all these things and more: how I've come to be a Christian gay rights advocate

A very dear friend once described me in rather accurate terms: "Explosive. Reactionary.  Attractively naive.  Emotional.  Loud in voice and personality.  Trusting.  Focused.  Intelligent.  Non-religious.  Jesus first.  Easily offended.  Traditional values.  Wonderfully awkward.  Cosmically compassionate.  Selfless.  A dreamer."  

His was actually a comparison drawn from the character of April Kepner on Grey's Anatomy, but it has been immensely valuable to me nonetheless.  I took his words to heart, and his outside observations have since helped me to clarify my sense of self and slog through more than a few internal struggles.

I am many things: a daughter, a friend, a singer, an actress, a New Yorker, a liberal conservative or conservative liberal (depending on who you ask), a fighter, a champion of underdogs, and a no-holds-barred supporter of equality.  (My dad once called me a "bleeding-heart liberal."  I think he meant for me to take offense; I couldn't have asked for a higher compliment.)

I am all these things and more. But above all, I am a Christian.  

I hesitate to wave that banner too wildly because by and large, society imagines a "Christian" utterly unlike me.  Blame it on the media, politicians, entertainment--the picture is ugly: hypocritical, self-righteous, conditional, homophobic, greedy, heavy-handed, tight-fisted, stubborn, elitist, judgmental, and (sometimes) just downright unintelligent.  

It is the most alienating, least Christlike image I can imagine.  But it is the dominant portrait of the American Christian, like it or not.  I know countless followers of Christ who are just that: people who seek to live like Jesus and impact our culture in a radical, redemptive, arms-wide-open way.  I hope you see me as the latter because I have a confession: I used to be one of those other Christians.  

Make no mistake, I would've never joined the ranks of the Westboro Baptist Church with its "GOD HATES FAGS" signs (to even attempt to align that group with the larger Church is absolutely absurd).  But I spent many of my younger years operating under the well-intentioned belief that President Bush could do (almost) no wrong, gay marriage was practically an abomination, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were just, and that if I just prayed hard enough, maybe my gay Christian ex-boyfriend would become straight and "come back to Jesus."  I really believed it.

Which brings me to the main point of all this soul-searching: I am a Christian and I support gay rights.   

I am an advocate.  Unequivocally.  Proudly.  Personally.  Because some of my closest friends are gay, and I see their struggle every day.  I see them being treated as second-class citizens in every sphere: social, political, and religious.  But what cuts even deeper is that many Christians are complicit in the injustice, if not directly responsible.  Bearing that in mind, it's safe to say that as a Christian, I tend to overcompensate.  However insignificantly, I do what I can to make amends for the way I once condemned the gay community, even if the Church at large is painfully reluctant to do the same.

My friend who made the April Kepner comparison calls me an "anomaly" in this.  "You're an advocate for gay rights," he says, "But you really are a Christian."  As if the two truths cannot, fundamentally, coexist. 

But I think that's where we've got it all wrong.  For me, it simply would not be possible to have Jesus at the center of my life and simultaneously stand by while my friends are being denied basic human rights.  It would be a betrayal of my faith and a slap in the face to Christ and those he loves.

Several days ago, I discovered Emily Timbol's Huffington Post article: "Why I'm a Straight Christian Fighting for Gay Rights."  For the first time, someone had articulated exactly how I feel about being both a gay rights advocate and a Christian.  I promptly posted the article to Facebook and was happy to see that a few friends gave it a thumbs-up.  

The only comment on that post, to date, was from a former classmate and one I found a bit disappointing, though not entirely surprising:  

"You will note, however, that whenever Jesus encountered someone living a sinful lifestyle, He always told them to turn from their sin and follow Him. He never treated anyone with contempt, not even the ones who set Him on the cross, but He also wasn't silent about how He felt about someone's lifestyle. From the Pharisees to the tax collectors to the prostitutes to the common man, He always tried to bring them to himself, and that means a change in lifestyle. I would normally not say anything about something like this, since the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about. Yes, Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin. That's not something the Christ of the Bible would've done. That's my two cents. :\"

The explosive, reactionary April Kepner in me wanted to respond immediately, but I knew my retort would amount to nothing more than a flimsy, half-realized statement of a very deeply held, steadily built conviction.  I told April to take a back seat and allowed myself a few days to process.  I've decided to answer the above comment one or two statements at a time.

First of all, everything hinges on whether you believe that a person is born gay or that homosexuality is a choice.  Some of my friends, gay and straight, will say that sexuality is a spectrum and a number of factors play into sexual orientation and self-identification, with biology playing a critical role.  Nevertheless, when all is said and done, there remain two adequately delineated camps: the folks that say you're born gay and the folks that say you choose to be gay.  I, for one, believe a person is born gay.  That alone is a huge discussion in and of itself, better addressed by scientists, psychologists, and psychotherapists.  To that end, I highly recommend The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man's World by Alan Downs, PhD. 

Once you've decided which camp you're in, it's time to struggle with the sin part.  It is important to consider that while you may be a Christian, likely very few of the gay people you meet are.  Some of them grew up in the Church, but to one degree or another, almost all of them have been alienated by Christians, many of them their own parents and childhood friends.  So arguing the point of sin with them, directly, is a waste of time and further reason for them to resent the Church and the shame it has so deeply rooted in their lives.  You are just another "clanging cymbal" (1 Corinthians 13:1) in the greater Christian soundscape.  

Now, some Christians believe that it is not homosexual orientation that is the sin, but the homosexual act that is the sin.  In other words: it's okay if you're born gay, just don't act gay or live a gay "lifestyle" or (God forbid!) enter into a monogamous, committed, lifelong relationship--never mind marriage--with the love of your life.  This position, while more progressive than some, still reeks of the "Love the sinner, hate the sin" jargon, a cheap cop-out that, more than ever, makes me want to rip the plaster off the walls. 

Then there are a few Christians who believe that being born gay is not an accident and being true to your sexuality is not a sin.  I'm one of those Christians.  I believe that my gay friends have just as much right to happy, fulfilled, purposeful lives as I do.  I hope every one of them loves their job.  I hope they each find a lifelong partner and gets married.  I'd even love to see them start families.  But the heartbreaking thing for me is that no matter how much I hope these things for my friends, their basic freedoms hang in the balance.  I have no greater claim to basic human rights as a straight woman.  But somehow, for them, something as simple as being hired at a job--and keeping that job--is up for debate, at least in cities like Jacksonville, Florida.  Which brings me back to that Facebook comment I quoted earlier. 

To be clear, Emily Timbol's article has nothing to do with gay marriage and everything to do with, as she says, "blatant discrimination and legal prejudice."  In fact, the article makes absolutely no direct mention of gay marriage whatsoever.  Given that, I wonder what prompted my classmate to include in his Facebook comment a statement entirely unrelated to Ms. Timbol's article: "the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about." 

The article is actually about advocating in favor of a Jacksonville, Florida bill that would ban discrimination based on sexual orientation.  According to the Florida Times-Union, the bill would "protect people from discrimination in situations involving employment, housing and service at public accommodations, places like restaurants and hotels."  In short, gay people in Jacksonville will be allowed to eat in any restaurant they like, rent whichever hotel room strikes their fancy, and work at any job for which they are qualified without fear of being discriminated against simply because they are gay.  I can say without reservation that as a straight couple, my parents have never been denied access to a hotel, restaurant, or job opportunity simply because they are straight.  Why should it be any different for my gay friends?

A few final thoughts on that Facebook comment.  My classmate said that "Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin."  Well, we've already seen that the positions on the gay "lifestyle" are varied and complex, among Christians and non-Christians.  Nobody can agree whether or not homosexual orientation and expression is inherently sinful, so I think making claims about Jesus's thoughts on the matter is a pretty risky move.  

And perhaps most importantly, I'd like to inquire about my classmate's claim that he always treats the gay community with "respect and dignity," as Christ would have.  Is there not respect and dignity in granting the gay community their basic human rights, such as are at stake in Jacksonville?  Is there not respect and dignity in, perhaps, affording them the basic privacy to live their lives however they like behind closed doors?  And is there not respect and dignity in maybe, just maybe, allowing our gay friends to share their side of the story?  Because truth be told, I see little respect or dignity in my classmate's words.  If he would like to argue me on that point, I'd invite him to ask his gay friends, if any, exactly what they have to say on the matter.

So there you have it.  The April Kepner in me has kept her cool, for the most part.  I don't expect everyone who reads this to agree with me on every point.  I can only hope that what I have to say will be an impetus for some soul-searching.  

If you are genuine, humble, and earnest in your desire to better understand any of these issues, please listen to your gay friends.  I say listen to, not talk to, because years of experience have taught me that I have far more to learn from them than they could ever learn from me.

Before: a group of Christians at Chicago Pride

After: this is what I want my life to speak

Where in the world?

Today, my parents and little sister are making a huge move: from western Washington (where we were raised) to the suburbs of Phoenix. The news has raised a few eyebrows among our friends, so I think it's rather fitting that my family's new address will be in Surprise, Arizona. For real.

Meanwhile, I'm 3,000 miles away, babysitting a couple kiddos while on medical leave from Trader Joe's. Never one to pass up the chance for a geography lesson, I aim to explain my family's southern migration to four-year-old Jonah.

"Jonah do you know where California is?" Arizona is a long shot, so California seems a more likely point of reference. After all, most four-year-olds have at least heard of Disneyland.

But Jonah just stares at me, puzzled. "Uh-uh."

"Okay," I answer. "Do you know if you have a map of America?"

He shakes his head, content to loll about on the sofa while I cross the room to the bookshelf. I can't find any book that would suggest so much as a map of the City, let alone the country. The books in his room are no help, either. I could really use that Rand McNally world map hanging on my bedroom wall.

It's here that I come to a seemingly small yet critical revelation: I am determined to teach my kids from day one about the world beyond their backyard. Without a doubt, leading my children to a knowledge and love of Jesus is most important to me. And I can't wait to teach them how to swim and sing. But after that, almost nothing seems as valuable to me as raising my kids with a curiosity and respect for the people and cultures around them.

I've always loved maps and learning about faraway places. For as long as I can remember, my dad has had an unassuming yet incredibly handy globe perched on a bookshelf in the den. I loved running my fingers over its bumpy topography and discovering that places like Mali--well, would you look at that!--and Timbuktu actually exist. If I was bored, I'd spin the globe and drop my finger like the needle on Dad's turntable. Wherever my finger landed, I'd look the place up in Dad's Collier's Encyclopedia set. (That's how we learned things before the internet, Wikipedia, and Google Earth.)

Siberian man

When I was in third grade and Mom was homeschooling me, I remember doing a huge research project. I put together a butcher paper-sized booklet on all seven continents, each ocean, and the major points of each area--unique animals, climate, industry, etc.--complete with crayon illustrations on each page. I think that project is still in a box somewhere. Mom has always been good about saving things like that over the years. :)

In fifth grade, I was particularly obsessed with the inside front cover of my geography book. It was a two-page illustrated map of the world, and every major region was detailed with a representative portrait of its indigenous people group. I was fascinated by the Aztecs and Mayans, the Australian aborigines, and the diverse and beautiful people groups of the far north, from Greenland to Siberia.

Elephant Nature Park - Chiang Mai, January 2010

It comes as no great surprise, then, that I've developed an incurable case of wanderlust as an adult. I spent a week in Ireland with my grandma after high school, absorbing the culture of my ancestors and visiting Grandma's longtime family friends. My travels abroad during undergrad were no small investment, but they were worth every penny. I spent the better part of a month flinging myself to every corner of London and beyond, relishing my first real sense of independence abroad and annihilating my bank account in the process. I was welcomed by warm, loving host families in Argentina and Thailand, and I am more sensitive to other cultures and their unique sociopolitical struggles because of my time in both countries.

First walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, January 2009

And it is my two-week trip to New York in the middle of the bitter winter of 2009 that, frozen toes notwithstanding, served as my impetus for moving here a year-and-a-half later.

So here I am, on the easternmost edge of the map of America I want to buy for Jonah. It's his fourth summer as a New Yorker, my third. I hope he grows up with the same cutiosity about the world as I have. And for my part, I'm going to fling myself into a few more corners of this world.  Several African countries--and a number of humanitarian efforts--have topped my bucket list since high school, but they'll have to wait a little longer.  For now, I think there's a bus ticket to Boston calling my name.

Get ready, Jonah, buddy, because we still have the whole wide world ahead of us! And I'm just getting started.

Eye on the City, Part I

Admittedly, I've been a bit MIA on the audition scene the last six months or so, but I've seen and done a lot of fantastic things in the meantime.  That's the beauty of New York: there's always more to discover, and living here (almost) never gets old. 

It's been on my to-do list to share a few highlights of life here in the City, and almost two years in--have I really been here that long?!?--it's time for me to show you the New York I see.  Enjoy.

________

1. If it's not already, New York should be known as The Other Windy City.  Here's a clip of a walk I took one night last fall around Lower Manhattan. 

2. Sometimes, I take pictures of people on the train.  Call me a creeper, but I bet all of my New York friends will admit to having done the same at least once.  

This couple riding downtown on the C train made me smile. Quintessential "Old New York."

Good dads always brighten my day.  Loved seeing this napping pair.

I love this guy's style.  I've seen him twice on the train home from work, and he was dressed fabulously both times. 

3. Enjoying the city skyline doesn't necessitate paying $40 to take an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building.  I shot these from The Allen Room, part of Jazz at Lincoln Center, atop the Time Warner Building overlooking Columbus Circle.  My dear friend, Ben Bonnema, invited me to be his plus-one at the 16th annual ASCAP Foundation Awards night where he was honored with the Frederick Loewe Scholarship for his outstanding achievements in musical theatre composition.  Paul Williams hosted, Stephen Schwartz was recognized for his lifetime contributions to musical theatre, and Judy Kuhn sang (and all the while, I kept picturing her as Pocahontas).  It was a night to remember. 

 

4. I can scratch "sing at Carnegie Hall" off my bucket list.  On January 16, I sang in the world premiere of The Peacemakers by Karl Jenkins (and under his direction) with choral groups from all over the world.  The soprano on my right came from outside London, and the soprano on my left was from Melbourne, Australia.  Music is the universal language!  (But we already knew this.)

5. New Yorkers, despite their reputation for being hurried, stiff, and entitled, are really good at heart.  One random act of kindness can create a chain reaction.  See?  I found this on a bench in the 72nd Street CB station one night after work.  Someone in need had dinner that night when they otherwise might not have.

6.  Some of my favorite views of New York are on my regular running/commuting routes. 

I snapped this shot inside the northwest corner of Central Park on January 23rd, one of the only snowy days this winter. 

This shot was taken a little farther north the next day, just a few blocks from my apartment in Harlem.

The High Line might be my #1 spot in the City, particularly for out-of-town visitors.  I snapped this series one night in mid-March after babysitting in the West Village.

 

 

 

7. Here's a snapshot of a day in the life on the audition circuit.  The room at Telsey + Co was full of women at the call for the second national tour of Wicked.  And these are only the Equity women.  They typed Equity and automatically sent non-Equity home.  So I walked in and walked out.  Can't win 'em all.

8. I'm a sucker for clever breadboards.  Enjoy.

This hot dog establishment wants to give the legendary Nathan's chain a run for their money. 

Guess you won't be needing that milkshake as long as you've got their cookies!

And this one is just horrifying.

9. This Williamsburg bathroom just off the Bedford L train is the coolest, craziest thing I've seen in a long time.  Just in case you were bored while peeing...
 

10. It's hard to believe it's been more than ten years since 9/11.  There are still fresh flowers every day at this West Village neighborhood memorial. 

More to come very soon!  Thanks for reading.  Love you all. xo

"You and that kale..."

Today on Facebook, my friend, Christian, noted my recent obsession with kale.  His comment on my cheddar, kale, and asiago grilled cheese photo: "You and that kale."  Yup.  It's a new favorite.  And along with quinoa, it's not going anywhere anytime soon.  In fact, I'm so convinced everyone should at least try both that I'm posting a couple recipes here for you to sample.  

Unless otherwise noted, all ingredients used are Trader Joe's brand and available at your neighborhood store. I know, shameless plug. Get over it.  :)

Cheddar, Asiago, and Kale Grilled Cheese

Ingredients:

1/2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1/2 c. kale, stemmed and chopped 

dash of garlic salt or fresh minced garlic (I used Tastefully Simple's Garlic Garlic)

dash of onion salt or finely diced onion  (I used Tastefully Simple's Onion Onion)

2 slices Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Bread (available at Trader Joe's)

1 tbsp. salted butter 

1-2 oz. asiago cheese, thinly sliced 1 slice sliced light cheddar (also try English coastal cheddar, reduced fat Celtic cheddar, or extra sharp Wisconsin cheddar)

Heat olive oil in skillet on medium heat.  Add kale, garlic salt, and onion salt to taste.  Sauté for 2-3 minutes until wilted.  Covering the skillet for a minute or two is also an option as it helps to steam the kale nicely.  Remove kale from heat and set aside.

Butter outside of each bread slice.  Top one slice with asiago and cheddar cheeses and set to grill on the skillet at medium-low heat.  Once cheeses begin to melt, top with chopped kale, and close the sandwich with the second buttered slice of bread.  Grill each side until cheese is melted and the bread is toasted golden-brown.

 

Quinoa Risotto with Kale and Asiago

This is my take on this recipe, a modified version of the original Mayo Clinic recipe. 

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 organic sweet yellow onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 cup quinoa, well-rinsed (from Costco)

1/2 cup organic tricolor quinoa, well-rinsed
2 1/4 cups organic vegetable broth
2 cups kale, chopped and stemmed
1 small carrot, peeled and finely grated
1/2 cup thinly sliced fresh shiitake mushrooms
1/4 to 1/2 cup grated asiago cheese, to taste 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

dash of sea salt

In a large saucepan, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and quinoa and cook for about 1 minute, stirring occasionally. Don’t let the garlic brown.

Add the vegetable broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer until quinoa is almost al dente but slightly hard in the center, about 12 minutes. The mixture will be broth-like. Stir in the kale, carrot and mushrooms and simmer until the quinoa grains have turned from white to translucent, about 2 minutes longer.

Stir in the cheese and season with the salt and pepper.  Serve immediately.

 

Cracker with a Conscience

Rewind to Friday the 24th.  

I've just finished my usual 4 to midnight shift at TJ's.  My friend Greg and I take the train together, as we often do, down to Columbus Circle.  We transfer to the uptown A, a ride which, at midnight on a Friday, can mean just about anything.  I'm usually prepared for good conversation at the least--and some guy puking in the corner, if it's one of those nights.  You never know.

The A is crowded with our New York neighbors, some of them tired after a long night of work, others just gearing up for a night on the town.  Greg and I stand in the center of our car and hold the pole.  I, at least, covet the happy feet of my fellow travelers with seats.  Seven hours of standing, walking, and hauling really do a number on this body, even at twenty-four.

Greg and I chat about music and movies and the upcoming Oscars, our usual post-work banter exalting the superior geekdom of independent films and music, namely New York's bevy of stellar singer-songwriters who scratch out a start playing in subways.

Sitting below me is a scraggly middle-aged man talking gibberish and invading the personal space of the people around him.  He's more than drunk.  This guy has to be strung-out on crack.  For a moment, he's creating a minor scene.  I get ready to step behind Greg if he gets too close because I have my suspicions about this less-than-coherent guy groping me, either by accident or on purpose.  Here we go.  But the man retreats into his own world again, simply mumbling from his seat.  All is well--or well enough, at least--on the A train.

And then I hear it: "Don't be gay!" 

What?  I try to register what I just heard.  That wasn't an off-handed exclamation; that was a verbal attack.  To my left, two clean-cut men are sitting together and talking.  They blink.  Sitting down the car and facing them is the man who just announced his bigotry for everyone with ears to hear.  

With Greg standing in front of me, the man is out of my line of sight.  White-knuckling the pole, I swing out past Greg's shoulder and eye the man.  "Excuse me? I think you need to watch what you say."  I spit each word at him, slow and clear, not to be mistaken.  

He laughs.  Buttoned-up and seemingly sober, he is not at all what I expected: a loud-mouthed punk kid who's had a few too many.  This man is lucid, self-satisfied, and cocky as hell.  He's got a girl on his arm and a posse of equally deluded friends guffawing right along with him.  Disgusted, I swing back to my spot in the center of the car, hoping it was enough to shut him up.  It's not.  

"Homos!"  He's not stopping.  I can't think about what's going to come out of his mouth next.  I check in with the couple to my left.  They smile at me.  I'd smile back, but I'm too furious to put on a bright face, even for them.  

The bully keeps throwing his punches, taunting the couple and congratulating himself on his remarkable wit and wisdom.  He's so smug I could puke.  Again, I swing out past Greg and stare the man down.  "Hey! You need to keep your opinions and your comments to yourself.  Some of my best friends are gay, so you can just shove it."  The last time I used that phrase, I was six, and I thought it meant "shut up"--or something equally benign.  Not so after a strong reprimand from Mom.  But I know even Mom would cheer me on tonight.  

But what about everyone else?  I'm in too much of a blind rage to take in much else on the train.  Are people reacting?  Doesn't anybody else have a shred of sympathy?  Or a conscience?  Not one other person speaks up.  

I shake out the fist I've been making and quip sarcastically, "Remind me, Greg, what century are we in? Is this  really 2012?" 

"It's like being back in the schoolyard," one of the couple adds.    

"No," Greg interjects, "I think we've devolved to the paleolithic era."

No one can argue that point.  We stand in silence.  The bully sees his window of opportunity and segues from the gay couple to me.  "Polly wanna cracker?"  He cackles and squawks, imitating a parrot.  It takes a minute for me to register what he means.  "Hey, little cracker.  Polly wanna cracker?  Huh?  Polly wanna cracker?"  

Cracker.  Because I'm white.  

I look to Greg, who's steady and understanding.  "Don't let them get to you."  But I can't really help it.  I stare at my shoes, biting my lip and still white-knuckling the pole.  

One of the men I spoke up for reassures me, "You can't let him win.  Just let it go.  You know you're the bigger person, anyway."  

It's not enough to stamp out the fire in my belly.  It literally burns, and I'm so furious I'm shaking all over.  Hot, angry tears leak out the corners of my eyes as I try to keep it together.  

"Harlem-bound A train!" shouts the bully.  "Last stop 116th street!"  He keeps it up for a few more blocks, getting louder and more indignant by the minute.  "Cracker's on the wrong train!  Harlem-bound A train.  Last stop 125th street!  Get off the train, cracker!"  

"That's right!" I say, mostly to myself.  "This cracker's going home to Harlem.  And I'm not getting off until 135th!  Snow bunny in Harlem, God forbid!"  I'm at my wit's end. 

But the guy hasn't run out of ammo yet.  "You're on the wrong train, little cracker!  Get off at the next stop and take the train downtown.  And don't forget to take those two with you," he continues, indicating the gay couple.  "Make sure they get off at West 4th."  Greenwich Village.  Of course.

I can't believe it. The guy just won't shut up.

He keeps up his act, throwing the three of us around, and making a few stray comments about others on the train, including the crack junkie.

Greg checks in with me, offering to walk me off the train back to my apartment.  "No, thanks.  I should be fine.  As longs as those fools don't follow me off the train."  

Once we hit 135th, I steal a glance behind Greg to make sure they're all still sitting.  "Now's your break," he tells me, and I dart off the train without looking back. 


::::::::::::

My friends have been so supportive in their responses to what went on that night.  But much as I appreciate their support, I want to make something very clear: what I did and said was not particularly brave or courageous.  If it is inspiring to you, great.  If you're proud of me, fine.  But I was just being a decent human being.  Call it a conscience.  Call it a backbone.  Call it whatever you like, but as a Christian, I try to live by Micah 6:8: "And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."  Justice was not being done, so I spoke up.  Anything less, and I'd have called myself a hypocrite.


The thing that breaks my heart is that if I hadn't done something to defend that couple, I don't think anyone else on that train would have.  And let's be real.  This is definitely not the first time they've been harassed, and it probably won't be the last.  


It should not "take guts" to do what I did.  But if it does, I hope the next girl on the next train has guts enough to open her mouth, too.