I handed my parents the letter I had written. It was not how I wanted to tell them, but after being home a week and not being able to get up the courage to come out and say it—after they had tried to bully it out of me more than once—I decided it was the only way it was going to get done. So I gave it to my mother to read with my father, and continued to play Nintendo.
They called me downstairs. My mother looked a little distraught, but fine. My father seemed okay, too. We talked for a little while. I explained why I was in therapy. It wasn’t because I was gay, or had any problems with that. I had problems relating to people, with making friends and keeping them, and with coping with college life, with a whole new experience. (To tell the truth, I think I just needed someone to complain to.) They accepted that, and things were okay.
What I didn’t realize at the time was what that letter represented, what a turning point this was in my life, and what freedoms I had gained for myself.
On the path
I was born May 5, 1974. (I like telling people that the entire nation of Mexico celebrates my birthday.) I’m a Taurus, if you follow such things. That makes me stubborn—true, actually, but I’m also Italian.
Much of my childhood I can’t remember. There were parties, and fun, and funerals, and fights. It all sort of melts together after a while. What I do remember is mostly happy.
I remember summers up the lake with my grandmother, at her house in the most rural area of West Milford, NJ. Down at the end of a cul-de-sac the small one story house stood for years, tolerating generations of my family. The house is sold now, but the memories endure.
I remember holidays, mostly Christmas, when the extended parts of our family would gather and eat, and laugh and share. And Christmas mornings with all the wrapped boxes under the tree, waking up too early, and having to wait for every one else.
I remember, vaguely, the earliest years of Catholic school. Every year our class grew smaller, but we grew a little closer. We had packed lunches. There was first Friday mass, and a half day. And I remember some of the funniest times, like when the stray dog got into the building and Sr. Whoever yelled at it.
I remember summer vacations to places all over the east coast. Hours in the car, with almost nothing to do. We were well-behaved, though—usually. Even on the way to Walt Disney World which took two days.
I was your average child, give or take, from birth to prepubescence. I’ve been told I was a quiet child. I stuck to my mother or grandmother a lot. Pretty shy, a little scared sometimes. I never wanted to try anything new. I was a smart child though—if I remember correctly—and self-sufficient. Imaginative and playful. I loved being a child.
I also remember getting stomach aches once a month, for almost no apparent reason. When I was old enough to understand such things, I began to think of them as a monthly period, and worried about it sometimes. I never felt much like a boy, was something of a sissy. Not that I felt like a girl, but I knew I wasn’t like other boys. But I didn’t worry too much about it, at first.
Into the abyss
As I neared adolescence, things started to change. Well, they always do, of course. But the more I grew up, the more I noticed others growing up. And the more I noticed things were not the same among us.
By eighth grade, puberty had begun. My mind and body raced, pumped full of hormones I couldn’t control. I began to fantasize, to develop a sense of what stimulated me sexually. It began with vague ideas of what I thought sex was. The more I learned, the more complex my fantasies became, eventually including actual people. It was soon that I realized that it was the men I imagined that got me more excited than any of the women.
I entered high school a very frightened boy. It was a new experience, and I wasn’t good with such things. But I struggled, and within weeks had gotten quite used to it.
As time went by, and I plunged more into adolescence, I got a clearer picture of who I was. And I wasn’t sure I liked it. I was confused, and frightened by what I felt; but also couldn’t stop it. Finally the word for it entered my head, and I knew what it meant, and what people thought about it. One day, while alone in my house, I was lying on my bed. I said out loud to myself, "You’re gay."
It was a significant point in my life. But not a positive one. I didn’t revel in the truth and accept myself. Instead I turned inward. I developed something of a split personality. There was the outside me: happy, friendly, well-adjusted. Inside I was angry and sad and confused. I tried to ignore this side, but it didn’t always work... read more
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