Homophobic slurs at the rink take a toll
Insults are based on ridiculous assumptions, but their toxic effects are all too serious, Tyler Baum says.
With the Montreal Pride Festival by now an almost mainstream celebration, it might seem as if members of the LGBTQ+ community have gained full acceptance. I can tell you that was not my experience as a kid playing hockey, not so long ago.
From my pre-teen years, I became accustomed to hearing a lot of bad language in the dressing room. When it came to homophobic slurs, though, I felt uncomfortable. By 14, I was questioning my sexuality. Whenever words like “fag” and “you’re so f---ing gay” were used, I just clenched my fist until the conversation shifted.
When I was 15, I was working as a volunteer hockey coach. My supervisor skated over, and yelled to two 12-year-old boys: “You guys are passing the puck like a bunch of fags, like a bunch of homos!”
It was one thing to hear homophobic slurs from immature teammates. But hearing those words from an adult who had coached me and had taught me a great deal about coaching was painful and much harder to rationalize.
When the practice was over, I told myself that I had two options. I could either let go of what he said — it wasn’t like I had never heard such insults before — or, I could confront him. I felt compelled to say something. I knew that what he said wasn’t right, especially since he was setting a terrible example for kids who looked up to him.
In the hall, I confronted him privately.
His response was abrupt: “I appreciate the feedback Tyler, but the reality is,
I’m probably never gonna change. And it’s not like I would ever say that to really young kids.”
Apparently, it was perfectly acceptable to insult gay people in front of 12 year olds, because they aren’t “really young.”
That afternoon, I went home and cried into my mom’s shirt. It was a crushing feeling to know that if my boss knew I liked guys, I would be nothing more than a “fag” to him.
Words like “faggot” are toxic. They make you lose your ability to think rationally. It doesn’t even make logical sense: how can being gay make someone bad at passing a puck? It doesn’t matter. It becomes easy to believe this is true when you’ve heard homophobic slurs associated with being a bad athlete so often.
I’m still not sure what made me more upset that day: my supervisor’s refusal to change his ways or the feeling of losing someone whom I viewed as a mentor. I didn’t want to be associated with someone who was teaching kids that being gay is something to be ashamed of. After that, I felt compelled to hide any mannerisms that could be perceived as “gay.” I pretended to laugh along with all the other coaches whenever homophobic jokes came up. I didn’t want to give up coaching hockey — I loved it — but the hockey arena became a stressful environment.
Today, I still coach hockey. Though I no longer work with my former supervisor, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes feel uncomfortable when I walk down the halls of a hockey arena — I still wonder if some of the guys see me any differently because I may not fit the “masculine” stereotype of a hockey player.
One important thing
I’ve learned from a friend, though, is that I owe it to myself to live life confidently, without letting anyone make me feel inferior.
I take pride in the positive example I try to set when I coach. My goal is to help create an environment that highlights the idea that hockey is for everyone.
Some of the kids I coach now will eventually go on to become coaches themselves. And when they do, I hope this idea sticks with them.
My goal is to help create an environment that highlights the idea that hockey is for everyone.