that.
Landon’s been with the LA Galaxy for years. He used to be the captain. He’s a national team player, probably the best American player ever. I met him when I was really young and we’ve played with and against each other, including on the national team. And I knew he didn’t have an issue with me being gay; he’d taken a very public role appearing in public service announcements for Major League Soccer’s “Don’t Cross the Line” anti-discrimination campaign.
I sent Landon an email in which I said, “As someone who knows the locker room, what do you think it will be like? I’m a little afraid.” He wrote right back and said, “Let’s get a coffee and talk about it.” We met at Landon’s place in Manhattan Beach, and took his dogs to a nearby park for a walk. I told him I was afraid to be in a locker room with a bunch of straight guys, that it was an environment that had really hurt me in the past. I said, “I’m afraid that if I walk into the locker room the guys will be awkward and silent around me or just very careful about what they say, like they were walking on eggshells.” I was more fearful of the potential awkwardness and silence than I was of anyone saying anything bad to me directly. “I don’t want to be treated differently,” I said. Landon said, “It might be weird for the first few days, but then they’ll get over it. We’ve got a great group of guys, but this is something we’ve never experienced before, so you’ll need to give them some time.”
Talking to Landon helped, and although I was still anxious, I wanted to see what would happen. Maybe I’d walk in and be like, Okay, this was an awful experience, I’m never going back. Or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Whatever the outcome, I felt compelled to at least give it a shot, so I sent Bruce Arena a message and said, “I’d love to come in and train, just to see if I can do it.”
The morning of my first practice I woke up early and had breakfast. I was staying with my mom in Huntington Beach, so it was only a thirty-minute drive to the training center in Carson. I got there around eight-thirty and walked downstairs to the training room and lockers, which are all underneath the stadium. I was really nervous and scared about what the initial reaction would be like, but it wasn’t nearly as awful as the feeling I’d had in my stomach during all those years when I was hiding. I knew the whole coaching staff and the medical guys, because I’d been there before when I was recovering from my broken ankle. People said, “Hey, Robbie, how are you?” “Hi, Robbie, nice to see you.” Everywhere I went in public at that point, people would say, “Congratulations!” or “Thank you!” so I was expecting to hear a little of that, but at the stadium no one said a word about what I’d done. I was more surprised than disappointed.
Then I walked into the locker room. I think anytime you go into a locker room as a player who’s not signed it’s a bit awkward. I think some guys didn’t know what to say to me, but a lot of the guys didn’t know me that well, so it was hard to say whether they were awkward because I was gay or awkward because they didn’t know me, or both. But whatever it was, it wasn’t bad. So I changed and headed out onto the field where I’d played as a kid and where I played with the Columbus Crew when we won the MLS Cup. It couldn’t have been more familiar ground, but everything was different now.
The real surprise was how out of shape I was. It had been five months since I was on a field, and it showed. We did some ball work and passing, and we played with big goals but a smaller field. I was tripping over my own legs, like Bambi. I wasn’t sharp and got winded easily, but I was really happy to be out there playing. Whatever awkwardness there might have been in the locker room disappeared once we were on the field. I had a great time and was proud of myself for doing it.
I decided to go back for training the next day and the day after that. I wanted to see if I continued to get better and continued to enjoy it, and as long as I felt comfortable, I decided I’d keep going back. So for the next few weeks I trained four or five days out of every seven. It was very normal, casual training, and it got easier, and I started talking to guys about the usual things you talk about.
The one time anything gay came up was when one of my teammates, Todd Dunivant, who had the locker next to mine, called me up to ask if I’d heard that Jason Collins, the NBA player, had just come out. He was good friends with Jason, so as soon as he heard about Jason’s cover story in Sports Illustrated he called me. I’d just read about it on Twitter and started getting calls from the media asking me for a statement, as if I were an expert on gay athletes. What I said to everyone was, “I’m just as surprised as you guys, and I’m happy for him, but I don’t know Jason.”
I spoke to Jason that day; he got my number from Todd. The first thing I said after he introduced himself was, “Congratulations, but it feels a little weird to congratulate you for being honest.” Jason had called to ask how I dealt with my PR, and I told him, “I retired, and I wasn’t with a team, and that was the biggest reason I did it, because I wanted to do it on my terms.” I knew that if I’d stayed with soccer my team would have controlled who I talked to and when, and I knew I didn’t want to talk to anyone, because I wasn’t ready. I said to Jason that I thought it was going to be more difficult for him because he was still with the NBA, even though he wasn’t signed to a team. I said, “They’re probably going to ask you to do all kinds of interviews, but you might want to take some time for yourself.”
I met Jason for breakfast a month after that. He’s a nice guy, friendly and funny. I really like him. You can tell if someone has the right motives, and the impression I got when I met Jason was that he was like me. He came out because he wanted to be happy and free. I remember saying to him, “I hope you play, because there’s a lot of education that will go on in the locker room.” The NBA is so much bigger in the United States than soccer and reaches into all parts of the country, and basketball players are icons in their communities, so his playing as an out gay basketball player would have a bigger impact on those people than my coming out. (Jason wound up not being picked up by a team for the 2013–2014 season, but was signed by the Brooklyn Nets in February 2014, and finally made basketball history with his NBA debut as the first openly gay NBA player on February 23, 2014.)
