The Todd Glass Situation

by Todd Glass

  MARC

  I have Todd Glass in my garage. We’ve been exchanging phone calls and he wanted to talk about something and he decided that this was the place to do it and I appreciate that. I don’t know if I’d call it a delicate matter, but I thought the phone calls were fun, Todd.

  TODD

  Oh my God. How long do we make people . . . It’s not a big deal. But I was nervous.

  MARC

  You had a particular . . . You were ready to tell the world something. And I think we should just do it and work back from there.

  TODD

  That’s exactly what I was just thinking as you said it. Because then what we’re working toward makes sense.

  MARC

  There’s no reason to drag it all out. But it’s interesting . . .

  [TODD AND MARC PROCEED TO DRAG IT ALL OUT, HEMMING AND HAWING FOR ANOTHER THIRTY SECONDS. FINALLY . . . ]

  MARC

  So what’s up, Todd?

  TODD

  Oh! I just wanted to come on and promote my podcast.

  MARC

  Oh shit! I had no idea that’s what we were doing here.

  TODD

  Oh yeah! What did you think?

  MARC

  I thought you were gay!

  TODD

  Are you shitting me?

  MARC

  Yeah. Isn’t that weird? I’m sorry.

  TODD

  Oh my God! Did you really think that?

  MARC

  Yeah!

  TODD

  Why?

  MARC

  Because we had these phone calls . . .

  Finally, I was ready to break character. And when I say “break character,” I mean the role I’d been playing for most of my life.

  “Okay, let’s cut the shit here. Let me just say this. I have a very hard time saying that. I’ve always had trouble using that term . . . Gay? Fuck that, I’m not gay. What the fuck do I have to tell people I’m gay for? I’m not fucking gay. I’m fucking Todd Glass. I gotta go up to people and tell them I’m gay? That’s a fucking lie!”

  I paused to take a breath, then added: “But it’s not.”

  I don’t know what I expected to feel after the show. Relief. Catharsis. But mostly I just felt numb. Marc gave me a sympathetic look. “If you’re not ready, and you want me to sit on this episode for a few weeks, that’s okay.”

  “Marc, I’ve been sitting on this for forty-seven years. Please don’t let me stop you.”

  That night I lay awake in bed again, replaying the interview in my head. Did I say everything I wanted to say? Did I sound articulate? Was I funny? But eventually I realized the most important thing: It was done. The biggest secret of my life was no more.

  CHAPTER 35

  EVERYBODY’S A COMEDIAN

  The comedic community responds to Todd’s announcement.

  A few nights later, I walked into the Improv with my head down.

  I’ve performed hundreds of sets at the Improv. The place that gave me my start in Los Angeles. My home. I’ve never once walked in with my head down.

  But I didn’t know what to expect. I felt naked. I was trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but Jeff Garlin spotted me from across the room. “OH MY GOD!” he yelled. “TODD GLASS, MY FAVORITE GAY COMIC!”

  I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. No, Jeff, no!

  But I quickly realized that this was just his way of sending some love my way and reassuring me that nothing had changed. It was great that he was making a joke about it. In a matter of seconds, I went from total embarrassment to absolute relief. I gave Jeff a big hug.

  Before I came out, a lot of people told me how big a relief it would be, like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I knew these people meant well, but I thought that they were full of shit.

  Being gay wasn’t a plight that I had to get over. I already felt okay with myself. I started to worry that I was going to let everybody down by not having some kind of amazing epiphany.

  But then the responses started pouring in. Two days after Marc’s podcast dropped, I’d received several hundred emails. Heartfelt messages from friends who were excited to invite me and Chris to stay with them for the weekend. Total strangers telling me how hearing about my situation encouraged them to reexamine the way they were living their own lives. “More power to you,” a teenager tweeted at me. “Live the real life.”

  “Hey, Todd,” Jim Gaffigan said. “Just heard your WTF. I’m proud of you. One question: Does your roommate Chris know?”

  Jim was joking, but over the next few days I heard from a lot of people who had really believed that Chris was my roommate. Roommate? I was in my forties! I hadn’t been able to tell people that I was gay, but I was okay with them thinking I had a roommate?

  “Hey, Todd, it’s Dave,” began a voice mail from David Spade. “You really . . . This is not good. This is not going to look good for me. Maybe I can still spin this and make it work. Do you have any black friends? Because maybe if you, me, and a black guy walked around together we could get some press. Call me. You know I’m your friend and as your friend we can fix this.”

  Jimmy Pardo sent me a text that was short, sweet, and extremely kind. The next day, when I ran into him at the gym, he shook my hand and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “I can’t get AIDS from doing this, can I?”

  This is how comedians act sweetly toward one another. Keep in mind that most of us use funerals as a last chance to roast our dear, departed friends.

  CHAPTER 36

  THE AFTERMATH

  Todd embarks on his first year of living openly.

  I remember going back to Philadelphia a couple of weeks before coming out on Marc’s show. I don’t want to make the experience sound too much like a bad movie, where the fate of the hero gets forestalled by some kind of sappy montage, but as I looked around the city, I couldn’t help but think: This is the last time. My last chance to experience my old life as a (pretend) straight guy. I tried to imagine how my experience was going to be different once everyone knew the truth about me.

  The reality—at least as far as Los Angeles was concerned—had been overwhelmingly positive. I couldn’t believe how many messages I was getting from complete strangers who’d been affected by my story. Did someone send me a passage from the Bible and call me a sinner? Okay. Did I get a few negative tweets? Sure. But those were the exceptions—almost all of the responses were warm, positive, and kind. I got brilliant emails from kids in high school about how hearing me made them feel a little bit braver about their own situations. Others were from people who weren’t gay but were living with secrets of their own—a DUI or a drug problem. The details of my story might be different from theirs, but something still resonated with them. It made me feel great that, by doing something healthy for me, I was able to help other people.

  But going back to Philadelphia was going to be another story. This was the town where I’d lived with my lie for the longest. There were bound to be uncomfortable encounters with my old friends.

  One of the first calls I got was from Tommy Ryan, one of the other Ryans from Smokey Joe’s. I remember sweating as I listened to his voice mail. “Hey, Todd,” he began in his thick Philly accent, “Tommy Ryan here. Listen, buddy, you had a great run as a straight guy, but let me tell you something: You weren’t fooling anybody.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Can’t wait to fucking see you next week,” the message finished. “Love you, buddy.”

  Tommy’s message made me feel great. But as I got ready to do Preston and Steve, the morning show I’d done probably a dozen times as a “straight” comedian, my stomach started to ache again.

  Preston and Steve had always been one of my favorite shows to do. They move easily between funny and serious, acting incredibly silly one minute, baring their souls the next. But this wasn’t like any other appearance I had done with them. We had never talked about something this serious or personal before. There were a lot of different
ways my visit could play out.

  It couldn’t have gone better. For the first forty-five minutes, we talked about my coming out. Then we did another two hours where they didn’t mention it once—we did bits, we acted silly, and carried on like none of it made a difference. Everyone associated with the show handled it with so much grace that I didn’t want to leave the studio when it was over. The lie was over and done with. I didn’t have to be exhausted anymore.

  I should add that the next time I went on their show, we didn’t get into my sexual identity at all. The time after that, Preston and Steve only mentioned it because they were doing the news and gay marriage came up—giving me the opportunity, for the first time in my entire life, to weigh in on the subject in an honest way. To have people know why I got so emotional when I talked about it. To speak from direct experience, rather than hiding behind the façade of being a particularly open-minded straight guy.

  So thank you, Preston and Steve, and Kathy and Casey and Nick and Marisa and everyone else who works on the show. Your acceptance meant the world to me.

  •  •  •

  I want to reiterate something before moving on to this next part: Coming out has been an incredibly positive experience. It was the right thing to do and not a day goes by where I regret it.

  But there have been a few bumps in the road along the way.

  I was onstage in Las Vegas when I made a joke about going to the gym. And I could hear some guy mutter from the first row, “That’s ’cause you’re gay.”

  I didn’t have any time to think about it in the moment. My heart was pounding. I felt miserable. I struggled through the rest of my set without acknowledging that I’d heard the comment. I realized later, in hindsight, that it was the first time someone from the audience had made a disparaging remark toward me that had nothing to do with anything I’d done onstage.

  I also decided not to talk about it after the show, when I went out with a group of comedians, because I didn’t want to create a situation where people would say, “Oh, so that’s what it’s all about now.”

  For the first time, I really understood how much it must suck to be that person who’s dealing with racism or sexism and gets accused of “pulling a card.” Look, do people sometimes bring race or gender into situations where it’s just irrelevant? I’m sure that they do. But I’ll bet that the majority of the time the feelings are warranted. And I’ll bet a lot of those people do exactly what I did that night—I sucked it up and turned inward.

  And then there was the radio show in a southern city that I will not name. There are moments, when you’re writing a book like this, when you look back on a negative experience and you don’t want to give the responsible parties any credit for what they’ve done. So I’m not going to tell you who these guys are. It’s enough to say that these aren’t the kind of radio hosts who say things that are poignant or from their hearts. These are the kind of radio hosts who intentionally say stupid, uneducated shit hoping to stir up controversy. Once in a while, they succeed. They know who they are. I like to think that by not mentioning their names, I kind of limit their options to, “Hey, see right here, those dumb guys that he’s writing about? It’s us!” Or maybe they’ll embrace it, handing out copies of the book and telling people, “We’re the assholes in chapter 36!”

  I had no intention of bringing up my sexuality on their show. My only agenda was to do what I’d done the previous twenty-nine and a half years: be funny.

  But they brought it up. One of their very first questions was this: “If you were going to kiss one of us, which one of us would it be?”

  Look, if you’ve ever seen a comedy roast, you know how merciless comedians can be. I can take it and, when necessary, I can dish it out, too. “The truth is,” I answered, “I wouldn’t kiss either of you ugly motherfuckers. I’m a halfway decent–looking guy with a halfway decent career and, if I’m going to kiss somebody, I’m going to kiss somebody good-looking.”

  That got a laugh. But they kept going. And going. One dumb question and snide remark after another. Anything can be funny if it comes from an intelligent place. But this situation was in a different area code from anything resembling intelligence. So I stopped being funny and tried to check in with these guys to see where they were coming from.

  “Do you think I was born this way?” I asked them. “Do you think this is a choice that I made?”

  I actually have to give them credit for what they said next, because at least it was honest. “No,” they replied. “We don’t think that people are born that way.”

  Later that night, I was still steaming about the interview. I was talking to a few people after a show, recounting what had happened, when a waiter at the club, a straight guy I’d never met before, said something that really stuck with me. “I get why you want to prove that you were born the way that you are, but who the fuck cares? I’ll tell you this: Those guys chose to be uneducated.”

  I realized he was right. It couldn’t have been easy for those guys to ignore so much logic, so many facts and studies. Talk about a fucking choice!

  A few nights later I was back in Los Angeles. I’d just done a set at the Improv and was hanging out backstage with a few comics, including Sarah Silverman and Zach Galifianakis. I was telling a story that involved Chris.

  “Who’s Chris?” Zach asked.

  I could feel the familiar ache starting in my belly. “Chris,” I said, holding up my fingers to make air quotes, “is my ‘friend.’ ”

  And for a second, I felt horrible. Why couldn’t I just have said “boyfriend”? Everything that I’ve been through over the last few weeks . . . Have I really made any progress at all?

  Until Sarah said, with that adorable way that she says things, “Aw, look at you, Todd . . . You just had a breakthrough!”

  Maybe a year from now I’ll be able to use the word “boyfriend.” Maybe I won’t even need the air quotes.

  CHAPTER 37

  HOW’S LIFE BEEN?

  Where Todd keeps working on his act.

  The other day I was driving with a friend of mine when he asked me, out of the blue, “Hey, I know this sounds a little campy, but how’s life been?”

  Not too long ago, Chris and I broke up. Under normal circumstances, I might have kept this private. But given how many lies I’ve been telling my whole life, I’d like to try to live the rest of it without telling any more. I’m not going to go into all of the details as to why our relationship ended, but I will say that neither of us did anything wrong.

  I don’t want this to sound like a downer. Of course it’s sad when you break up with someone who you’ve been with for fifteen years, but we’re handling it amicably, with love, care, and patience. We even returned to couples therapy for a few sessions to help us remain friends. We still talk all the time. Part of Chris will be in my fiber for the rest of my life, just as I’m sure that part of me will remain in his. I’m not negating the days when we both get depressed, but we should both be proud of the way we’re handling this. We lasted longer than most marriages because we did a lot of things right. It’s still a journey, but we’re headed in the right direction.

  I still don’t like to use the word “gay.” Maybe I’ll always have too much baggage associated with it. I don’t really like saying that I’ve “come out of the closet,” either. Why couldn’t it be something a little more manly, like “stepping out of the garage” or “busting out of the toolshed”?

  My act continues to evolve. It started slowly, making air quotes for audiences when I talked about my “girlfriend,” earning big laughs from the people that knew. But it was hard to fathom the idea of coming clean in front of a crowd that didn’t.

  Before a show in Amsterdam last July, my friend Daniel Kinno suggested I talk about it onstage. I was scared shitless. I wasn’t ready. But I remembered yet another piece of advice from Louis C.K.: “If you don’t feel ready, talk about that—talk about not feeling ready.” That night, I made another joke about my “girlfr
iend,” adding the air quotes.

  But then I kept going.

  “The only problem is, I don’t really have a girlfriend. I have more of a guyfriend . . . Folks, if I’m not honest about this, Daniel is going to scream at me when I get offstage. So are you all crystal clear on what I’m telling you? I’ve managed to perform onstage for thirty years without talking about it, so it’s a little difficult.”

  I told a couple of jokes about “busting out of the garage” and how I preferred the term “partner in crime” to “boyfriend.” (What’s my crime? Disobeying God!) Then I did another hour of comedy that didn’t have anything to do with my sexuality. The applause at the end of the show felt great, but it felt even better to realize that, for the first time ever, every single person in the audience knew the truth about me.

  Every day I’ve been reaping the benefits of being honest. Gone are the days of having to tell small lie after small lie until the weight of it all starts to feel like it’s going to crush me. My friendships are more honest. If I’m feeling happy or sad about something that happens in my love life, I don’t have to tell people that I won the lottery or that I’m upset about an argument I had with my mom.

  So how’s life going?

  Pretty great!

  How about you?

  How’s your life going?

  FINAL THOUGHTS.

  CHAPTER 38

  FINAL THOUGHTS

  Because Todd’s not quite done talking yet.

  I’m guessing that if you’ve read this far then you’re probably already in agreement with some or maybe most of my social views. But I get a lot of emails from all sorts of people with all sorts of beliefs, so I know there are people out there who don’t think the way we do. I hope some of these final thoughts will provide you with ammunition to deal with these people in the future. And even if you already agree with most or all of the points I’m hoping to make, sometimes it’s important to preach to the choir—it helps us to remember that we’re not going through this world alone. We’re all in this together.