In their small west Texas college town, that was an abomination.

My father, being a dutiful son, immediately ran to my grandfather and divulged the horrible secret.

My grandfather, a gritty veteran of World War II, small-time rancher, staunch Baptist and ironic alcoholic had an explosion in his brain.

He launched next door in a fit of fury and pummeled the boy who answered the door, while commanding the other two occupants to pack and leave, as he was their landlord.

My poor uncle was devastated. His fledgling, first love was wrecked, but moreover he was in pain physically, as I can only imagine from the thrashing he received at the hands of my crazed grandfather.

The next day when the town awoke, horror greeted them on the courthouse lawn. For there, swinging high in the morning light, hung the limp body of the boy next door from the old hanging tree.

The saddened youth had taken his life, grieved at parting from my uncle and in deep humiliation from the secret tryst's discovery.

The note he had pinned to his breast said as much. He could not live without my uncle's love.

Neither now nor then when my daddy recounted the gruesome tale can I fathom why it was told.

Although, admittedly, he told me this seeming legend after I told him I was gay.

When I was a boy I was very pious. I loved Jesus as much as a boy can love Him.

My family and I read Southern Baptist devotionals everyday after breakfast before we departed to face the world.

We read God's Word and prayed. Every Wednesday I was at choir practice. Every Saturday evening I studied my Sunday school lesson in preparation for the next day. On Sundays I attended class. After class I volunteered with the Children's Church. Every spring I went to church camp.

This routine lasted the entirety of my youth. None of it was coerced. I sincerely loved Jesus. It fulfilled me and gave my life meaning to participate.

However, I always knew I was different from my peers at church. There was an inkling of the "other," a notion that I was not quite the same despite outward appearances of similarity.

Then when I hit puberty I knew: I was gay! I pleaded and howled and moaned to Christ to save me. How could I be gay?! Was I not devoted enough? Did I need to do more to serve Him?

It was sheer agony to feel such a separation from my God.

When my parents would leave the house to go out for dinner, a concert, etc., I would lie in my bed with a buck knife to my breast ready to plunge it in.

To be dead would be better than to be a "faggot", I thought (that word stings, by the way).

Other times it would be the .38 revolver in the nightstand next to my parent's bed. I longed for the sweet release of a bullet in my head.

I cannot tell you how many times I prayed to God to change me  "to not let me be gay.

Thank goodness I do not have a stomach for pain or blood or these words may never have been written.

The first step of coming out is the most painful: admitting that you are gay to yourself. It is a mountain that so many on our campus still have yet to climb.

The second step of coming out is not really any easier than the first and actually it lasts a lifetime: coming out to family, acquaintances and friends.

However, when you finally come to terms with your sexuality and realize God made you the unique creation that you are, life becomes much easier.

The closet is a painful place. Unequivocally, you cannot change your sexual orientation. It is simply impossible. I know. I tried.

Frankly, it will not come as a surprise if people find this article disturbing from an ecclesiastical point of view. However, that is not my goal.

These words are written to encourage those in the closet, to let them know that there is hope, that they are not alone, others have gone before you and for those of you who might be like the townfolk of my father's youth, it really is not all black and white.

There is more to it than making a choice to change. The choice, as Shakespeare wrote, is whether or not “to thine own self be true."

Truly, council from family and friends is important, but more importantly you must listen to your self.

My uncle, God love him, lost himself those many years ago in that dusty little town.

Now he has been married for quite some years, has children and even a grandchild. But I wonder to myself - is he really happy?

Would his wife be happy if she knew he was actually gay and had never truly been attracted to her as a woman? I speculate that the answer is no.

At any rate, all I do know is that we should always live our lives in an open and honest fashion embracing ourselves and those around us for who we actually are.

I am gay, Ole Miss, and proud, by damn!