Chapter 1: There Are No Sharks in Lake Michigan 1 There Are No Sharks in Lake Michigan When I was a kid, teachers used to tell my parents that I was "special" or "unique." At parent-teacher conferences, they''d say things like, "Well, he sure is. eccentric" or "You know, he''s just not like the other boys." I thought these comments were a good thing, and seeing as I never heard these words used to describe my two older brothers, they built up my confidence. Then, around middle school, I began to realize that in addition to being creative, getting good grades, and having a knack for making people laugh, I was also gay. Once I started to put the pieces of my identity together, a battle broke out in my head. What I had been taught about gay people from a young age, what kids my age were saying about gay people, and what I felt in my heart began fighting and tearing me apart. I was told being gay was a choice, a sin, and an embarrassment.
Of course these things aren''t true, but younger Chasten didn''t know that. Back then, the outside world was telling me otherwise, and I spent years believing there was no future in store for me. Childhood was fairly sunny and easy. However, once this piece of my identity became clearer, hiding it felt like concealing a giant, glittered, fanged beast inside my stomach. One simple slip and the beast would come tearing through my guts, flop onto the floor in front of the classroom, and shout, HE''S GAAAAAAAY! as the entire classroom pointed and laughed in the most humiliating way. In order to keep the beast quiet, I paid very close attention to the way I walked, talked, and acted, because the world just wasn''t ready to accept LGBTQ+ people as equals (yet). My parents had always encouraged me to be myself, but I knew that meant the version of myself that fit the norm. At the time, growing up in a politically and religiously conservative place like Northern Michigan meant that being straight was the only thing you could openly and safely identify as.
There wasn''t much room for difference. A lot of people back then (and, sadly, some people to this day) believe that being gay is a choice and that all LGBTQ+ people deserve to be mocked, harmed, or worse. Some politicians still use harmful tropes to advocate against protections for LGBTQ+ people. I knew that being gay meant I''d rather have a boyfriend than a girlfriend. Other than that, I was confused as to why the world thought that made me so different from everyone else, but I didn''t have anyone I could talk to about it. I didn''t have any gay role models, I never saw myself reflected in the characters I read about in books, and there weren''t many characters in movies or television shows living a happy, gay life. In 1998, when I was nine years old and just starting to understand what these questions swirling around in my head meant, a show called Will & Grace aired on television. It featured two gay characters navigating work, life, and love in New York City.
Not only did it show me for the first time that there were other people like me out there, but the show had a huge audience! Sure, it had its fair share of backlash for featuring gay people, but the show was winning awards and receiving good ratings. I remember my fear of laughing too enthusiastically whenever actor Sean Hayes''s hilarious, very outrageous character, Jack, dramatically and loudly entered the room. If anyone heard how happy the show made me, would they think I was gay? The few times I did watch the show in front of my family, it was both torture and therapy. I loved seeing someone "like me" on TV, but I was nervous for anyone to notice that I loved it. I wished that I could live somewhere like New York City, where it would be okay to be like someone on Will & Grace , where I could find friends who would be kind to someone "like that." Then, in 2003, comedian Ellen DeGeneres started her own talk show, Ellen . A few years earlier in 1997, DeGeneres came out as gay. The show she was starring in at the time was promptly canceled, and Ellen struggled to find any work in Hollywood, just because she''d had the courage to come "out of the closet.
" Eventually, she was given her own talk show, but she wasn''t allowed to talk about her partner or being gay at all. She was even advised not to wear jeans because they could make her "look gay." How exhausting! Ellen''s show was always on when I came home from school, and watching her make my mom laugh hinted to me that there might be a future where all LGBTQ+ people could do great things, be whoever they wanted to be, and not be seen as unusual. For a long time, Ellen was the only LGBTQ+ person I knew about. Even though I saw a few gay characters on television, gayness was something distant, almost like a luxury or a privilege. Famous people on television in Los Angeles or New York could be gay, but not an awkward kid from the Midwest who spent his Saturdays at the bowling alley and read books with a flashlight under the covers. It felt as if growing up somewhere like Northern Michigan meant it was impossible that I could be gay--gay people weren''t found in places like that! I had no idea that just sixteen years after Ellen aired its first episode, I would be flying to Los Angeles to be on the other side of the audience, talking about the first version of this book, and reflecting on the fact that my husband had just finished a strong and groundbreaking campaign to be president of the United States of America. As I stood backstage at the Ellen show, a woman quickly blotted my nose with a little more powder, checked my outfit, and told me to listen for the cue.
"Please welcome my friend Chasten Buttigieg!" Ellen announced. The sound of applause filled the television studio, and I stepped out into the bright lights, all cameras pointed at me. I was thrilled that someone I had looked up to as a kid was saying my name. Best of all, she said it right! Yeah, what''s up with the name? you''re probably asking. Okay, let''s get this out of the way, shall we? The last name Buttigieg (pronounced "BOOT-uh-jej") is Maltese (from a small group of islands in the middle of the Mediterranean). My husband''s father immigrated to the United States from Malta in the 1970s, and I liked the name, so I decided to take it when we got married. These days, Buttigieg is the name that gets recognized (you know, that whole husband-running-for-president thing), and it''s my uncommon first name that typically confuses people. Pete Buttigieg''s husband? What''s his name? It''s not uncommon for me to have to repeat my name over and over again at the coffee counter until it is ultimately shouted back as "Chastain," "Justin," or "Charles.
" Chasten ("CHASS-ten"; rhymes with CLASS-ten) is a difficult name on the first try, but I''ve grown to appreciate it over the years. It''s usually, for better or worse, one of the first things people ask me about when we''re introduced. I didn''t appreciate my name''s uniqueness until later in life. I''ve never met another Chasten, but when I was younger, my name was just another thing that made me stick out. Kids can be cruel for no reason, and my name was an easy target. One of my worst bullies used to call me "Chasteen" and "Chastity" at the back of the school bus. Now that I''m older, I think about how lonely or sad that bully must have been to not have had anything better to do but make fun of somebody''s name . I''ve found that most people who are making fun of others usually have something else going on in their life that causes them to lash out.
Rarely is whatever a bully has decided to focus on ever about the person being bullied (though that doesn''t justify the behavior!). In this case, I guess Chasten was just too unique for Becky on the bus. When I walked across the stage at my high school graduation, my name was announced as Chase-tin J. Gleezeman (it''s actually Glezman). My cheeks burned red with shame. Even at seventeen, I was still embarrassed of my name. Oh, come on! I thought. After all those years at school, they still couldn''t get it right? Correctly pronouncing someone''s name is an easy way to show them that they are valued.
(Similarly, don''t be afraid to correct someone if they don''t address you the way you prefer. And if anyone has an issue with being asked to do the bare minimum, like I said, it''s a reflection on them, not you. Sometimes, rather than working on themselves, people will channel their anger and confusion into hurting others, even with small things like names.) On the bright side, at least high school was over when they butchered my name onstage, right? Mysteriously, the story of how I got this unique name is inconclusive; there is an answer, but it''s an incomplete one. My mom used to take on shifts as a nursing assistant at our local hospital in addition to managing our family''s landscaping business, and she swears that a woman she worked with at the hospital was putting on a Christmas play that featured a character named King Chasten. As soon as she heard that name, she loved it. Of course, I''ve done extensive research, and I can''t find a King Chasten anywhere. As I''ve said, I''m very mysterious.
Regardless, it''s not pronounced like the verb, which means "to have a restraining effect on" and which is the opposite of my usually peaceful, nonbossy personality (at least I hope). It''s pronounced with a short a and a hard t : CHASS-ten. If anything, my name is an expression of my parents'' creativity. My mom and dad, Sherri and Terry Glezman, are loving, dedicated people who live for their friends and family; they always made sure their three children''s lives we.