Boppinwithaborderline

When I was young, I was blessed with the chance to spend countless hours in my grandma’s magnificent garden. I played pretend in the hidden corners. I camped with friends out by the gazebo. I fished in the lake that borders the garden. I served ice cream and lemonade to literal bus loads of people that drove far just to see what my grandma’s hands had touched. I laughed and played cricket or football with my family during the holidays. I did my best to soak up every ounce of that magical place so that I could take a little bit with me wherever I go.

I think what is held most dearly in my heart, however, is not the time I spent playing or relaxing in the garden (although 10/10 would recommend).. But the time I got to spend beside the Master Gardner herself.

As a kid, I was obsessed with money. My mom would pay us about 1$ to do simple chores around the house. It made me think, what else I could do for money.. I was so serious about my entrepreneurial endeavors that I even had my dad make me business cards. The cards read something like: “Morgan Tyler: Lawn Care, Baby Sitter & Dog Walker”. I even had a lemonade hustle by the golf course and a booming record label ;). 

My favorite employer, however, was my grandma. She would pay me to come spend the morning with her from around 7am-11am to do random jobs around the garden. However, there was one job in particular that I remember us doing together, a lot… PICKING WEEDS. 

Spoiler alert… picking weeds is not that much fun… picking weeds for hours in the hot South Carolina summer is really not that much fun, but for some reason I think about those times and smile. I would talk to my grandma. I would ask her what it was like to live on a farm with little money and 5 younger sisters to help raise. I would watch in amazement as my elderly grandma would go up and down and up and down, without complaining, and while taking minimum breaks. What is more amazing, is this lady can kick cancer’s ass, and go right back to weed picking like a boss. You go Maw Maw!

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Picking weeds was an escape from some of the problems that plagued my daily life. One problem being that I was keeping a big secret..

Now, I know my coming out was not super shocking to some. I was always a huge Tomboy growing up. I actually remember playing house at 4 and 5 years old and always wanting to play the role of the dad. When my mom started letting me pick out my clothes from Kohl’s, my style changed from southern bows and lace to tshirts and ball caps. Needless to say, I was no southern bell. 

However, some people just labeled me as “sporty spice” and moved on… and that was actually all part of my plan, and here is why.

At my private school that I had attended since the 2nd grade, students must sign a document that states you will refrain from a multitude of sinful behavior.. Examples include: dancing, watching an R rated movie.. And the big bad boy.. A slice of that HOMOSEXUALITY pie!!

Now, if you grew up in church, you might have experienced this topic as being “taboo”. In my experience, the pastor only brought up homosexuality, when they were trying to relate a sin as being “really bad” or to give an example of “living in sin”.. “If someone chooses to live in sin, then their heart is hardened, they turn from God.. and yes, that can lead someone to the dark and fiery pits of hell.. Repent. Turn back. Run!!” so that’s what I did for years.. And guess where it led me.. Hell on earth. 

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I really was just “sporty spice” until age 11. Then I watched Pirates of the Caribbean and saw Keira Knightley… and just like that.. Houston we have a problem. 

Ever since that moment, I knew I was a lesbian… but it would be my little secret for the next 6 years.. 6 long years of darkness, shame and loneliness. 

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I remember waiting for my family to leave the house. I would wait until I could see the last car leaving the cul- de -sac out of view of my little middle schooler eye… then I would run to my brother’s room. I would try on his clothes, and put my hair up. I gave myself a new name.. Since I named my imaginary friend growing up, friend…. then let’s just say I was Jake from Statefarm.

I walked around the house and pretended like I had a lot of friends. I was the most popular boy at school. I was head of the football team, and got all the ladies. Jake was the man.. For about 15 minutes.. Then I would rip off all the clothes and feel embarrassed for the rest of the day… I am a girl. I am a Christian. I am disgusting. I am nothing. 

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After moments of exploration like the story above, would come moments of desperation to fit in with the peers at school. My friends were gorgeous and had no issues finding guys to ask them to prom. I remember prom being so serious to me.. Looking back, I wish I had taken my cat, TOM and just moved on with life, but that would not be the case.

I remember, every year, guys would come up to me and say, “hey, you think your friend would go to prom with me?” And I was honest with them.. I would give them an up down.. And say “not a chance” or “Yeah… her favorite flower is…” I tried to be a bro and give it to them straight.. I even wrote my first Hopping Bunnies song as a favor to one of my guy friends as an attempt to get one of my best friends to go out with him.. 

“When I think about your eyes, I think about the moonlight sky

When I think about your smile, I think about the sun shine in the morning” 

….it didn’t work. 

The culmination of watching everyone else date, but me, reared its fat ugly head during my senior prom, when our math teacher picked us up in his massive Suburban. I remember that he was dressed like a limo driver and everything. We were all psyched.. Spring Social (we called Proms socials) 2012 here we come! We pull up to a beautiful spot to snap a picture before heading to the venue. All my friends got out of the car, except for me.

My math teacher asks me what is wrong.. He probably wishes he never asked.. Because I start ugly crying, but do not say a word… 

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Around the time of the prom listed above, we went on a senior retreat. Senior retreat was located in a rural camp outside of my hometown. Part of the experience of this retreat was to sit around a giant campfire and “confess our sins or life burdens to our peers and to God.” The purpose of this exercise was to gain support from our fellow man, and to repent for our sins to God. 

As the guitar played, we went up and shared our innermost thoughts and feelings.. I went up and shared a little about my past, but I did not share anything I considered to be too vulnerable.. 

I guess the vibes of the experience overwhelmed me as I had to slip out mid bonfire and had a panic attack out in the woods by myself.. My best friend at the time (of 6 years) found me.. She asked me what was wrong.. 

I said something along the lines of, “I have a huge secret but I cannot tell anyone.” 

She promised that she would love me through anything.. So I trusted her words.. 

“I like women.”

A little taken back, as I imagine many of my classmates would have been.. She actually took it pretty well.. It was a short encounter. 

I just remembered we prayed.. And then we got up and joined the rest of the group. 

The painful part of this story comes on the following Monday at school. I was so excited to go to school and talk to my friend that now knows my secret. I had a huge crush on a girl at school (I call people that I do not want to say their name BOB). I was going to be able to talk about BOB with my friend… 

“BOB’s car is not at school today.. I wonder if she is not coming today..” I told my friend that it is now “in the know.” 

“Wait what?” was along the lines of her reply. 

“You know what we talked about this weekend?” I tried to jog her memory. 

“No Morgan. We prayed about that, remember? You need to leave that at the retreat. It is not okay.” 

Our friendship died that day.. Something in me changed as well.. I was told by my guidance counselor that “I was not college material”, and she suggested that I go into mission work instead. I agreed with her.. I thought everyone’s life would be easier if I would just move away to some island. 

I made a plan to move away. Pray my gay away, and marry a man… 

Praying the gay away is something that I had tried to do prior, but I figured I had just done it wrong. 

The church that I attended had weekly meetings for addicts. The advertisement for these meetings were: “Anyone battling with addiction or homosexuality”. So in secret, I would go to these meetings.. 99% of those in attendance were battling addiction from alcohol or drugs.. The only other person “battling homosexuality” was another girl my age.. I developed a little crush on her.. I figured the “treatment” was not working so I stopped going… 

(* I harbor no hard feelings for any negative encounters I have with humans.. We are all human.. But to learn from these encounters is priceless*)

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As I end this manifesto, I want to acknowledge that my stay in the closet was short compared to many.. I feel blessed that I was given horrible advice from my counselor! Going to Belize saved my life. I would meet many other LGBTQ fam and begin opening that closet door for real this time!

In 2023, I would sit down with my amazing grandma as I mentioned earlier and tell her the news. With hands trembling and eyes misty… I give it to her straight… (well not straight 😉

She smiles. She hugs me… and we have another one of our talks.. Just like we were picking weeds….

Bops About Coming Out..