We are fortunate, perhaps, to live in a country that has adopted (and adapted) the English tongue (more or less) as its official speech.  The English language has given us some of the most beautiful thoughts and ideas ever expressed, but it has also given us some of the ugliest, meanest words ever spoken.  Words spoken in anger, hatred, fear, scorn, like this one:

Faggot.

The word “faggot”, in twenty-first century America (God help us), is usually taken to mean a homosexual man.  It does not, typically, refer to a lesbian, however.  In some (subcultural) circles, it can describe a rather flamboyantly gay man.  In my own circle of friends, it is, however, a term of warm, mischievous yet fraternal affection.

But can you, Gentle Reader, honestly tell me the real meaning of this word?

We are raised to use the correct, and proper, names of things, places, people.  It is part of our upbringing.  Napkin, not serviette.  Driver, not chauffeur.

Historically, the word faggot means a bundle of sticks, for firewood. 

In England, however, a faggot, or fag, is a cigarette.  At an English public, however, a faggot is, traditionally, a younger boy who serves an upperclassman, much like a valet or footman.  A rather charming English expression, “fagged”, indicates extreme fatigue.  So a strapping upper sixth former could conceivably say, to a rather impressionable first-former: “I’m all fagged out;  get me a fag, would you?  Thanks, fag!” 

Just close your eyes and think of England….

One can, therefore, see how the definition of faggot has evolved, based on its origins in the homo-centric atmosphere of a boys’ prep.  John Knowles, anyone?

Certainly, if we are to believe James Lees-Milne, some of these students engaged in intimate, homosexual behaviour, which may have led to faggot being used more derisively than its original meaning.  At least on this side of paradise.  And from there, the word faggot became, probably, commonly used as a name for a gay man.

I know:  I was there.  I was called a faggot.  A homo.  A sissy.  A queer.

It took a very, very long time to learn who I was.  The journey of discovery, and comprehension, was horribly difficult.  But, in that understanding, came the acceptance, and then, finally and wonderfully, the celebration of who I was, in all the rainbow colours of the universe and all the wonderful blessings that God had given me. 

I am not like other boys. 

And I celebrate my sexuality, and my self, with one perfect word:  faggot.

There are those who would say that this word constitutes hatred.  Of course it does, especially when the bigoted, the stupid and the ignorant use it on those who are different, or strange, or….not like other boys.

But this word is mine;  I will own it, and I will use it, and I will continue to do so. 

I long for the day when the use of this word is as equally derided as the use of any other derogatory expression.  That day is coming, we are getting closer.  We shall overcome.  And when that day comes, what word will we use to describe ourselves?  What word will we take possession of, to use solely as our own, that no other will use without being labeled a bigot, a criminal, a hatemonger?

I’m using it already:

Faggot.