[August 6, 2017]
About 8 years ago when I was in Sherbrooke, Quebec visiting Stacy’s family, I happened to come across some pink socks in the men’s department at a store called Simons. Overjoyed with my discovery I purchased the three remaining pairs so that I could take them home and add them to my wardrobe.
I love my pink socks. When I wear my pink socks I feel powerful. Men are not supposed to wear pink socks, but I don’t care. All my life I have been told that pink is not for men; that pink is effeminate and is only a suitable colour for women. But when I wear my pink socks I feel courageous, defiant, and brave.
I have not always been brave. When the bullies in high school called me a “faggot” I just kept my head down and pretended that I didn’t hear them. I never once stood up to them or told anyone what was happening. Instead, I did my best to ignore them and tried in vain not to internalize all the hatred that was directed towards me. I wouldn’t have had the courage back then to wear pink socks but I am no longer that scared insecure teenager and when I wear my pink socks now I realize how far I have come.
I bought my three pairs of pink socks because I have always loved the colour pink. I wear them because they remind me of all the trials and tribulations I have gone through to become the out and proud gay man that I am today. They symbolize the life I fought so hard to achieve. A life without self-hate or denial; a life where I am out to all of my friends, family and colleagues; a life that I share with a man I have been with for 16 years; a life that my teenage self could have never imagined.
Though I am no longer that bullied, lonely adolescent I still carry him around inside me. Sometimes life has a way of bringing that insecure young man back to the surface and during those times I find myself unprepared or incapable to take on the world. On those days, however, I reach for my pink socks and all that they represent and rediscover the courage I need to live the life that I deserve.
