So if you follow me (and aren't just stopping by because you saw one of my funney viralposts), you probably know that I've been writing a bunch of fanfiction for Stranger Things, which is set in rural Indiana in the early- to mid-eighties. I've been working on an AU where (among other things) Robin, a character confirmed queer in canon, gets integrated into a friend group made up of a number of main characters. And I got a comment that has been following me around in the back of my mind for a while. Amidst fairly usual talk about the show and the AU and what happens next, the commenter asked, apparently in genuine confusion, "why wouldn't Robin just come out to the rest of the group yet? They would be okay with it."

I did kind of assume, for a second or two, that this was a classic case of somebody confusing what the character knows with what the author/audience knows. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like it embodies a real generational shift in thinking that I hadn't even managed to fully comprehend until this comment threw it into sharp perspective.

Because, my knee-jerk reaction was to reply to the comment, "She hasn't come out to these people she's only sort-of known for less than a year because it's rural Indiana. In the nineteen-eighties." and let that speak for itself. Because for me and my peers, that would speak for itself. That would be an easy and obvious leap of logic. Because I grew up in a world where you assumed, until proven otherwise, that the general society and everyone around you was homophobic. That it was unsafe to be known to be queer, and to deliberately out yourself required intention and forethought and courage, because you would get negative reactions and you had to be prepared for the fallout. Not from everybody! There were always exceptions! But they were exceptions. And this wasn't something you consciously decided, it wasn't an individual choice, it wasn't an individual response to trauma, it wasn't individual. It was everybody. It was baked in, and you didn't question it because it was so inherently, demonstrably obvious. It was Just The Way The World Is. Everybody can safely be assumed to be homophobic until proven otherwise.

And what this comment really clarified for me, but I've seen in a million tiny clashing assumptions and disconnects and confusions I've run into with The Kids These Days, is that a lot of them have grown up into a world that is...the opposite. There are a lot of queer kids out there who are assuming, by default, that everybody is not homophobic, until proven otherwise. And by and large, the world is not punishing them harshly for making that assumption, the way it once would have.

The whole entire world I knew changed, somehow, very slowly and then all at once. And yes, it does make me feel like a complete space alien just arrived to Earth some days. But also, it makes me feel very hopeful. This is what we wanted for ourselves when we were young and raw and angrily shoving ourselves in everyone's faces to dare them to prove themselves the exception, and this is what I want for The Kids These Days.

(But also please, please, Kids These Days, do try to remember that it has only been this way since extremely recently, and no it is not crazy or pathetic or irrational or whatever to still want to protect yourself and be choosy about who you share important parts of yourself with.)

There is an additional layer to this thought, that only occurred to me this morning: it wasn't just queer people making this assumption that everybody was homophobic until proven otherwise. It was everybody. Which meant that homophobes were really, really comfortable with loudly and publicly sharing their views, because they assumed they were always in company that shared those views. And they tended to, as a rule, face far, far fewer social consequences for that than people did for existing and being known to be queer. I've seen commentary on a gifset of Anita Bryant (famous homophobic crusader) getting pied in the face on live national television that basically said the same thing: the moment the pie hit her proved to an audience of millions that, not only was that not always the case, but that the queer person you professed to hate might be in the room with you.

The general shift from social sanctioning of explicit, say-the-quiet-part-out-loud homophobia to it being widely regarded as kind of cringe and shameful has been due to a long, violent, constant, concerted effort on the part of queer people and those who love us. And I can never, ever take it for granted. I hope you won't either.

Another Gen Xer chiming in. A while back I saw a Tumblr post asking something like, "How many LGBT kids were in your high school?" and it made me feel old because the very concept of being out in high school came long after my time. I grew up in rural New York, and I found out in our mid-twenties that one of my best friends was gay and had never told me. And I completely understood - I knew that he knew I wouldn't have a problem with it, but what if I had inadvertently let something slip, or even given an unconscious hint or clue, to somebody else who did? His own father had threatened him with violence if he ever mentioned it in his presence, and his own mother didn't speak to him for a year when she found out. It was a different world. This is why queer kids ran to the cities, and still do in many cases.