28 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE SEPTEMBER 1, 1995

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ABOVE THE FRUITED PLAIN

Save yourself for marriage

by Aubrey Wertheim

I am living proof that the ex-homosexual movement is a boon to society, offering personal salvation to those who truly want "out."

My story is not unique.

A generic American suburban girlhoodpublic school, Girl Scouts, senior prom—all along, oblivious to anything abnormal besides a fanatical devotion to the Dinah Shore Open.

My downfall occurred pursuing higher education. Following a more-spirited-thanusual game of Twister with my sorority sisters (in which hard liquor was involved), the entire house awoke the next morning diehard "lesbians."

I have since learned liberal arts colleges are breeding grounds for transformations of this nature.

Once I left college, my decline escalated. A mid-sized city with a known "gay and lesbian community" drew me into its web: a friendly neighborhood, house parties, dances, "same-sex relationships." The whole

sordid existence.

One fateful summer day, bottom hit me. I came home from the latest losing ballgame of an all-losing season to find my "lifemate" of seven-and-half indescribable weeks gone with our car, our cat, our major appliances and my prized framed-andsigned Etta James cocktail napkin.

God's finger was on the cursor key of my destiny that day. In my grief, I drop-kicked the telephone table. The phone book fell open: Ex-Gay Ministries.

A hairball of nerves, I dialed. The woman who answered grilled me brutally:

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When did I "come out?"

Was I currently "involved?" Did I ever utilize a "strap-on?" Who won the women's singles title at Wimbledon in 1983?

With sufficient evidence of my sincerity, she gave me meeting times and locations. Two nights later, I approached a church recreation hall with strange anticipation. Voices inside indicated a sizable crowd. I opened the door...

I couldn't have been more pleasantly surprised. Everyone looked as miserable as me! One noticeable woeful in crushed velvet introduced herself as "Lisa" as we took our seats for that momentous first meeting...

After one year of recovery (86 meetings, 32 pamphlets, 16 videos), I was reasonably comfortable enough to identify myself as a former, temporary “victim of that lifestyle."

After my second year (94 meetings, 36 retreats and one statewide conference), I was comfortable enough with my reclaimed heterosexuality to come early for meetings (where Lisa and my sisters invariably had a pickup game going in the parking lot) or hang our after (when the boys would quite graphically share their former excesses or offer us maneuver tips with an insight rarely found in straight men).

By my third year, I was convinced that marrying Lisa's identical twin brother (I always blank on his name) was God's wise and loving plan for me. In the years that followed, I bore him four girls: Lisa Anne, Lisa Marie and twins-Lisalisa I and II.

Some unfortunate business advice on my part sadly resulted in my sister-in-law's business collapsing, her utter financial ruin and eventual homelessness. Program.solidarity and family unity moved me to take her into our home and bestow a small vice-presidency in my home-based company to restore her self-worth.

Shortly thereafter, a freak domestic accident-an old softball left vulnerably on a basement stair-put my husband tragically in a permanent body cast. All his unwieldy medical equipment necessitated his exile to the guest bedroom, which for lack of further available space bumped his sister into mine.

Given the demands of raising young daughters and caring for Himself, I can't leave the house now to attend meetings. Lisa suggested starting our own chapter. At this point, it's only the two of us, but the numbers will grow once we can afford a little publicity. Once the kids are through college.

And so, you who are enmeshed in lives characterized by self-delusion, spiritual disorientation and anti-family sentiments should not be so quick to dismiss these homosexual recovery programs.

Take it from me, Lisa, the girls, and what's-his-name.

Heterosexuality is heaven.

Aubrey Wertheim is a syndicated columnist based in Oberlin.

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