[This article, by a member of PFLAG's Speakers Bureau, appeared on the Op-Ed page of the Washington Post on Sunday, October 16, 1994.]

I've been dismayed by the debate about censorship in the Fairfax County Public Library. I have read the letters and heard the discussions about parents' concerns and parents' responsibilities, but I haven't heard from those affected: the teenagers. I may not be in that category now, but I remember well what it was like growing up gay in Fairfax County in the late '70s and early '80s.

To the casual observer, I appeared to be an average teenager. I lived with my parents and sisters in a nice neighborhood, played sports on teams my father coached, attended public schools and faced what people think of as the average peer pressures of adolescence. That appearance was deceiving.

I have vivid memories of junior high. When the other boys began talking about girls in a new way, I couldn't share their attraction. I was entering a period of personal turmoil as I began to realize that I was different but didn't know the words to express my feelings.

My perception of gays was limited to the few effeminate characters portrayed on TV or to the occasional newspaper story about married men being arrested in rest rooms for doing "unnatural" things with other men. I told myself that I couldn't be gay because I didn't fit those stereotypes. Alone in my room every night, I cried as I prayed to God to change me. By the time I reached high school, that shame and confusion had manifested itself as self-loathing, and I fought hard to maintain a facade of "normalcy."

Discussing any of this with my parents was not an option. They viewed homosexuality as a perversion. But I needed answers, and for those I turned to the library.

Getting information about homosexuality was nothing less than a covert operation. I couldn't just ask the librarian where to find the section on "homosexuality." I was so frightened that someone would discover my secret that I waited near the card catalogues until no one was in the aisle containing the "H" drawers before I began my search.

Fearing discovery, I hid the covers of the books with an unrelated book as I took them to a cubicle to read. Inside those books, all I found were small pieces of information, none of them positive, and a few illustrations of Grecian pottery. These books offered neither the support nor guidance I needed during the worst years of my life.

It took me another 10 years to accept that being gay and a good person were not mutually exclusive and another year before I admitted my orientation to another person. Now, I'm 30 years old, in a loving relationship with a man with whom I intend to spend the rest of my life, doing what I can to make the world better for the next generation.

I was right in choosing to find information elsewhere and not confiding in my parents as a teenager. Being honest has meant losing a father who wants nothing to do with me and watching members of my family forced to side with either him or me. It has meant watching my parents' marriage of 35 years deteriorate because my mother isn't supposed to love or accept a gay son. I can deal with this as an adult, but I can't imagine what it would have meant for me back then.

To parents leading the attack on the library for what they perceive as "promoting" lifestyles, perhaps my story can help them understand the impact of their actions. Only by going through a personal hell was I able to accept myself and move on with my life. I made it, but what about those who haven't?

How many drug addicts and alcoholics, how many broken or unhappy marriages, how many lost lives will it take before some people can accept the importance of access to information? Being gay is not a preference. People don't choose to be gay. But for those who are, the public library can provide a slim lifeline. I wish people would stop trying to take it away.