Coming Out to Play, page 19
At first I didn’t know how to respond to my mom’s question, but I quickly came up with an answer: “Well, yes, we’re seeing each other.” My mom didn’t let on that she didn’t like my answer, because when I asked her later about what she felt in the moment, she said she was thinking, Oh, my gosh, that’s way too sterile a response for what I’m asking you. Please don’t rob this from me by hiding Greg from me, because this is one of my prayers being answered. What she actually said instead was “Why didn’t you tell me?” And I said, “I’m so sorry. I just assumed Alicia had told you.” But it should have come from me.
Since that first dinner together I’ve worked hard at not making assumptions and not hiding my relationship with Greg. I never thought it would be so challenging to be normal, but it’s getting easier as I get more practice, so much so that when Greg came home to Huntington Beach for our family Thanksgiving, he fit in so comfortably that it didn’t even feel strange to me that it was all so normal. It just felt right.
The second experience I had, the one that gave me firsthand experience of what it feels like to be threatened simply because you’re gay, happened in West Hollywood, the very gay-friendly neighborhood where I live.
Greg and I had just left a club at the Standard Hotel on Sunset Boulevard. We hadn’t stayed long, so it was maybe eleven-thirty p.m. We crossed over to the north side of Sunset and walked east with the hope of finding a cab. Then right by the Andaz Hotel this white Jeep, with the windows down, drove by slowly in heavy traffic going in the opposite direction. I glanced over and saw there were four young guys in the Jeep, maybe late twenties, all with short, spiked hair. Then I heard one of them say in a loud enough voice for me to hear, “Fags!” Instantaneously I tensed up, because the way he said “fags,” with so much hate in his voice made it feel like a threatening situation. I turned to Greg and asked, “Did he say that?” And Greg said, as astonished as I was, “He did!”
In that moment I wanted to walk up to the Jeep and say, “Get out of your car and say that to my face.” Getting called “fag” made me angry and my first instinct was to confront the guy. But then I thought, That would be stupid. There are four of them and two of us. You never know. He might have a gun, he might be looking for a fight. I had the feeling that if I even looked at them they’d be out of their car and kicking the shit out of us, so I said to Greg, “Let’s just ignore them and keep walking.”
Given that West Hollywood is where gay people come to live to be free of all this stuff, I was really surprised to have this happen. And it made me wonder what makes people want to do that, to use language they know is hurtful, to threaten someone by calling him a fag. Was that guy just trying to act macho with his friends to show how straight he was? Was he looking for a fight? Was he bored? Did he have some reason to hate gay people, or at least dislike them enough to yell, “Fags!” at two total strangers he thought were gay?
I’d heard that this sort of thing happened all the time, even in West Hollywood. But until you experience it yourself it’s easy to think, Oh, that was a long time ago, or, It’s so rare and random it would never happen to me. But it did. People think times have changed with the younger generation, but there are still a lot of homophobic people everywhere.
In the past, that sort of thing drove me deeper into the closet, but now it just motivates me more, to be myself, to talk about my experiences, to continue doing what I’m doing. And because I have the love and support of my family, I know I can face whatever comes my way.
The final experience I wanted to tell you about came a month later and it was the total opposite of that evening with Greg in West Hollywood. I was in Europe promoting the launch of my BEYOND “it” anti-discrimination campaign and was invited to attend a professional soccer match in Ghent, Belgium, to help launch their national campaign against homophobia in Belgian soccer.
If my flight from New York hadn’t been delayed by weather, I would have seen for myself that the outside of the stadium in Ghent, the Ghelamco Arena, was lit up in rainbow-colored lights—the rainbow flag is a symbol of gay pride around the world. And because I wasn’t able to be there in person they showed a video on the huge stadium screen featuring me talking about my experience of coming out. They pulled out key phrases as I spoke and superimposed them over the video, like, “Coming Out Was the Best Thing I Ever Did,” “Finally I Could Be Fully Myself,” “Being Yourself Means Being a Better Player,” and “So Let’s End Homophobia in Football.” Just a year ago, in my wildest dreams I never could have believed I’d be up there on that screen delivering that message to thousands of soccer fans. And I missed all of it!
The next day, when I finally got to Belgium, I arrived in time to be interviewed on a national television talk show, which was where they showed me what I’d missed. I was interviewed along with my old friend and teammate Sacha Kljesten, who plays in Belgium for the Anderlecht football club. Sacha and I had been friends since I was twelve and he was fourteen. We’ve played together on the national team and at the Olympics. When I first came out, Sacha sent out this really supportive tweet. He wrote: “100% love and support for one of my best friends Robbie Rogers. You will be missed on the pitch. Amazing talent. Amazing person.”
Even though I was totally exhausted and jet-lagged by the time I took my seat on the set next to Sacha, it was thrilling to see both the images of the stadium’s exterior in rainbow colors and the video of me delivering the anti-homophobia message. It made me feel so good—that I’d come out, spoken out, and that I now had the opportunity to get behind a national campaign in Belgium to help make things better for gay people in soccer and sports in general. Feels like I came out at just the right time to be a part of a movement around the world to end homophobia in professional sports. At least that’s my hope.
This past year has been an extraordinary and surprising journey for me. If you had told me two years ago that I would come out, play soccer as an openly gay man, and share my experiences with the world, I would have said you were insane. The new life I’ve found since coming out—which is a lot different from the one I’d expected to have out of the public spotlight—has been an amazing ride, with some great highs, some real disappointments, and plenty of frustrations, particularly on the soccer field, where yet more injuries have often kept me on the sidelines.
The biggest and best surprise of all was discovering how blessed I am to have such a loving family and strong group of friends, all of whom have had my back every step of the way. God’s path for all of us is so unpredictable, but I’ve come to believe that if you keep a level head and your eyes wide-open, your own special path will become clear to you.
I still feel like I have my whole life ahead of me, and for as many years as I have, I intend to keep pushing for equality in whatever ways I can. Many women and men aren’t lucky enough to have the kind of support that I’ve had both in coming out and returning to soccer. Nonetheless, it is my sincere hope that my story has reminded anyone who is different in a way that leaves them feeling isolated—as if no one in the world could possibly know how they feel—that they are truly not alone.
To be continued . . .
My mom with three of her seven siblings in 1958. From left to right: Uncle Mark, Mom, Uncle Fred, and Aunt Marcia.
My first birthday at our house in San Pedro in my mother’s arms, while my sister Alicia looks on. I liked cake then and will always like cake.
We all loved swimming in the pool at my grandparents’ house in Rolling Hills Estates. Here I am with my dad in 1989. My sister Alicia is behind me making rabbit ears.
Testing out my first bicycle in the backyard of our house in San Pedro in 1991. I fell in love with Vans (canvas sneakers) at an early age.
Playing in my sister Nicole’s room (we all call her Coco) in 1991 with some of our favorite toys (including my toy airplane and my dog—he didn’t have a name because I never named my toys).
My cousin Hunter and I were making trouble at my grandparents’ house when my mother’s youngest sister, Aunt Lisa (we all called her Aunt Lollie), whom we all adored, picked us up and held us tight.
My first grade school picture at Peninsula Montessori. I was clearly a very happy kid.
Running with the ball playing for my first club team, the South Bay Gunners, against the Palos Verdes Crusaders, in the mid-1990s. I was really excited to finally be playing competitive soccer. I was two years younger than most of my teammates, which is why the other players look so much bigger than me.
On the field in Torrance, California. Proud, but feeling shy, holding our State Cup medal in 1994.
Goofing on the sofa at my grandparents’ house in the mid-1990s, not long before my parents divorced. Left to right: Alicia, Mom, Timmy in a standard Timmy pose, Coco, Dad, and me.
Playing “Cool Girls” at my grandparents’ house with my sister Coco. She’s dressed up as a ballerina. I’m just some weird creature without a name.
As a purple belt in judo I won the gold medal in the Junior Olympics in 1997. I felt like a champion!
At age twelve, I was playing for the PV Raiders (Palos Verdes Soccer Club) on our home field in Rolling Hills Estates. That’s my good friend Steven Lenhart, the squinting blond in the back left corner, playing for the opposing team, Jusa Select.
With my mom’s parents (Grammers and Grandpa) and my cousin Matt, freshman year of high school at Mater Dei in 2001. I have no idea what event this was, but we all look very happy.
Chasing the ball and enjoying high school soccer my freshman year at Mater Dei. I’ve always been very competitive, no matter how big or fast my opponent was.
Right after my first knee surgery in the summer of 2002, before starting my junior year at Huntington High School, I was confined to a wheelchair for six weeks. Here I’m joking around with my mom, who took the picture, but I was miserable.
We had just lost to Nigeria at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. This is what dashed Olympic dreams look like.
Everything about the Columbus Crew’s 2008 season exceeded everyone’s expectations, including my own. We’d just won the MLS Cup in Los Angeles against the NY Red Bulls. Feeling a huge sense of accomplishment, I couldn’t resist showing how I felt about the MLS Cup itself.
In a 2011 game against the LA Galaxy, battling with the legendary David Beckham.
Playing in 2011 for the U.S. National team (under coach Jürgen Klinsmann for the first time), in a game against Mexico in Tampa, Florida, I scored a goal, which led to a 1–1 draw.
After scoring a goal for Columbus Crew I celebrated with my teammate Eddie Gaven at our home field in Columbus, Ohio, in 2011.
My sister Alicia’s wedding in 2012. I was just back from Leeds in the United Kingdom following surgery to repair my broken ankle. Happy for my sister and happy to be home with my family, but struggling with myself over whether to tell them the truth about my life. From left to right: me, Mom, Timmy, Alicia, Katie, and Coco.
Having fun with my dog Jeffrey at Google’s offices in London, in March 2013, when I did a Google Hangout with reporters from the U.K.’s Guardian and the New York Times. It was my first time talking with the media about being gay and coming out. It felt good to finally talk about all that stuff.
At a home game in 2013 with the LA Galaxy. After years of hiding, I’m back to being the happy Robbie Rogers.
With Timmy and Katie on their college graduation day (Timmy got sunburnt except for his upper forehead during the outdoor ceremony) in May 2013. I was very proud of them both (and love them both very much).
A serious pose for the 2013 “OUT 100,” which is OUT magazine’s list of “the year’s most entertaining, heroic, and intriguing figures, from all walks of life.” Suddenly I was a gay icon (which is impossible for me to say without smiling, because I could never have imagined coming out, let alone being celebrated in a shirtless photo in the leading national LGBT magazine—never in my wildest dreams).
Proud, excited, and filled with love for my first niece. At my sister Alicia’s house in July 2013 with baby Lily.
Celebrating my LA Galaxy teammate Sean Franklin’s goal during the 2013 playoffs against Real Salt Lake. We won that game 1–0 in the first round of playoffs.
In October 2013, I had the honor of cochairing the annual GLSEN Respect Awards ceremony in Los Angeles, with my friend Jason Collins, the out and proud NBA player. I was so happy that my family—including my grandparents—was there to support me. (GLSEN is one of my favorite organizations because education is key to helping LGBT kids and all young people move the ball forward in the fight for a world free from discrimination.)
Fooling around with a soccer ball in the middle of a fashion photo shoot, styled by my friend Warren Baker, for Flaunt magazine.
Robbie Rogers, Coming Out to Play
