I Am What I Am

by John Barrowman

  I’ve been told that panic attacks are often triggered for no reason, but agoraphobia or, in my case, mild claustrophobia can be a catalyst. My mum suffers from panic attacks on occasion, as do Carole and Clare. Because Carole and I were aware of them when Clare had her first one as a child, we taught Clare our ‘distraction method’. Clare mastered this so well that she got to a point where she didn’t need to wake her parents every time she felt an attack coming in the middle of the night; instead, she’d read aloud to herself from Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad are Friends. Most of the time, this technique works for me too,12 but, ironically, watching porn wasn’t distracting enough.

  At one point during the test, as I started to feel the anxiety growing, I realized I was hitting the buttons more slowly after each image. I pushed through the attack and eventually got myself back in control.

  The next day, the researchers met with me to explain my test results. They projected the scan of my brain onto a large flat screen and amazingly, as I watched, I could see the panic attack occurring. For the first time I saw my brain in anxiety mode, which was riveting.

  During the panic attack, the part of my brain tied to arousal continued to fire, despite my stress. In fact, on the screen it looked as if fireworks were going off in my head; yet my reactions and my hands had slowed down. Even during the panic attack, my brain continued to act homosexually.13

  During The Making of Me, I also interviewed people, gay and not gay, who had something to contribute to my investigation. One of the more fascinating, but ultimately more disturbing and sad, interviews was with a man who claimed he’d been cured of being gay.

  This man, let’s call him Mike, was in his fifties, and he felt his life before he was cured of his homosexuality was dreadful. He explained to me that he was always getting laid, always hanging out in bars, and always doing the things his parents and his church had taught him were wrong. Eventually, he participated in a ‘cure’ sponsored by his church and now claimed he had everything he had ever wanted. He was married, had children, a nice house and a good job. And yet, to me, he seemed so unhappy, so very angry and so very gay.

  Mike believed that, as a gay man, he could never settle down, never have children, and never live on his farm with his white picket fence. While we were talking, he was not really interested in listening. He didn’t want to hear that I had all the things he had, too – a loving family, a beautiful house, a successful and fulfilling career – and that I had achieved them without denying who I was.

  I was really interested in Mike’s perspective, but his story profoundly bothered me. He admitted he was making a choice to live as a heterosexual because he felt his true self was ‘wrong’. He claimed he didn’t like himself when he was gay. His solution was to repress his true feelings. That’s all despairing enough, but what was especially perturbing was that he wanted to berate me for living my life openly and honestly as a gay man. I have no problems with others living in denial and being unhappy, but don’t spread your anguish around. I think Mike had scared himself straight by sacrificing his true feelings, and he was angry with me because I represented something he did not think was possible – that a person can be gay and happy.

  Mike and I said our goodbyes and I wished him well. I thought a lot about him on the trip back to the hotel. Mike had grown up during the sexual revolution of the sixties, seventies and eighties, as many of us did, and I think he equated his extreme promiscuity with being gay, when, in fact, his promiscuity was a product of all sorts of other things. Gay men do not have a monopoly on sleeping around. Have you ever been in a straight club in London’s West End on a Saturday night?

  One of the things I’ve learned over the years, and that I’ll stand up for much more now than ever before, is that I will not tolerate people telling me – either directly or indirectly – that the way I live as a gay man is wrong or, worse, immoral. And while I’m on the topic, I’m taking back the phrase ‘family values’ from fundamentalists and Christian conservatives. I have strong family values. I live according to those values and I share them with millions of other men and women who are living, loving, and creating families in non-traditional ways. End of rant.14

  Admittedly, I agreed to The Making of Me with an agenda – to try to better understand my own sexuality, while at the same time presenting some understanding to others of what it means to be gay. The documentary succeeded in both of these areas as far as I’m concerned.

  What was my answer at the end of the journey? I discovered that we are all complex and unique beings and that our DNA can’t be fully explained … yet. I also learned that our sexuality is decided long before we’re born, and whether or not we are gay is the result of the interaction of many related biological and hormonal factors. One day, scientists might find a ‘gay gene’, but that gene may hold such a myriad of branches that to pinpoint only one as a true ‘gay gene’ may be something for Captain Jack’s future, but I’m not sure it’s in mine.

  As it turned out, Andrew and I share a similar genetic code; yet I’m gay and he’s not. What I learned from this was that even if they do discover that ‘gay gene’, it may still be only one of many elements that make a man gay. What made Scott gay may not be the same combination of factors that made me gay.

  One of the most fascinating revelations presented to me during the filming was this: the more boys a woman carries in her womb, the more likely she is to have a son who is gay. I was the third boy to occupy my mother’s womb.15 A number of my gay friends are the third or fourth in a family of boys. This is not to say that men who are the eldest and are gay can’t be explained. Their determining factors may just be a different mix.

  I received lots of letters after The Making of Me aired in the UK and on BBC America, particularly from young men struggling with their sexuality and from parents of gay children, who were moved and pleased with the programme.

  Simon from Leeds wrote a letter that was typical of the many I received from gay men. ‘I came out in 2003, and was basically snubbed by my family, who were unable to accept my sexuality. I was punished by parents who thought I was “making a choice” and intentionally trying to hurt them … I forced my mum to sit down with me and watch [The Making of Me]. Through tears and pain, we watched it, and slowly my mum has begun to accept that it is not embarrassing to have a gay son … Thank you for helping bring my family back together.’

  And then a letter from April, who lives in Texas, and who sent this to me on Mother’s Day in 2009. April wrote that when her daughter was four, she had asked her, ‘What can I be when I grow up?’

  April had replied, ‘Baby, you can be anything you want to be!’

  ‘Mommy, I want to be a boy.’

  April told me that although she had accepted that she had a transgender daughter, she was having a difficult time understanding her daughter’s decision to begin the process of becoming a male. Then she came across The Making of Me on YouTube.16 April told me in her letter: ‘I was so moved and captivated that I asked my daughter to watch it with me. We would stop the video and laugh, then argue, then cry and hug.’

  April closed her letter with this: ‘Some day, I will probably have to say goodbye to my baby girl. And when that happens, I will cry, be sad, and then put her pictures away. Then I will greet the son that will be coming into my life with open arms and a loving heart.’

  I regard The Making of Me as one of my most important accomplishments. Letters like Simon’s and April’s reaffirmed why the documentary was important to do, and why, instead of going on another talk show and being silly and camping it up a little, I chose to explore this issue seriously and with respect. With programmes like this, I’m not helping anyone to be gay or trying to make them come out. Men like Simon are already gay, and the choice to come out is theirs and theirs alone. But, in my own way, I hope I’m helping them to be comfortable, confident, and accepting of themselves. Bottom line: I want to spread the word that being gay is normal.

  In spring 2009, during an i
nterview for a newspaper, the journalist asked me how old I was when I decided to be gay. Clearly, there’s still work to be done, and I’m honoured to do my part to educate and affirm whenever I can. I love being a gay icon17 and I love representing the gay community, and I hope I’m doing them proud. Nothing makes me smile more than when I speak to a young gay man or woman and he or she tells me that I really helped them to come to terms with their life. That’s absolutely brilliant.

  Unfortunately, some latent prejudices still persist. Too often I’m described in the press or on TV as a ‘gay actor’, or a ‘homosexual entertainer’,18 and more recently I’ve noticed the word ‘flamboyant’ sneaking into introductions of me. This is a code word for ‘gay’. Unless I’m belting out ‘I Am What I Am’ in sequins and stilettos, or I’m dressed in a sparkling suit – with a belt with bling – for a Busby Berkeley number on Tonight’s the Night, I’m not flamboyant. Is Andy Roddick described as a straight tennis player? Angelina Jolie, a heterosexual actor? Bruce Willis, a straight leading man? I don’t think so; and unless Bruce Willis steps into a pair of Jimmy Choos and wraps himself in a feather boa, he’s not flamboyant, either.

  Describing people in this way may be subtle,19 but it’s prejudice, and I’m not embarrassed to call people on their ignorance or to challenge them on their inaccurate perceptions. Now, a caveat here: if you find yourself in a situation where you may get hurt if you call attention to prejudiced behaviour, then absolutely do not. Be a man (or a woman) and walk away. But if you are in a situation where people are being derogatory, stand up for yourself. Call them on it. Sometimes when you do, they will apologize and admit to having not really thought about their language in that way before. When I called the journalist’s attention to the question about when I ‘decided’ to be gay, she apologized immediately.

  I’ve always tried to apply this attitude in all spheres of my personal and professional life; I believe it’s important to do so. An experience I once had with the producers of a TV show is a good example of this. I was in my dressing room, watching movies and passing time with Clare, when one of the producers joined us with some notes for me about my performance.

  ‘John,’ he said, after he’d checked off a couple of other points, ‘we wondered if you really wanted to reveal that you’re gay?’

  Whoa. Clare’s eyes widened and, when she saw my expression, she shifted away a little to give me a wider berth. I stared at the producer for a very long, dark minute. Did he think that maybe I should have saved this detail for dinner conversation, in case, after the pudding, I was suddenly caught humping the waiter?

  ‘I really hope I didn’t hear that coming out of your mouth,’ I stated, ‘because I’m not going back into the closet for anyone.’

  The incident was even more offensive because they sent a gay producer to discuss this with me, as if somehow this would ease the blow. I could tell he was terribly embarrassed. He should have been.

  ‘We think it might change how people feel about you,’ he continued.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I yelled. ‘You’ve hired me to be a professional, not to have sex! Being a gay man has nothing to do with my abilities on this show.’ I was even more furious because, as I’ve stated, one of my explicit missions as an entertainer is to work to create a world where no one will ever make a statement like that to anyone who’s gay.

  ‘Who told you to say this?’

  He tried to back down, to soften the statement somehow, especially when he realized I was getting angrier. I also think he could see that Clare, all 5’3” of her, was rising up on her flip-flops preparing for an attack. She was hissing and spitting in the corner.20

  ‘I’m not changing who I am for you or anyone else,’ I seethed, livid now. ‘I find it highly offensive that you as a gay man have said this to me. I don’t care who told you to say it. You should have stood up to whoever put you up to this. Grow some balls, man.’

  Later, after I’d calmed down and Clare had been contained, the producers apologized profusely21 and we all moved on from this incident. I hope that, in standing up for myself in this way – on this particular occasion, and all the many other times I’ve done so – I’ve also stood up for those who don’t quite have the voice, or the confidence, that I do. As my parents taught me, speak up for yourself (especially if you have something to say) and speak up for others (especially if they can’t).

  When my parents and I sat at their kitchen table in Illinois many years ago, and I told them I was gay, they embraced me immediately – but that does not mean it was easy for them, or that it’s easy for other parents, either. Families need time to adjust and come to terms with what they are being told. For my parents – and, keep in mind, this was almost twenty years ago now – their readjustment had a lot to do with their fears about AIDS and HIV.

  That said, nothing angers me more than when I hear about parents who have abandoned or disowned their children because they’re gay. No matter how hard a parent may try, he or she is not going to change that child’s fundamental biological make-up. Instead of making a son or a daughter’s life more miserable, step up to the parenting plate, help them understand who they are, and support them in living happy, productive lives – because, in the words of Jerry Herman, ‘life’s not worth a damn, till you can say … I am what I am’.

  TABLE TALK #10

  ‘Goodnight and Thank You’

  Help with the dishes? Don’t be silly. You were my guests. Where’s Scottie? He loves to do dishes.

  Before you brave your journey home, I’d like to thank you for joining me, for allowing me to share my stories with you, and for supporting all that I’ve done these last few years.

  A couple of months ago, I was explaining to my nephew, Turner – who is now nineteen and in his second year at university – about these ‘table talks’, these family vignettes, and how I wanted them to capture the tone and the content of the kinds of conversations the Barrowmans often have when we gather for family dinners or parties.

  ‘So you’ve basically talked about farting, shite and sex.’1

  And, Turner, your point is?

  For the most part, I hope I’ve covered more than those three significant subjects.2 Before I call you a taxi,3 are there any questions remaining that I haven’t covered in my table talks? There are? Okay. Fire away.

  ‘Is there some part of your body you do not like, and if so, would you consider plastic surgery?’

  I’m comfortable with all my bits and bobs. Oh, maybe I’d like my love handles4 to be smaller, but when I’m in a West End show, my days are more flexible and I’m confident that while I’m in La Cage, I’ll have time to get to the gym in the mornings. I’ll take care of them that way. But I have nothing against plastic surgery, especially if it makes a person feel more confident about his or her body, and boosts their self-esteem.

  ‘To whom would you give your last Rolo?’

  First of all, my regular sweetie of choice isn’t usually a Rolo, but if it were, I’d have to give it to my Jack Russell terrier, Captain Jack. Jack has to take a pill every night, and I discovered from his vet that a Rolo is the one chocolate treat you can give to most dogs. So I bought a carton of Rolos at Costco, and each evening I stick his pill deep inside the caramel.

  ‘If time travel really did exist, where would you go and why?’

  Hmm. I’d like to be very noble and say I’d travel back to some terrible epidemic or disaster,5 taking a vaccination or medical supplies with me, but that would have to be my second trip. On my first trip, I’d love to travel back to the Hollywood of the thirties and forties and star in the classic MGM musicals of the time. Perhaps have the chance to perform with Gene Kelly, and have the opportunity to be part of a big, extravagant Busby Berkeley number for the man himself. I’d call him ‘Buz’ for short.

  The film For Me and My Gal would suit my time-travel dream just fine. Plus, it would have the added bonus of allowing me to co-star with Judy Garland. Judy’s daughter, Lorna Luft, has been my frie
nd for over twenty years. We first met at a charity luncheon in London, at which we were seated together. Most recently, I was a guest on Lorna’s BBC Radio 2 tribute concert to her mother. If I’m imagining a little time travel, it would be amazing to sing with Judy Garland as part of the journey.

  ‘If you could do a remake of a movie musical, which one would you choose?’

  You’d probably expect me to say For Me and My Gal, but I picked that film in answer to your last question because of the conflagration of its actors and director.6 Funnily enough, though, my choice for a remake would be of another classic Judy Garland film.

  If I could change a few things about it, then I’d love to do a new version of A Star Is Born. In my staging, I’d include additional songs – maybe add ‘I Know Him So Well’, which would fit perfectly because I’d also adapt the film’s original 1937 Dorothy Parker script so that the romantic relationship is between two males; one on the rise to stardom, the other on the downturn. I’m too old now to play Billy Crocker, or many of the leading male roles that are part of the classic Hollywood movie musicals, but in A Star Is Born, Norman Maine could and should be a man in his forties.7

  ‘Is there any item or gizmo you carry everywhere you go?’

  I would be completely lost without my BlackBerry, my black MacBook and my dental floss. Oh, and a packet of baby wipes.

  ‘If you could be a superhero, who would you be? If you could have a superpower, what would it be?’

  I don’t have to think about this one for very long. I’d want to be able to fly; and I’m happy to say that I’m already a superhero, but if being Captain Jack doesn’t count, then I’d love to pull on the iconic blue tights and red Speedos and be Superman.

  ‘Is there a person, living or dead, real or fictitious, with whom you’d like to have dinner, and why?’