By Anthony Payton, Columnist, Granite State News Collaborative

My oldest stepson, Tyrell Whitted, gets plenty of time on my social media feeds. Tyrell is one of the most colorful young men that I know. Comfortable in his truth, comfortable in his skin.

[L to R] Tyrell Whitted, Anthony Payton (Screenshot from Live Recording of Common Ground podcast at Franklin Pierce University)

I came into Tyrell’s life when he was about 12 years old when his mother and I first met. I never tried to take on the role of dad with him or his younger brother, Tavon. As time went on, my duty was to provide some guidance and protect them from the world as best I could. Back then, I knew Tyrell would be unique but different. He seemed to be gender fluid before the term ever became popular. He was just a preteen, and I felt no need to judge him or be harsh. Until Tyrell’s entrance into my life, I was very indifferent to the struggles of the L.G.B.T.Q community. I never felt the need to be abusive, but I did believe that a man should carry himself a certain way, which was to show masculine traits.

I grew up in a very hyper-masculine community back in the early ’80s. To deviate from the norm of masculinity was frowned upon and dangerous. It was so bad that roving bands of young teenagers would go on missions to pummel any male they deemed gay or effeminate. The media wasn’t much help. We were knee-deep into the AIDS epidemic, and politicians, the medical establishments, and churches labeled gay men a national threat. The fear-mongering was out in the open, and it wasn’t cloaked or implicit. Lesbians were also under siege, but the anger directed at gay men seemed like night and day by comparison.

At that time, in the Black community, it was hard to express yourself as anything other than masculine. There were plenty of fatherless homes, and young teenage boys became the family earners and protectors. Masculinity seemed to be amplified by the need for most of these young men to rise above the women-led households.

[L-R]Pierre Morten, Chief Diversity Officer at Franklin Pierce University moderates a Q&A panel with Tyrell Whitted and Anthony Payton. (Screenshot from Live Recording of Common Ground podcast at Franklin Pierce University)

Young men, who were closeted gay, hid amongst their friends in plain sight. If you were lucky enough to have a vast family that the neighborhood both feared and respected, you were probably allowed to celebrate who you were without much pushback.

However, this wasn’t the case for everyone. There were plenty of families that disowned their children, and plenty of men murdered because of their sexuality. There were plenty of young boys who committed suicide because they couldn’t be themselves. Tired of how society viewed and treated them, and bogged down with internal strife, they’d put a rope around their necks and hang themselves right in their bedroom closet.

Just imagine if that was your child, sibling, or friend.

I always wondered what society’s biggest fear of homosexuality was. Could it have been the same mindset and fears society has for Black people? Was it just the cascading of hate for different groups of people?

In October 1998, a 21-year-old gay man, Matthew Shepard, was beaten and tortured for just being himself. His murder made world news, and it was an important moment in the L.G.B.T.Q community. People, all people, had begun to have enough. Matthew was one year younger than me.

Tyrell was six months old at the time, and he would come into my life nearly 12 years later.

Sometimes I question if I was enough of an ally back then or if he was comfortable being himself while in my presence. Tyrell would be in his room rapping Lil Wayne verses, but he really showed himself when Nicki Minaj came on. I wasn’t as evolved as I am now, and it took a separation between us for me to appreciate him in his entirety. He was an ace student, a great sibling, hilarious, articulate, and always looking to learn new things. Tyrell has been huge in my growth, simply because I’m now invested in the community of which he’s apart.

Through watching him, I learned that he’s happy with himself, and he should expect me to be supportive. He has both feet into adulthood, and I know from my own experiences that there are still some waters that I can help him navigate. I watched this young boy grow into the man he is, and I’m honored to have had some influence. Both of his younger siblings look up to him.

He inspires me to continue getting out of my comfort zone, and it’s because of my relationship with him that I’m able to look at his community from a different perspective. Watching him excel in college, at his job, in his music, and in his life has shown me that manhood can be manifested in the way that suits the individual. It’s his life, and I’m glad to be a part of it.

If there are any men out there raising young boys like Tyrell was, I implore you to begin the process of accepting and supporting them. Your idea of masculinity may manifest differently from his. Don’t give up on him. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to watch a young boy turn into a great man.

I’ve never met Tyrell’s biological father, but if he’s reading this, I’ll say to him, Thank You.

This column is part of The Common Ground Initiative which aims to highlight the diversity of our communities with stories of people the average Granite Stater might not get to see or meet, clarify misconceptions and find the threads that bind us all together as one New Hampshire community. Anthony Payton can be reached at anthony.payton@collaborativenh.org.

These articles are being shared by partners in The Granite State News Collaborative. For more information visit collaborativenh.org.