Here is a lesbian. In the lesbian newspaper she edits in Utah, she writes about the community over and over again using the daisy-chain of political correctness: "gay/lesbian/bi-sexual/transgendered." It annoys her. She thinks it's too much. She thinks the straight world will think the community is splintered by this long phrase. She thinks we need just one word to be all inclusive of everyone. She thinks that word should be "gay." In her paper, "gay/lesbian/bi-sexual/transgendered" will be replaced with the simpler word. She thinks perceptions will change—we'll be seen as a united force. She wants to know what others think so she's put out a call on the global computer network, the Internet.

Here is a man. He's gay, and calls himself as much. He thinks the editor is mad. He thinks the straight world needs to see the diversity of our community, and that means having lots of words. He points out the word "gay" has come to be associated with men, mostly because lesbians have their own word. After all, if women have a word, then why can't the men? He points out that bi-sexuals are not "gay" and the transgendered don't necessarily fit that word either. If a new word is to be chosen for the community, he thinks it should be something else.

Here is a queer. She uses that word because it means "something that differs from the usual, from the ordinary." She thinks it's the perfect word to describe everyone in the community. After all, aren't gays/lesbians/bi-sexuals/transgendered all different from what is usual, from what is ordinary? Yes, she stands with the editor in Utah—we need a new word, but "queer" should be the one.

Here is a dyke. She rides a motorcycle. She knows perfectly well she fits the stereotype, so she doesn't really care what people call her. She uses the word herself. And she's not convinced the community is so cohesive as to warrant a single word. After all, gays and lesbians and bi-sexuals and the trangendered don't really mix, do t hey? Her community consists of other dykes, that's all there is to it.

Here is a fag. He uses that word because he thinks it reclaims an epithet of old. His using it will somehow remove the sting, deaden the pain. He's angry and it's his way of flipping off the straight world. He thinks that by using their own hateful words, they'll be uncomfortable. So he does. Call the community whatever you want. He's on a one man mission to throw it in their face.

Here is a boy. He's only fifteen. He's a homosexual and he knows it. Kids at school call him "faggot" and "queer." It hurts. It hurts him, too, to know that his elder gay brethren use the same vile words so casually. He's not a fag, he's not queer. The community is a foreign thing to him. He calls himself gay or homosexual. It doesn't take away the hate, but it doesn't play their game either.

Here is a transsexual. She used to be a man. She's not gay. She's certainly not a lesbian. She knows the term "transgendered" is somewhat clinical, but she knows it describes her in the eyes of some people. Though she sees herself as just a woman, she knows that plain women aren't part of this community. So she embraces the term, to be included.

Here is a bi-sexual. He loves men, he loves women. Any other word excludes him from the community. While he knows that some don't think he belongs there anyway, he points out the issues that concern him as well as all the others— issues for which he fights, side-by-side with everyone else. He's confused why anyone would want to classify him under any word that denies him what he really is: bi-sexual.

***

Here is a worm. He'd like to call himself a caterpillar—caterpillars have better reputations than worms. But he knows that, with worms, people can't tell one end from the other and that isn't true with caterpillars, so he has to be careful in trying to pass as anything other than a worm. Sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he fails.

Here is a butterfly. She denies that she ever was a caterpillar. After all, look at those color-splashed wings and delicate legs. No, caterpillars are not butterflies. Remember? Some caterpillars are really just moths. And a moth is certainly not a butterfly, is it?

Here is a moth. He has color-splashed wings and delicate legs just like a butterfly. In fact, he sometimes tells people that's just what he is and sometimes they believe it. But then the butterfly will point out that he's really just a moth. Like the worm, sometimes he can get away with it, sometimes he can't.

Here is a caterpillar. He calls himself a butterfly. Some people think he's just a worm. But he won't argue the point. No, he's quite certain. Make no mistake—he's a butterfly.

***

Here is the gay/lesbian/bi-sexual/transgendered community. People call it many different things. Insiders use their own words. Outsiders use those same words, although they don't always mean the same things.

Here is a debate in this community. It can be found on many bulletin boards on the global computer network, the Internet. Some think they need a better word not just for themselves but for their relationships: "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" are too much like Junior High; "husband" and "wife" are entrenched in the straight world's domain; "partner" is too businesslike. Some think they need words that better describe them for the straight world in which they live, as if this will change perceptions. Some think they look splintered without it. Some think they are indeed a splintered group and should have a lot of words. Some think splintered is confused with diverse. Some think hate can be removed by the choice of one word over the other. Some know better.

Here is the problem: too few of them have ever talked to a caterpillar, or a butterfly, or a moth, or a worm. The moth can pretend to be a butterfly, although he's soon found out. But that's okay, because then people learn that moths can be as beautiful as butterflies too. The butterfly can pretend she never was a caterpillar, but the world knows better. It doesn't make the butterfly any less beautiful. The worm will be himself, and not pretend to be anything else, unless he thinks he can get away with it. Most of the time he can't—so he's just an ugly worm, which in the end is okay with him.

And here is the caterpillar, who calls himself a butterfly. Yes, people think he's just a worm. But that's okay. It's just like members of the community fretting about calling themselves gays, or lesbians, or bi-sexuals, or transgendered, or dykes, or fags, or queers. People will still think what they will. But only the caterpillar knows what they do not—words don't change perception. Perception changes only when you emerge from that cocoon that is your closet, and spread your wings.

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