A Retiring 25-Year Old

He’s 25 and retiring.

Nah, that doesn’t sound right. How about “he’s 25 and he’s being driven out of his job?”

Still not right. Shouldn’t it be “he’s 25 and he’s driving himself out of his job?”

If you’re a normal person—which is to say not obsessed with soccer—you know that I’m talking about a Californian named Robbie Rogers who came out of the closet in February and is “stepping away” from the game.

I know about this because I succumbed to temptation and signed up for the online edition of the New York Times, and there Rogers was, saying “I’m a Catholic, I’m a conservative, I’m a footballer and I’m gay.”

Apparently, only three quarters of this equation works. And he’s just told The Guardian that it’s impossible to be an openly gay soccer player.

I have no interest one way or the other if he plays again or not. But after seeing the video of Rogers that’s on the online edition of a newspaper—has the world changed?—I’m seriously worried about Rogers.

He’s gotten a lot of support, he says. He’s happier than he’s ever been; the relief of not having to hide, to lie, to worry about getting discovered has been enormous. It wasn’t easy—he had to email his sister the news, then Skype her, tell her to read the email, and then Skype her immediately back.

I remember that one. I had to write a letter and walk around Boston for a week of agonized waiting. What would they say? Should I go into therapy? What would I say to my parents if they asked, “why? Why do you need therapy? What‘s troubling you, Son?”

And Rogers feels free for the first time in 25 years. In fact, from his perspective he’s been a liar for 25 years, something he seems to find an astonishingly long time.

Not from my point of view. Yeah, I started the process when I was 18 or so, but there were and are a lot of people who never come out at all. Sure, there may be some kids who have the insight to realize that they’re gay, but I’m also very sure that they have very different parents than Rogers. Telegraph to Rogers—you’re only about five years behind, and you’ve now completely caught up.

And the process of coming out is, I’m happy to say, the work of a lifetime.

Note that word “happy.”

Rogers is in the most acute phase, where everything seems to revolve around being gay. Later on, nothing seems to revolve around gay, since everybody has gotten over it and is busy doing other things. I proved that last year on “National Coming Out Day,” when I called Johnny to let him in on the news. Why Johnny? Short of coming out to a passerby, there was nobody left. So I had to start over.

But being gay has been a tremendous advantage. Having to fight worry and fear and then come out taught me a lot about self-love, self-worth. Passing for all those years taught me how to observe people, read the emotional landscape. I understand women in a way that many straight men do not. I am an outsider and an insider and that works for me.

And yes, I still have to come out. In those years when I was in airplanes every three months, I flew to Chicago; on exiting the plane I got cruised by the captain. ‘What!” I thought, “oh my God, the captain of this plane was gay!” I’m ashamed to say it, but for a moment I felt that I had rashly risked my life, those previous three hours.

Well, I sighed, made the mental correction, and was completely unprepared for the next flight, a weekend later, led by Captain Sue Miller.

But those corrections—and that continuing process of coming out—are vital; I don’t want to acquire my convictions at age 20 and die with them all unchanged 60 years later.

So Rogers is on the way. Here’s my worry—nothing about him on the video this morning looked happy. He looked like a guy who has given up something he loved for something he loved more. But he’s still feeling the loss, he still mourns what he won’t have—a World Cup, perhaps, or another Olympics.

He would be, he says, always the “gay footballer,” he would never again be like the other guys. It would always be there, spoken or not.

I don’t know, of course. Nor do I think that he should keep playing just to make a point, just to be a role model. I only think that Rogers has moved from the anguish of the closet into the joy of the open world, and is stunned by the light, the air, the space and the love.

And I think one of those spaces—for Rogers—is the locker room and the soccer field.