I vividly remember about two or three years ago standing in the kitchen of my grandparent's house after dinner, dirty plate in hand, when my grandfather outright said "Gay people just aren't right. They're sick in the head and they need to get checked out." I glanced over at my father who looked back at me and softly said "Just don't say anything, he doesn't understand." I felt physically stuck to the ground, my feet just would not move. How was I to just continue on as if nothing was said? How could I walk past my grandfather, wash off my dinner plate and proceed back to my room as if nothing was said? I had a duty to protect this community, a community that so many of my friends, colleagues, coworkers, and even myself were a part of. And yet I was expected to say nothing. And that's unfortunately exactly what I did. I continued as if nothing was said and proceeded back to my room where I proceeded to just sit and think. What was the point of all this? What was gained by not saying anything? What was lost? At that moment, I understood my mission in life: to bring the LGBTQ+ community to the front of the media. To highlight their experiences in the same context as their non-LGBT counterparts. This was one of the many reasons I chose to major in film. Film's use throughout history is far deeper than many consider. While it's easy to claim it's just an art form like any other, a form of simple entertainment, it has been used for far more useful purposes. In Soviet Russia, film was used as a powerful form of propaganda. It was also used in this way in nazi Germany, specifically highlighting Triumph of Will, a propaganda film that was so effective it later won an award. This alone speaks to the power of film over individuals' mindsets. I want to create an environment in my films that is LGBTQ+ positive and represents LGBT individuals alongside and equal to their non-LGBT counterparts. I want to highlight stories that humanize LGBT individuals. I hold the power to help change how people view LGBTQ+ individuals and I intend to do so as much as I can so that future teens will not have to listen to their grandfathers say things such as what my grandfather said to me.

When I was around ten years old, my Dad sat me down and introduced me to a movie called Monty Python and the Holy Grail. He didn't explain much plot to me but rather just told me it was a comedy that he enjoyed and for that reason alone I was interested. This movie was unlike anything my 10-year-old brain had seen before. It was a movie with comedy aspects that were wholly unsensitized. It played on repetitive bits, the breaking of the fourth wall, satirical writing and at it's core was inexplicably random. While I didn't understand the full comedic nature of the movie at the time, as I got older and rewatched it I grew fonder and fonder of the film. But it wasn't just the comedic aspects that made this film so enjoyable and special for me. It was the memory it held. A memory untouched by the harsh realities of my later life. About two years later, around my twelfth birthday, my parents came into my room and told me they were getting a divorce. I started crying, not because they were splitting, but rather because this would be the beginning of a long period of mourning over the absence of my Dad being completely in my life. It was not hard as a child to tell I was partial to my father. I played with his old transformer toys and played Duck Hunt on his old Nintendo console. We both took up fascinations in Civil War era history, resulting in my eighth birthday present being a trip to the Gettysburg battlefield. I became well aware of a phrase often uttered by family members regarding me: I had the looks of my mother but the heart of my father. And that never changed. As the years went by I only grew to be more and more like him. We exchanged interests more like friends than a father and his child. I had a sense of comfort in knowing that every day when I came home from school, no matter how bad my day was, my dad would be there. The divorce changed that forever. I would now only see my father every other weekend. We'd have roughly 48 hours together before I'd return to my mom's house and have to wait another two weeks to see him. It felt like living in my worst nightmare. Living without my dad there was the most difficult experience of my life. I didn't have someone to talk to about the cool things I learned in history class. I didn't have someone to watch Star Wars with anymore. Everything I wanted to do with him had to be packed into just 48 hours. And the worst time of every year without him was Halloween, our favorite time of year. A holiday we used to spend together carving pumpkins and decorating the house, I now did alone. I hated it, but I always had one thing to come back to. On the days when I missed him the most, when I felt like life was impossible without him in the same house as me, I still had that 1975 British comedy at my disposal. No matter how difficult life was then or becomes now, I always have Monty Python and the Holy Grail to go back to and remember a time before life was so complicated. A time when it was just me and my dad and an old satirical comedy movie on the living room TV.

When I finally came to terms with being a lesbian, it took me almost a year to become comfortable enough in that identity to even refer to myself as such. It wasn't that it was hard to admit I liked girls, that was something I'd known for years. Rather, it was admitting that the fantasy that had been implanted in my brain since childhood, that I would marry a Prince Charming and live "happily ever after", would never be fulfilled. I spent years of my life imagining the perfect boyfriend and picking boys to chase around the playground since I "liked" them. I would be giving it all away. Every dream I ever had as a child would shatter underneath me if I admitted I didn't like men. That is what made it so difficult. But this inner turmoil could have been avoided if I had access to LGBT role models growing up. If I had seen a Princess saved by a woman in shining armor or a movie where two boys fell in love, I could have grown up more confident that there was not only one way to love. Rather than living in what if's though, I want to improve representation in media for the children and teens of the upcoming generations. This is how I plan to utilize my film degree: writing, directing, and filming characters of diverse backgrounds that are portrayed accurately, as equals, among white, straight, cisgender characters. The media we consume affects so many aspects of our life, including how we treat those different from us. Exposing people to more diverse characters whether it be a different race, sexuality, gender identity, ability, etc. shows everyone, but especially those like teens and children with growing minds, that not only are they normal but those they come across different from them are normal too. There have already been great improvements in diversity in cinema since I was a child. We now have Disney Princesses such as Moana and Raya who accurately represent their respective cultures. Movies such as 'Encanto' provide a beautiful window into the culture and wildlife of Columbia. Films like 'The Half of It' portray not just issues related to the Asian-American experience but how it relates to the main character's identity as a lesbian. But there is still far to go. Providing more accurate interpretations of African-American culture, South East Asian culture, Middle Eastern culture, and Eastern European culture are all places to start. The issue of accurate representation in cinema is not just important to me because it has directly affected me, however. It is important because I understand the complexities of being a minority in the area I grew up. While I had the privilege of being white, being LGBT in West Virginia, even in the not-so-rural more small-town-esque parts, can be difficult. While I love waking up to beautiful sunrises and mountains in the distance every morning, I struggle to express myself. Even with safe spaces like my school's GSA (Gender Sexuality Alliance), I fear being so openly queer. While I enjoy being open and having the courage to do so, I know I am stared at when I bring my lesbian pride flag to school for Pride. I know deep down though that the teens I get stares from are the ones who need to see diverse media the most. They need to be exposed to those different from them and be shown to embrace those differences. So eventually, I can help turn those stares into looks of curiosity and eventually glances of acceptance.