Chucky

I rarely feel old. I look young, I act young, but at times I bitch like an old person. But, I truly never feel old. Mostly, because there is always someone around who is older than me to remind me to shut the fuck up about my age.

There are a few things that happen in life that remind me that I am getting old-er , however. Like walking up five flights of stairs.
Needing more time to nurse the hangover.
The shows that are on my DVR List.
The Toad The Wet Sprocket tickets I purchased.
My friends are turning 30 and 40.
My friends are married/have babies/something in that ballpark.
The lines on my forehead.

But, there are only a few rare occurrences that remind me that I am proud of getting older. And, not just getting older, but wiser, more mature and behaving like an adult. It often takes a child to teach me these rare lessons.

When we were kids, most of us would have some friends in third grade and by fourth grade we had a new batch. My mom would say, "what happened to Scott and Steve?"
I would roll my eyes and reply with a sharp..."Oh, them! They are so not my friends anymore." When we are young we go through friends like denim. Wear them out, rip some holes in them, grow out of them and throw them to the goodwill. New year. New Friends. New pair of Pepe's!

I do not do that anymore. I refuse to do that. My friends are my friends and always will be. When things get rough, my friends and I look each other in the eye and tell each other to Fuck Off! Only to call each other the next day and explain ourselves, our behavior, etc. Even if it takes time to heal from a fight, a disagreement, a situation, we remain friends. I know adults who treat their friends like denim. These people have not grown up or out of that phase.

(A for instance)--If my friend Joel and I got into a fight, but had to see each other the next day at a group function. You'd better believe we would speak before that function so that the tension would be lessened and the awkwardness would not affect anyone else. We would also have enough respect for each other and everyone else to treat each other with common courtesy.
A childhood friend, in this instance, would see me, ignore me, roll their eyes, pout, whimper, whine, boldly act happy and unaffected, and pretend I didn't exist.

(A reality)--This happened to me. I felt like I was 12 or 13. He is an adult still in that phase. He disrespected my position, my friendship, my humanity. I was invisible. I don't have time for friends like this anymore. Heavy sighs, rolling eyes, and grudges are child's play. And there have already been too many sequels made of that stinkin' movie!

A Cheer!

We were discussing her breasts. They are incredibly large breasts. It was me, her, Doug and Jay.

I am certain they come up in conversations on a daily basis. She brought them up. We didn't. She was talking about the back problems they create. The cat calls they demand. She was trying to be nonchalant about the whole matter. She seems to carry them with a reluctant pride. Like she should love them because they are what men want. Like she should embrace her curves and be a "real" woman. But, really she has just resigned herself to acceptance not embracing. If she were offered a breast reduction at no cost she would jump at the opportunity. She continued to tell us how she let her new puppy loose on a guy who wouldn't stop hissing and kissing at her breasts.

Doug and I were giggling a bit but with apologetic eyes. We were laughing with her when she gave us the go while making sympathetic eye contact. Our expressions didn't match the sounds falling out of our mouths. Meanwhile, Jay was mostly silent. I think he was on his third or fourth cosmo, depending on how many he had at dinner before arriving at the bar. Then Jay took his index finger and pointed to her nipples. Her nipples were large and very obvious through her white cotton blouse. He pressed his finger on her left nipple like he was pressing an elevator button. Then, immediately, he pressed her right nipple the same way. He didn't say anything he just pressed them. She looked at him dumbstruck then back down at her breasts with the same expression on her face. Doug and I made eye contact. The kind of eye contact you send to your friends after a crazy drunk person just tried to speak to us, failed, and walked away. Quizzical is the right word for this, I believe.

Doug said, "Jay, stop that. She's a woman. You can't just touch her like she's a brand new piece of electronics."

Jay said, "Whatever, she knows me. I am gay."

Doug said, "That doesn't matter. She's a woman talking about being hooted and hollered at by slimy men and you just reach out and touch her."

Jay fell silent. So did I. She again tried to laugh it off. Doug went on to tell a story about getting a hard spankin' from his father when he was ten years old because he pinched his older sister's but. His father told him the beating was to learn never to touch a woman like that. Doug comes from a good family with strong morals and values. Some of those morals and values Doug could do without, others he still holds dear. One of them is man's treatment of women. I agreed with him.

I don't know what it is like to be a woman. Let alone have breasts. I never will. I can try to relate my experiences to theirs. I have tried to relate a few instances with other women's. "Gay men can be just like straight men,"I say to my girlfriends attempting to console, comfort, connect. Cat calls and weird grunting noises when you pass by a crowded booth at a local gay night spot. Smacks on the ass when you squeeze by a tight line of boy's waiting for the bathroom or coatcheck. Or, a nice squeeze of the crotchal area by the creepy guy in the trench coat lingering at that smallest corner of the bar. I remember being 20 years old and walking into my first gay bar and having my crotch grabbed and firmly squeezed by a man in his mid thirties (who at the time looked 50 to little ol' me). It crossed my mind that night that this is what women deal with every single day. I encounter it once in a blue moon. I can't relate. I can't imagine.

I don't believe I have ever touched a girl in any awkward, uncomfortable, or violating way. But, as I have grown increasingly more comfortable in my friendships with women and with my own sexuality, I fear I might have.

To all my girlfriends out there, I don't think because I am gay I am allowed to grab your breasts or poke at them like I am popping balloons. I don't think I ever have. I hope I never do. I am sorry if I ever did. Unless you were drunk and you asked me to (in a non-sexual, non-threatening, non-violating way!)

I hope women know that I can never understand what it is like to be you, but I will always try. And trying to understand is one half of full understanding. Comprehension is the other, and it will take a lifetime to comprehend all of the wild, wacky, crazy, beautiful things that make us different. I just wanted you to know that you have a cheering section and someone is on your side.

Give me a W!
Give me an O!
Give me an M!
Give me an E!
Give me an N!

What's that spell?!

SENT

I revised UNSENT and today I am putting this one in the mailbox. Keep your fingers crossed.



Dear Dad,

First of all, things have been so ridiculously busy, that I have to apologize for not being around or in touch much lately. But, so far I am still happy at my job. I am making great money, have lots of control (which we all know I love), and I feel like a professional adult for the first time in my life. I am sorry for being so out of touch and I hope that your feeling good and your health is in tact.

I guess you are probably wondering why I am writing you a letter? Well, for many reasons actually. The main reason is because you and I don’t talk about sensitive subjects or secrets. We have always had a good relationship but we are not talkers. A letter let’s me put what I want to say in as little words as possible and give it to you to mull over in your mind. I wished I could retrace my steps from childhood to today and detail all the things I have always wanted to say throughout my lifetime in one letter. But, with a letter like this, I just have to do my best to cut to the chase. I can't give you all the back story that I wished I could. I can't catch you up on the nearly ten years of my life in NYC. I can't inform you of how I have come to the conclusions that I stand firmly on. All I can do is say what I must.

I am excited that you and Cody might be coming to NYC. But, before you come to visit me here in NYC, there is one very important part of my life that I have kept from you. I feel sorry about it, but I have never known how to tell you or what you might think. But, you need to hear. You don't have to understand it. You don't have to like it. You just have to know it. And I have to tell you. I am gay. It's a secret I have not only kept from you, but from many of my friends and family over the years. It was once a secret from myself. I hate that there has been a small part of myself that I have kept from you. I am sorry. I am no different of a person, please trust me on that. However, I have come to learn that being gay is a part of who am I just as much as being a brown-eyed Cherokee boy is a part of me. I can not change this. Believe me..

I am still a great person. I am still that smart son, Dad. That attractive son. That talented son. That successful son. That funny son I have always been. I am still me. The me you see. Only, I am gay. I am approaching 30 years old, Dad. I can't and don’t want to live my life to please anyone else anymore. I have to move past my fear of disappointing you. I don't want to have a relationship with you that doesn't include knowing this about me. I don't want to keep secrets from each other anymore.

That being said, the secret is out. Now, what do you do with it? You want to keep it a secret? That's a choice and I will support that. This society is a crazy, malicious and vicious one. You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to do anything with this information. I will support that. But, I needed you to know. That's all that matters to me. The box is unlocked. If your trip out to NYC to see where I live and what my life is like is a step to building a stronger relationship with me, then my telling you about being gay is my step to a better relationship with you.

Whatever you want to know about me, just ask. Whenever you are ready to know, just ask. You don't want to know anything? I will understand. Take your time. But, if you still want to visit me in NYC, I had to tell you. I have a life here. It involves me being gay. I wouldn't have been able to hide it from you. Ten years can't be put in a box and slid under my bed.

I still want you to come visit. I want you to meet my friends. I want you to see the beautiful place where I work and the city I call home. If this letter changes your mind about visiting, I will understand. Hopefully another time in the future. If you have trouble with this part of my life, I will understand. Take your time. But, please call, write, or email when you have received this.

Sincerely with love and respect,
Your Proud Gay Son