7 milestones in a boy’s life (one light in the loafers)

I saw this list on line the other day and it caught my interest enough to try it. So I did. Here are the results. Try it out yourself why dotcha, if you are ‘that way”

1] First time you knew you were different.

I drew a lot of pictures in my youth. One day – I think I was six – I started to draw in a sort of free association style various scenes of boys my age playing. As they became more boisterous and more anatomically correct I had an odd sensation something was coming out of me revealing a part of me I didn’t know was in there. It was unsettling; I felt then I had gone off course with the rest of the world into something for which I had no name. My six year old brain couldn’t put it into words but I sensed this was not only true but unalterable.

2] The moment you knew you had to monitor yourself, someone picked up a mannerism that shamed you. It was at church. The youth group was going through a box of costumes looking for props to put on a pageant, probably the nativity scene. I found a white miter, the type St. Nicholas wears in traditional prayer cards. Jolly good fun! I put it on as well as the robe to match. I came out of the closet* with a ta-da and started making up some spiel imitating Pope Innocent III or someone like him. An older girl said in a smirk “are you gay?”. My emotional reaction was shame and I stammered some weak defense of my character. I turned tail and took it off; making a note not to do that again.

3] First crush – you spoke about, someone unavailable; someone you felt everything but said nothing. In high school there was a fellow named Eric. He was my dream-man. I always tried to sit near him and engaged him and trying to get him to talk with me. I think at some level he knew I had a crush on him and he enjoyed the attention. At the end of our senior year when we were signing each other’s year book, Eric finished his entry with ‘luv – and I mean that sincerely – Eric’. Oh my goodness! I was beyond fireworks. We went to different colleges and I thought of him for awhile but then he became only a memory. A few years ago via. High School Facebook, I found and friended him. He looks to be quite happy, in a long time relationship with some fellow. I tried to rekindle some closeness, but he hasn’t shown any interest. Oh well. I don’t feel bad about this. No harm asking. On the positive, I aged better.

4] The realization that this wasn’t a phase. I knew at six years old when the penny dropped and universe went off on a different angle this was permanent and nothing was going to change it. On that scale I later hear of I was definitely in the camp with the pink tents.

5] The private search for help because you couldn’t say it out loud. I forget at what age I started going through books at the library trying to find information about what I was and what made me this way. Naturally I did this on the sly, not asking the librarian where was the section on queers. In hindsight I was looking in the wrong places. I should have been reading Gore Vidal or James Baldwin or one of that crowd.

6] The first person you told, the strange mixture of relief and fear. That would be my cousin. I remember writing Ann a letter. As I approached the mailbox to open it I paused knowing this was the point of no return. I was crossing the Rainbow Rubicon. Picking Ann was a pretty safe bet; she was being older than I and living in San Francisco in the 80s. I bet she knew a few like me.

7] The moment you realized coming out wasn’t a one time thing, it would be a daily thing for the rest of your life. Every time I came out to someone no one was aghast, not one said ‘Really! I had no idea”. Most said something along the line they knew already and were wondering when I would come clean. Was I that obvious? Did I still have on the white miter hat? Knowing this was always the response, this got easier in time. Nowadays I assume it is obvious I don’t bother telling anyone anymore. The hands and feet give it away I suppose.

*I’m not joking or exaggerating.