It was December 2001 in Omaha, Nebraska. The Twin Towers had just fallen a couple months back, and the nation was still on edge. The things discussed at home were how gas prices sky-rocketed, terrorists are taking over the nation, anyone who isn’t white is a bad guy and Cody, when are you moving out of the apartment? That last part was more of a discussion with myself, I couldn’t live with my family anymore. I was 18 years old and one semester in college. What wasn’t discussed was how I was doing in school. Shitty. I was working full-time trying to earn enough money so I could move out of my Mother’s apartment. I was working full-time so I could pay for school on my own. I didn’t have financial support for school, and my emotional support was lacking. But I get it, my brothers had their things going on, my mom was single and making ends meet, I needed to focus on Cody. I would have aggressive physical fights with my little brother while my older brother would root me on, “kick his ass, Cody, don’t be a pussy”. Well, maybe I had a little support there. That wasn’t the first time a neighbor knocked on the door wondering where my Mother was and shall they call the cops? I don’t blame him, I really tore up my little brother, mostly just scratches on his back, but whatever. My brothers wore my clothes obsessively, and it pissed me off so much! I would hide them in my Mom’s closet, like other things about myself, just so they wouldn’t find them. I wouldn’t mind if they wore them, if only they would take care of them and not stain them or stretch them out. I was much tinier than both of them, so it never made sense to me why they would want to wear my smalls? I know now that it was because I had a sense of fashion. Button downs and polo shirts from American Eagle and jeans from Hollister, how could they not want to steal my clothes? In February 2002, I came out to a co-worker, and she embraced me with her lesbian arms. She took me out and introduced me to a whole new world that intrigued me. A place where I can learn about myself and let it all out! Everything I had building up inside of myself finally had a place to shine in the world. The Max and Club Joy were the places to be in Omaha. I stole my older brother’s military ID that he obviously didn’t use anymore. I tied a bandana on my head and headed to the bar with Jen, Maria and Karla. My heart was racing before I entered The Max for the first time. The girls told me to have a beer wrapped in a brown paper bag with me the first time I go in. They will be so distracted that I’m already drinking that they won’t even second-guess my expired military ID that obviously doesn’t look like me. The ID expired in 2000, my brother is 3 years older than me, although I looked 15, though I was 18 years old, and his weight on the ID was 175 lbs and I was about 130lbs. “You can’t bring that in!” yelled the bouncer, then he grabbed the beer, browsed my ID, stamped me and pushed me through. Hello gay bar! My older brother had no idea, but he helped me get into the gay bars for the next 2 ½ years without a single hiccup. It wasn’t until Pride in Kansa City, a couple years later, that I tried to get into a bar behind another guy with a fake military ID that I got caught. So instead of giving up on that night, my friends did me up in drag and not more than 30 minutes later, I entered the Dixie Belle with a blonde wig, red dress and combat boots. I stuffed my bra with my pants, t-shirt and baby wipes. After I walked the bar, I went to the bathroom and chucked the dress in the trash, baby-wiped my makeup and checked the wig at coat check. That’s how we did it. Just for a few hours to be surrounded by sweaty gay boys and witty drag queens, it was well worth it. I felt proud. I was proud to have friends that looked out for me and that I looked up to, and proud of my courage. I will never forget those boys. The KC crew really brought me out of my shell, and I am forever grateful. Happy Pride.
