The crowd at the Pittsburgh Playhouse in Oakland gives a standing ovation for the cast at the end of the musical "Streets of America." Among the faces on stage is Point Park sophomore, Matt Munson.
With one glance at Munson's proud smile, one would never guess the dance and musical theater student was thrown out of his home just two years ago.
"If I gave up performing, I would have nothing left," he said.
Munson's parents disowned him shortly before he graduated high school after learning he was homosexual.
His parents found a gay pornographic magazine in the back of his car, given to him by one of his friends as a joke a few months earlier. His father gave him a week to pack his things and leave the house. He hasn't spoken to Matt since.
Munson, a dance and musical theater student, says he wouldn't be in school today if it weren't for the kindness of friends.
"My friends are all I have," he said. "They've done so much for me."
But before coming out to his family, Munson led a conventional life. He grew up in a two-story house on a lake in Cape Coral - a popular vacation spot in Florida on the Gulf Coast. He and his four siblings enjoyed an upper middle-class lifestyle, with a pool in the backyard, brand-new cell phones on Christmas and vacations to their cabin in North Carolina.
Most importantly, Munson also had opportunities and support to fuel his passion for the stage. He sang in the church choir, helped out backstage with school performances and became close friends with other aspiring performers. His parents also enrolled him in prominent local dance schools.
"I wanted to be a performer," he said. "Nothing else."
Both of his parents recognized and encouraged his talents. His father flew with him to his audition at Point Park and shared his excitement when he got an acceptance letter to the school, along with a partial scholarship. His parents promised to help with the rest.
Munson's future was in the bag. He had talent, a 3.93 high school grade point average and was accepted to one of his first-choice schools.
Because his parents agreed to support him financially so he could concentrate on his studies, Munson never thought about money.
"We lived comfortably," he said. "I never worried about anything."
Munson grew up with a Southern Baptist background. His life revolved around McGregor Baptist church, a "mega-church" with an average attendance of 2,800. His parents taught Sunday school for its summer program and his family attended church every Sunday and Wednesday. In addition to singing for the church choir, Munson and his siblings were also members of Awana, his church's chapter of the international children's ministry organization.
"We were 'Bible bumpers,'" he said. "Born and raised."
Munson always knew he was different. In elementary school, he noticed he wasn't like the other boys. Although he liked cars and sports, he was more drawn to singing and dancing with his sisters and girl friends.
"I sounded like a fag, even when I was little," he laughed.
When he started getting older, Munson drew further away from his other male classmates. He got caught a few times looking at gay websites late at night. To win his parents' approval, Munson forced himself to fit in. He knew that if he didn't, he would lose their respect, especially his father's. He tried dating girls, but everyone knew.
"It was so obvious by the time we all got to high school," he said. "But my parents were in denial."
Before getting kicked out of his home, Munson was having the time of his life at prom. He and his date, his best friend Meredith, rented a limousine with some friends for the occasion. They went out to dinner, danced, and went to a party afterwards.
He came home at 2 a.m., showered, and retired to the computer in his bedroom before going to bed. Suddenly, his mother burst into the room and threw a magazine onto his computer desk.
"What's this?" she asked.
It was the gay pornographic magazine that Meredith had given him a few days before as a gag-gift.
He knew he had to tell her. He couldn't hide from his parents any longer.
"Mom, I'm gay," he told her. "You guys have always known. I'm gay. Why can't you just accept it?"
They couldn't accept it, no matter how much he begged. His father, infuriated, gave him a week to pack his stuff and move out.
"I can't support your lifestyle," his father told him, labeling him "an abomination" and "an alien."
"You're going to die of AIDS," he told his son.
They also took away his cell phone, sold his car and removed him from their health insurance. They told him that they would no longer pay for college. His ambition of becoming a performer came to an eerie standstill.
For the next month until he graduated high school, Munson moved around from different friends' houses before settling in the free housing provided by his dance company.
That summer, he worked as much as he could in order to save money. His company's casting director found work for him in shows that would move him up and down the East Coast in small shows such as Oklahoma!, Treasure Island and Cats.
His résumé was growing and he was comfortable with working for the small company, but he wanted something more.
"I wanted to make something of myself," he said. "But there was a lot of training that I didn't have."
As weeks went by, he realized money for college was going to be a lot more than he originally thought. Although Point Park agreed to defer his acceptance and scholarship for a year, he couldn't afford tuition without a student loan and someone to co-sign it.
"I kept telling myself that it couldn't get any worse," he said. "Something always happens."
On the last day of his performance in Annie, one of the cast members in the show offered to co-sign a $21,000 student loan for Munson after hearing his story.
"I didn't even ask her. She told me she wanted to do it," he said. "I cried."
Now in college, money is tight. In addition to a full-time course load, Munson also has a federal work-study job, an apprenticeship as a scenic painter at the Pittsburgh Playhouse and he helps to run a freelance cleaning business with his friends.
Although he hasn't spoken to his father, he still keeps in contact with his mother over the phone. He said she sometimes mentions missing him and regrets disowning him.
"She once told me that when she laughs with me, she's actually crying," he said. "In a way, I'm glad they did what they did. It's made me a much stronger person."
Along with the price of school comes hard work. His typical weekday schedule consists of 10-12 hours of classes, rehearsal, voice lessons, two part-time jobs and bus rides between Downtown and Oakland.
Despite his chaotic past and current fast-paced life, Munson stays positive.
"I wouldn't be in school if it weren't for my friends," he said. "They keep me strong."
