Read the rest of the series I’ve written about some early clues that I should have picked up on, telling me I’m gay, but there were more. While I had some typical boy interests, such as comics and adventure TV shows, I felt no shame
Read the rest of the series To write about Daddy is a more ambiguous task than to write about Mama. Daddy and I didn’t have what you would confuse with a warm, sitcom type of father/son relationship. We never tossed a ball in the backyard.
Read the rest of the series I’ve so far avoided talking too specifically about family members. I’m overly self-conscious about what is and isn’t my story to tell. My family is a group of private folk, very nearly to the point of being secretive. It’s
Read the rest of the series God and sex. One, I learned about through very intentional, formal instruction, the other, through hearsay and secret books and brief, embarrassed sections in health class. The connection between the two was implicit and vague but strong enough to
Read the rest of the series I remember two things about my first day of school. The first is this cockiness I had about going to school. I didn’t start school with kindergarten, like most kids my age. At that time, at least in Giddings,
Read the rest of the series But Daru had been born here. Everywhere else, he felt exiled. (Albert Camus, The Guest) I have a pet peeve. I like to call it “middle-class, white boy angst.” Characteristic of this blight on American culture is a whiny
Read the rest of the series … I talk about my life anyway because if, on the one hand, hardly anything could be less important, on the other hand, hardly anything could be more important. My story is important not because it is mine, God