All Boys Aren't Blue

Introduction

All Boys Aren’t Blue stands as both a memoir and a powerful manifesto tailored for the younger generation. Within its pages, the author delves into their personal narrative of navigating the intersectionality of being Black and queer in the United States. The reflections span themes of family dynamics, the intricacies of identity, and the complexities of sexuality.

In the year 2021, this impactful work faced considerable controversy, earning the unfortunate distinction of being one of the most banned books in the US. Across the nation, it was either censored or forcibly removed from school libraries. The source of this contention lies in the author, George M. Johnson, openly sharing the intimate details of their initial encounters with sexuality, including the unique experience of losing their virginity—twice.

However, it's crucial to understand that Johnson's candidness is not gratuitous; rather, it serves a noble purpose. Their intention is to offer support and guidance to young individuals, particularly those navigating the complex terrain of queer adolescence.

Hailing from the states of New Jersey and Virginia, Johnson, as a Black and queer individual, intimately understands the challenges of reconciling conflicting identities and discovering one's sexuality in the shadows.

Motivated by a profound quote from Toni Morrison, now permanently etched on their arm, Johnson embarked on the mission to create the narrative they longed to read: "If there’s a book you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it."

The result is a sincere exploration of Black queer identity, courageously encompassing the journey of sexuality. It's important to note that this summary does include explicit content. However, before delving into those aspects, let's first acquaint ourselves with Johnson's early years, growing up in 1990s New Jersey.

Chapter 1: A Taste of Childhood: Honeychild

Even in their early years, Johnson sensed a distinction within themselves. They moved differently, swaying their hips in a way that set them apart from the other boys at school. The way they spoke carried a different cadence, a uniqueness that would later become a defining trait.

In the company of girls one day, a word rolled off Johnson's tongue with flair – "Honeychild." Spoken with a sassy flair, accompanied by a wrist gesture for emphasis, it became their first foray into the world of gay lingo. The joy of using this new expression brought a sense of empowerment and freedom. Soon, their female friends adopted it, and "Honeychild" became a phenomenon, spreading throughout the school like wildfire.

However, the adults, discomforted by the notion that a boy had birthed this effeminate term, intervened. A concerned parent reached out to a teacher, prompting a conversation with Johnson's mother. The directive was clear: "You have to stop using that word." It had become a distraction, echoing through the classrooms.

Though they complied, Johnson never forgot the impact of "Honeychild." What might seem like a trivial word held deeper significance. Even a seemingly innocent creation by a child could be perceived as a threat – a threat to established norms of masculinity and the identities of other people's children.

For a child who diverged from the norm, it often felt like there was something inherently wrong, something that needed to be corrected—an aspect of their identity that required erasure. "You can't say that," they were told. "You can't act like that."

Growing up Black and queer, Johnson grappled with the dichotomy of a "right way" and a "wrong way." They adjusted their gait, suppressing the natural sway of their hips, and relinquished the use of "Honeychild."

While Johnson's family, on the whole, displayed tolerance toward their gay identity, there was an unspoken understanding. Mom and Dad sought to protect their child, cognizant of the world's resistance to "sassy" behavior.

In the midst of this, Johnson found solace in their grandmother, Nanny, who went above and beyond to shower them with love and acceptance. Amidst the challenges of fitting in at school, Nanny stood as a beacon of unwavering support, embracing all their quirks.

"I love all of you," Nanny would affirm, "But I love you all differently. Because each of you needs different things." This sentiment resonated deeply with Johnson, and it continues to do so.

The impact of having at least one supportive family member and experiencing unconditional love is profound. While it should be the norm, the unfortunate reality is that many LGBTQ+ youth face adversity—homelessness, hostility, and even violence. Tragically, some parents would rather have a dead child than a gay one, as exemplified by the heartbreaking case of Giovanni Melton in 2017, allegedly murdered by his own father for being gay.

Johnson acknowledges that their childhood wasn't flawless, yet they feel fortunate to have had a family that accepted them. However, they recognize the rarity of such acceptance for all queer children and teens.

The importance of a support system cannot be overstated. If necessary, young people should strive to create their own, recognizing the transformative influence it can have.

In addressing the common mantra "It gets better" often fed to LGBTQ+ youth, Johnson urges a nuanced perspective. Things don't inherently get better; action is required to make them so. It's a collective responsibility to forge a path of improvement and to convey this message, especially to those who aren't Black or queer: "Make it better."

Chapter 2 : Teenage years: Shame and secrecy

Johnson knows they had it easier than many other young people. But still, it was tough growing up Black and queer.

Johnson often felt conflicted. They wanted to fully embrace their Black identity, but that meant “acting straight,” and being more conventionally “masculine” – or so they thought.

At the same time, they couldn’t deny that they were different – queer. They had crushes on boys.

There was one boy in particular in school – a friend named Zamis. Johnson got butterflies around Zamis. They couldn’t ignore their crush. But they couldn’t act on it either – even though they sensed that Zamis was like them.

One day, chatting on AOL messenger, Zamis asked Johnson the question they always dreaded: “Are you gay?”

Instantly, Johnson felt a hot rush through their body. But they answered the same way they always answered.

“No, I’m not gay,” they typed back. “Are you?”

“No,” Zamis replied.

After school they lost touch. And when they bumped into each other again, years later, it was in a gay club, during gay pride weekend in Washington D.C.

Now, looking back, Johnson wonders what might have been. They and Zamis could have got together – they could have been prom kings…

But Johnson wasn’t ready to come out back then – not even to themselves.

In fact, while Johnson knew they were attracted to boys, they couldn’t allow themselves to be fully queer even in their fantasies. They would dream about having sex with boys, but as a girl.

For Johnson, the idea of anything else was unthinkable.

At the time, there wasn’t much queer representation in the mainstream media. Also, at the Catholic school Johnson attended, sex education was mostly about abstinence. And of course, the idea that two men could have sex wasn’t even acknowledged.

Although Johnson’s family was accepting, as we’ve mentioned before, the teenager still wasn’t ready to come out, let alone ask questions about queer love and sex.

And when Johnson had their first sexual experience, it had to stay a secret.

They were about 13 years old. Their cousin was older – around 17 or 18. One night, the two of them were sharing a bed, whispering and giggling … and touching each other.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone,” said the cousin. He was the one who’d started it, despite having a girlfriend, and being Johnson’s relative.

Johnson knew it was wrong – they were family, crossing a line that should never be crossed.

But then the cousin took things further, initiating oral sex. Johnson didn’t know what to feel. There was guilt, of course, and confusion, but euphoria, too.

That night left Johnson with the sense that their feelings were something to be kept secret, suppressed.

Now that they’re older, they realize how wrong it was. What happened was abuse.

Johnson can’t confront their cousin, who’s now dead.

But if he was still alive, Johnson would ask him about it. They would ask, “Did someone hurt you? Who taught you about sex?”

Because there’s something in Johnson’s gut – something that tells them that their cousin was a victim, too. All too often, abuse and violence become a cycle.

Still, although Johnson has reached a place where they’re able to have empathy for their cousin, they want to reiterate – it was abuse. And finding empathy for an abuser is not a requirement.

Instead, our priority should be holding abusers accountable.

By sharing their story, Johnson hopes to help someone – any other victims who might be holding onto guilt.

Telling the truth can be freeing. No more shame, no more secrecy.

Chapter 3: Embracing Identity in College

Upon graduating from high school, Johnson had not yet come out, and technically remained a virgin. Despite this, the prospect of college filled them with optimism—a fresh start awaited at a historically Black college in Virginia, where they envisioned freely embracing their identity akin to characters from "Queer as Folk."

However, reality proved less enchanting than their expectations. Virginia offered no magical courage for Johnson to come out, leading to a growing sense of depression. Each morning, they faced the reality that their true self remained elusive.

As Johnson immersed themselves in college life, making friends and integrating, a new opportunity for self-discovery emerged—not through their sexuality, but through their masculinity. Joining the Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity became a pivotal decision, as it represented belonging and a community centered on masculine ideals and brotherhood.

For Johnson, this fraternity provided more than friendship; it became a source of self-love, allowing them to embrace their identity. Thriving within this brotherhood, they formed lasting connections with fellow Black men, fostering a sense of security in their masculinity.

As confidence grew, Johnson felt ready to define their identity fully—queer, Black, and masculine. They started opening up about their sexuality, particularly with fraternity brothers who shared the same orientation.

Confidence not only stemmed from friendships but also from sexual experiences. Finally, Johnson shed their virgin status, not once but twice. The first encounter, initiated in junior year, allowed them to experience consensual and passionate sex on their own terms.

However, this marked only the beginning of Johnson's sexual exploration. Uncertain about adhering to a dominant role, they ventured into new experiences using the Black Gay Chat app. The encounter that followed was both pleasurable and painful, leaving Johnson reflecting on the importance of proper sex education.

Years later, Johnson contemplates how their experiences might have differed with adequate preparation. They acknowledge the necessity of comprehensive sex education, especially for the queer community facing higher risks of sexually transmitted diseases.

Johnson understands that sharing such intimate stories may evoke pushback and embarrassment, but their commitment to helping queer teens navigate their own experiences fuels their decision to share. Despite potential discomfort, Johnson has no regrets if it means contributing to a safer and more informed journey for others.

Summary

Many young individuals grapple with the intricacies of their identity and sexuality, a journey that becomes even more challenging when one is both Black and queer.

Fortunately, Johnson was fortunate to have the unwavering support of a loving, queer-affirming family and the companionship of understanding friends during their college years. Nevertheless, the process of coming out and navigating their sexuality was a gradual and occasionally painful experience, largely due to societal prejudices, a lack of comprehensive education, and a culture that discriminates against the LGBTQ+ community.

Now, as an adult, Johnson feels empowered to shape their identity on their own terms. By bravely sharing their narrative, they aspire to amplify the voices of marginalized communities and offer guidance to queer teenagers.

This story serves as a beacon of reassurance for those who identify with similar struggles, reminding them that they are not alone. With hope and resilience, individuals, like Johnson, can embark on a journey of personal growth and flourish in their authentic selves.

About the author

George M. Johnson, a prominent American author and activist, delves into the intricate intersections of race, gender, and sexuality in their compelling works. They have authored two impactful memoirs, titled "All Boys Aren't Blue" and "We Are Not Broken."