Gay spitting

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Some guy spat at our feet on the train to the PJ Harvey concert. Seemingly as unaware of our presence as we'd been of his, I assumed he was just one more person treating a public space as their private restroom and I ignored it. My boyfriend thought differently however. Glenn got up and yelled in his face 'Why'd you do that?

In the simplest of terms

I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the other end of the train because it was nothing personal but he was pissed. I dismissed his interpretation because the guy was totally ignoring us otherwise, didn't even look up when Glenn got in his face. I was still psyched about the concert so after leading us to the other end of the subway car I relinked our hands and tried to predict the set list for the night ahead.

It wasn't until I got home I thought how strange it was the guy hadn't even looked up when Glenn yelled at him. Regardless of intent when spitting, human stimulus demands the eyes meet an aggressors approach, responding to visual, physical or auditory stimuli. Lying in bed I knew Glenn was right all along, of course. This cowardly display of hate shocked me but not as much as the drastically different responses we both had.

I didn't for one second think this had anything to do with being gay but was the subway faux pas equivalent to loud music, eating a fragrant meal or taking up more than one seat. As a mostly masculine, caucasian man from New York I had little pushback when I chose to live as an openly gay man. In fact, the majority of the time I forget I am part of a sexual minority. It's a beautiful thing but it's a privileged bubble and leaves me vulnerable when I don't realize that I am actually being targeted.

Which leads me to wonder Though not confrontational by nature I'd like to think I would have continued to hold Glenn's hand, maybe put my arm around him, gone for a quick kiss. If someone is offended by casual displays of same sex romance it is their responsibility to leave, not ours. The phrase 'white male privilege' rings true as I marvel at being able to live into adulthood without imagining anyone could mean me harm.

I thought I'd educated myself on the suffering my brothers had lived through without acknowledging the struggle that continues every day in the very city I'm too busy loving my life in to notice. For two decades, HuffPost has been fearless, unflinching, and relentless in pursuit of the truth. Support our mission to keep us around for the next 20 — we can't do this without you.

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