I was born in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1944. My family lived next door to my grandparents, with my grandfather being the last of the slaves in the South. My mother was a Reverend. In our house, there were more Bibles than food, and we felt religion everywhere.

Sometimes, my mother would buy a bible over buying something for us to eat. When this happened, as an independent child and the firstborn, I would put myself in charge of finding food for my younger brothers. I was never not looking out for my little brothers.

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Although religion was always in our house, I was never a religious person. Like being gay, it’s a quality I was born with. I didn’t appreciate people pushing their beliefs onto me. Looking back, my religious upbringing never impacted my coming out journey.

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Me versus Mary Tyler Moore

Growing up, I always admired women who fought back. I enjoyed watching movies like Annie Oakley. These women didn’t let a man push them around. In other shows, the women were always catering to the men. I didn’t like that.

Eventually, I came across the Dick Van Dyke Show and was captivated by Mary Tyler Moore. She was a modern woman and sophisticated. She had a job in New York City and an “apartment” – a word I had never heard. She knew what she wanted and was determined to get it.

At this time in my life, I could not be more different from Mary Tyler Moore. I lived on a hog farm and was always outside doing hard labor as the oldest grandchild. But I dreamed of getting out of Florida to find my true identity. I dreamed of a different life, and I was determined to get it.

Kissing her back

My best friend lived down the street. Her sister was gay, and I was impressed with the way she carried herself, the way she dressed, and the way she walked down the street. She knew that people were peeking and staring at her. She didn’t care. She’d give a performance just by walking. I thought it was so classy and just so elegant. I would look at her and think, “I like that.”

One day, we sat on my stoop in Jacksonville and started talking. The next thing I knew, she kissed me. I immediately asked her to leave. My mother told me I would be demonized if I was ever associated with “those people.”

I went inside my house and watched myself in the mirror. I had learned if you did things like kissing another woman, you become monstrous by God. But I didn’t see any distortions of myself. After waiting an hour, I felt that was sufficient. I knew I wasn’t going to turn into a demon. So, I decided to go to her house and kiss her back. I felt victorious.

Something happened at that moment. I didn’t know what being gay meant yet, but I knew kissing her didn’t feel abnormal. I also knew it was something my community in Florida would never own or understand.

I had to be gay

When I was 19 and freshly out of high school, I knew it was time to leave Florida.

I started saving money when I was young, knowing one day I’d leave my birthplace because nothing there fed me. I wanted more. I wanted to discover the true Barbara Abrams. I stashed every dollar in a Maxwell House coffee can and eventually had about $600 saved.

One day, I asked my mom to take me to the train station. Surprised, she said yes. I grabbed my yellow canary steamer trunk and was off to live like Mary Tyler Moore in New York City.

I moved to New York City in July 1963. Surprisingly, coming from my religious Florida town to New York City was not a culture shock. I loved it. The city provided the thrill I wanted. I was looking to discover who I was as an individual. I told myself, “You are going to have a journey and an identity here.”

Coming to New York City reaffirmed my identity as gay. When in the city, I met two different guys. With this one guy, it came time to be intimate, and I thought to myself, “There’s no way I could be with him. I just can’t do it.” So, I just accepted the fact that I was gay. I had to be gay.

That was my acceptance of myself. I announced in my own head that I was gay.

Sharing my success

Eventually, I had my mother come to New York to see where I lived and show her I was making it. I wanted her to know that I was fine and that there was no reason for her to worry about me taking care of myself.

When she was visiting, she said, “I want you to have a grandbaby for me. I want a grandbaby.” I told her she would have to talk to my brother because I like women. She said, “Lord, have mercy, Jesus. Barbara Jean.”

She didn’t know how to accept me being gay at that moment, but she eventually got over the shock. I would bring my girlfriends home to Florida and she accepted that because I helped make her life comfortable. I had a solid income that allowed me to send her money and help her live.

I had a good life in New York City, and I wanted to share my success with her. That was our relationship and how we functioned.

Living on my terms

Being an LGBTQ+ individual of color can present challenges. I did not let those challenges define me. I came to New York City from Jacksonville, Florida, with just a high school diploma and determination.

I got my first job on Wall Street as a clerk. I absorbed information and had intuition — qualities I was born with, like being born gay. My work on Wall Street led to a job at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, where I held a responsible position for many years. I was able to live my life, take care of myself, and financially sustain myself.

You have to be resilient. Yes, we face challenges, but I was able to overcome them. I found a great job. I ended up being the first person in my family to go to college. I was living life on my terms. I did that successfully, and I’m very satisfied with myself.

Every day feels like happiness

I spent 30 years at the Federal Reserve, retiring in 2000. Many people think aging closes doors. I’m here to tell you it doesn’t. I discovered a place that opened doors to new beginnings for me.

After I retired, I was introduced to SAGE, a national advocacy and services organization that’s been looking out for LGBTQ+ elders since 1978, with SAGE Centers in New York. 

I’ve been a member of SAGE for over twenty years. As an elder, my chosen family is at the SAGE Center in Brooklyn at Stonewall House. I feel privileged by all the things that SAGE has offered and still offers every day to LGBTQ+ elders like me.

I walk a mile to the SAGE Center in Brooklyn each morning with my walker and wait for the SAGE staff to open the doors. When I get there, I go in and feel like I’m with family. I feel safe, loved, and cared about. I have opportunities to do many new things, like modeling and painting. We need more places like this for LGBTQ+ elders like me. Because of SAGE, every day feels like the happiness I felt when I first arrived in New York City. 

At SAGE, I can continue living my life as Barbara Abrams.

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