Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Category: Family

  • Busy DC Visit

    Saturday morning I was up early to catch a 6:30 flight to BWI. My first trip back to DC since I moved. I had called a cab the night before and they assured me they would be here on time – they called when I was still naked but I assured them I’d be down there in about 10 minutes. When I got down stairs the taxi was driving around the parking lot and another taxi was shadowing him, my phone rang the taxi guy wanted to know which building and I told him how to find me… I also asked about the taxi taking him and he assured me he didn’t know. When we pulled out onto Thomas the other taxi turned the other way. On the way to the airport I asked if I could roll down the window in the back and he said no, “You’ll be cold” he said. I rolled my eyes at him and if I had had my coffee I might not have been as irritated as I was… but then the music started. Over his communication radio came some music from his homeland and it was all crackly and staticky and played the whole way…. arrgghh.

    I got through airport security quickly enough, stood in line for coffee for over 20 minutes (they really need more coffee places) and before I knew it I was boarding the plane. The plane ride was uneventful, I slept an hour or so and read the book The Ocean at the End of the Lane. As we descended into Baltimore I noticed the leaves changing and wasn’t awed or inspired, yes, now they’re  orange, gold, yellow and red… /yawn

    Jim being funny
    Jim being funny

    My good friend Jim picked me up at the airport and was happy to see him. I gave him a big hug and knew all was right with the world. We started chatting right away about all kinds of things “How are the kids? How are the grandkids? Where’s Ana?” I asked. We stopped to have lunch and chatted some more. I wanted to get to the house in Washington to see Mouse (the cat) as she’d been alone for about 24 hours so Jim drove me into the city.  I hugged my friend farewell, I knew I’d see him Monday morning and we clarified all of that.

    Upon entering my old residence I attempted to open the door with my Scottsdale apartment key … but quickly was inside, video camera in hand to try to capture a super Youtube viral video of which my cat didn’t participate… she was very cautious about sniffing me and letting me touch her, oh well.

    I spent a few hours with Mouse and put some personal hygiene products away before heading to Pentagon City Mall to have dinner with my best friend Suzanne. Now that was a very involved conversation – I’m going through a small rough patch and she drove all the way up from Virginia Beach (3 1/2 hours) to see me and make sure I was ok. We talked about her too, it’s not just about me. Just seeing her and spending that time with her was worth the trip. She’s the type of friend that won’t let me live in my own shit, she shows me the way when I’m in the dark – she’s always been that for me.

    Saturday night as I fell asleep on the couch at Gary’s Mouse slept near me, but not too near.. 🙂 Sunday morning she followed me around as I showered and headed out for a day of stuff. I headed to Annie’s Steak House for breakfast with my friend Steve. I ate there every Sunday morning that I was home and almost always ate their Grilled Chicken Salad for breakfast, lunch or dinner – I really like it.

    After breakfast I headed over to a gay AA meeting to see old friends. The meeting was ok. It was nice to see some people and hear all the latest gossip and drama. I then had lunch with my friend Jason, it was nice to talk to him and see what’s been going on. I also talked with him about some work stuff and discovered interesting tidbits.

    I didn’t get back to Gary’s until afternoon and Mouse was starving and suddenly very friendly – she gets fed one wet meal a day and she was convinced it was time – I held off until 2:30 and then gave in to her. After she eats then she wants nothing to do with you and finds a dark spot to take a nap. I took a brief nap and then had to head out to have dinner with some other friends – this time at the Cheesecake Factory.

    I was anticipating more friends than arrived, but things come up. It was Danny, Steve and Cynthia with me for dinner and it was such a great experience – the waitress was odd and gave us moments to question if we were on TV or something a few times. It was so nice to see these folks and hear about the growth of the meeting, their lives and talk to them – I really miss them. The night was well worth the the trip to DC. When we finished after hugs and “see you Tuesday?” Cynthia dropped me off at Jinx Proof tattoos so I could see her paramour and my friend Matthew. I wanted to make sure it was ok to ask another tattoo guy in his shop to do a big tattoo for me… the guy is known for his superhero/comic book tattoos and it’s just amazing… I also wanted to see Matthew as he couldn’t make dinner. I’ve known some of these folks such as short time but really connect with them – Matthew feels like one of those friends I’ve always known. I walked back to Gary’s from Georgetown – 3.7 miles… this is something I used to do all the time but my legs really ached after – I need to walk more again.IMG_2993

    Monday morning I awoke at six was out of the house by 7 to meet Jim in Takoma Park. We stopped at the 7/11 for coffee and then proceeded to his house where I looked at the QuickBooks account, sorted files, paid bills, fixed computer bugs (not viruses, just minor annoyances) and then helped his wife Ana, with some computer issues and taught her a few new tricks – she’s a great student. I spent the entire day with the DiLuigi’s and it was very nice to do so, they’ve always been family and mean the world to me. Jim shocked Ana and I by deciding to go through and throw away old files… like over 25 years old… It was nice to look at papers that referenced the forming of the American’s with Disabilities Act and know that this man was a part of that back then. We ended the day at Outback, and had more and more conversations before I headed back to DC.

    Gary and Ian had been in Fort Lauderdale for the last few days and I finally got the chance to see them. Mouse was there too and was kind of lovable. It was nice to see my old roommate and I commented how nice it was of him to leave my bathroom the same as it was when I left – all my toiletries were exactly where i left them. Before I knew it I had to go to bed, I was to be up at 6 to go back to Jim’s – this night Mouse slept with me and it was nice – she usually sleeps down at my feet under the covers so no tossing and turning 🙂

    lunch
    lunch

    Tuesday after more work at Jim and Ana’s we went to Maggiano’s to have lunch. It was the DiLuigi’s, Gary and Ian. We had family style and took our time, I think we had a three hour lunch. The conversations ranged from horse racing and church to the way Ian pronounces “garage” – the English are wonderful.

    Tuesday night I attended my home group, the Tuesday Night Big Book Study – the best meeting in Washington DC. The room was packed full of people and all the founders were there. After the first reading I shared and then my friends shared and then other people shared and it was wonderful… I needed that. AA here in Scottsdale is nice, but the TNBBS is top rated. I was able to see Taylor and Laura who couldn’t make the dinner on Sunday and got so many hugs and … ahhhh…. what a great group. Afterwards Danny, Matthew and I had a quick stop at the Cosi chatting away until they closed the place at 9. Matthew and I drove over to his and Cynthia’s new house (7)42 is the house number (the seven is silent) and they really picked a great place – enough room for the both of them, spacious and I’m happy for them! I saw their kitties as well.

    My last night at Gary’s and we were up til 11 chatting and watching shows he likes. Mouse slept with me kind of. I packed the next morning quickly had breakfast, shipped a portrait of myself that my friend Ron had painted and said my good byes. No tears this time, no hard goodbyes, just knowing everyone’s ok is nice.

    Jim picked me up at the metro, we went to lunch and then he dropped me off at BWI. Again no hard goodbyes, but a strong hug and smile from my friend.

    It was a great trip to DC, it was cold at times… but it was nice to see friends and family… I imagine I’ll have to go back again in 6 months or so…

    IMG_2982

     

  • Weird Funeral Experiences

    I read a lot of different blogs and read random things that I find on the internet – WordPress helps by giving me suggestions for blogs that have similar themes ore that are comparable to ones I’ve favorited.

    dead dead, mostly dead ...probably
    dead dead, mostly dead …probably

    I read this blog piece the other day and commented on it:

    The Wednesday Question: What was the Weirdest Experience you  had at at Funeral

    (more…)

  • He Hit Her…

    I know about the obsession of the mind that affects alcoholics, I know from first hand experience, it can overwrite common sense – it takes liberty with the past and tells you that this time it’ll be different, it promises you’ll finally get that feeling you’ve been chasing so long that’s been just out of your reach.

    I don’t understand the trick the mind plays with domestic abuse victims.  Time and time again they go back to the abuser “I’ll never do it again” he says… “I’m so sorry” he says… “Give me one more chance” he pleads… At least that’s what my Mother seemed to do.

    Domestic ViolenceI don’t remember the first time my step-father hit my mother, after a while all the times run together and every incident is the same. He started the same each time, he’d be normal, he’d maybe even be nice to people even us kids…

    Then there was something in his eyes that would change you knew right behind those eyes the rage was just itching to get out. You could see the rage back there and some times he’d temper it, he’d keep it glowing under cover but the embers were waiting to strike each time.  (more…)

  • An Escape

    In 1982 my mother decided to run from her troubles and move to Florida. This run she took us kids with her, which I thought was very considerate of her, in later years she couldn’t be bothered with kids tagging along.

    I think this was our house on Elm Street
    I think this was our house on Elm Street

    We were living on Elm Street in Whitehall WI at the time, I was 11 or 12. Mom was buying through a HUD loan and it was nice – the bedrooms were downstairs for us kids and I think we had bunk beds. There was a huge back yard and we had family friends that lived on the same block almost.  Not to far away was the railroad tracks and the golf course – lots of things for a kid with an imagination to enjoy. We’d lived on this street before in a little red house where I broke my two front teeth and threw Kilo, the dog, down the stairs… long story. Aunt Gerry and her daughter Angie were living with us too, Gerry’s boys had opted to live with their dad. This was a house that has a lot of odd memories for me, I can recall us kids doing a performance for our parents (just like the Brady’s) a few times.

    I can recall someone calling the house and asking if Mother was home and me telling them she went to the AAA Meeting – I had one to many A’s and Mom was very upset about me telling someone even though I named it incorrectly. So this was one of Mom’s attempts at getting sober, but all she really did in AA was date men, go to potlucks dances and complain about her life.

    (more…)

  • Start and Stop

    “My mother was born in the psychiatric unit…”

    IMG_2889

    That’s how I always planned to start my book. It’s true… we think… and I like truth. Also it really kind of makes things seem like they happened for reasons. Some of the things that happened probably didn’t have to happen at all, but they happened nonetheless. But I wonder if I were a reader reading that first sentence would I then expect to find a book about my mother? Cause it wouldn’t be about her that much, it would be about my experiences. I find though that it helps to have backstory for your own experiences to strengthen the validity of the story.

    –

    I wrote a lot more of this and expanded a bit on mothers aunts and siblings… and then I kept running into things that I didn’t want to say here … partly because I didn’t want to suddenly argue with her born again christian brother and sister and partly because I wanted to be sure my stories were accurate. That means I have to collaborate with someone and that’ll be fun, but it also means that this story will have to be told somewhere else and I’m alright with that.

    I’m in a writing mood I guess, I’ve got thoughts running rampant in my head and have written quite a lot in the last few days… a few posts I cannot post yet due to surprises that are in store for others that I can’t share now… don’t you just hate a tease? But after next Wednesday those will start to appear.

    I’ll continue the story of my mother, myself and growing up… and maybe once in a while I’ll post a snippet of that here for your amusement or shock or what have you, depending on the situation. I never thought the story was all that but others have consistently told me it is so we’ll get it out there and deal with debate after the fact.

  • Up In Smoke

    Today there was a little mishap with someones lunch and the work microwave and pillars of smoke encompassed our small little office space. It was a terrible tragedy as the lunch didn’t survive

    very well done
    very well done

    The smell in the office was pretty bad though, one of our office mates sneezes around smoke as if someone doused her in sneezing powder, I felt sorry for her. The rest of us just ended up with our clothes, hair and skin smelling like burnt plastic. It was lovely. This wasn’t my first time smelling like burnt something or another…

    Back in 1985 (lets jump in the Way Back Machine Sherman!) I was living with Grandma in Whitehall. Every morning was the same routine with her, she’d wake me up and write in her journal and start singing some song or other and eventually get around to making herself breakfast. I wasn’t much of a breakfast person so I didn’t usually partake on school days, which this was.

    I just happened to be in the kitchen when something on the stove caught fire and there were high flames and billowing black smoke and Grandma yelling…

    “Don’t panic, don’t panic! I know what to do” and she grabbed an oven mitt and the lid to the pot and smothered it.

    Then she went on to explain that pouring water on it would have been a disaster and you should always know how to handle kitchen fires. At this point i would stop and wonder if she purposefully had the fire happen to teach me a lesson about putting them out, she was crafty like that. Nah, she wouldn’t… would she?

    Well the fire was out so I just left for school, never bothering to think that I might smell a little off… hell I was a smoker, didn’t I always smell like smoke?

    Well someone at the school thought it must be something else and before the end of first period I was called to the Principals office and asked if I’d been smoking pot. No really, apparently grease fires smell a lot like pot to people who don’t have a clue what pot smells like.

    At first I was outraged, HOW DARE THEY THINK I MIGHT BE SMOKING POT, I mean sure I might be… but how dare they… I always waited at least until lunch time – actually, I rarely had pot at school, why ruin a good high by being at school? (now if I had know about LSD back then, well … then that would have been a much better story).

    Anyway, I assured him that I hadn’t and explained about the grease fire, it actually took me a minute to remember that that’s what had happened that morning. It seemed insignificant in the grand scope of how to be a miserable teenager.

    So today I was taken for a little trip back to Whitehall WI and Grandma… and memories of stealing doorknobs to sell on the black-market… yeah, those were the good old days. And work, well I’m sure we’ll all be fine but I bet that smell lingers for a day or two.

     

  • The Difference

    I was at a small birthday celebration for a friend Friday night when I overheard one of the attendees talking about being a foster parent. I listened as best I could over the din of the bar. You should have heard this woman talk about some of the kids she had come through her house – she talked with joy, pride and sadness, sadness that some of them were now back in danger again. She’s also a teacher, elementary school I think, and that in itself should be considered a superhero, the foster parent doubly so.

    I’m a product of Foster Care, I wasn’t really in any danger, but I was one of those kids that lacked proper supervision and was amok in most parts of my life. When I entered my foster home for the first time I tried to talk myself into running the first day – nothing bad had happened, but these people just didn’t understand me and couldn’t possibly keep up with me. My Ma had plenty of foster kids before me and was more than a match for my teenaged ideas of right and wrong.

    My Ma and Pa held me responsible for my own actions – I had to wake up to my own alarm clock for school each day, I had chores, I received allowance, I had dinner every night at the table with the family (seemed stupid at the time, but it was something I came to look forward to each day and long for today). In my foster home I didn’t fear anyone coming home drunk in a rage to beat up anyone else, I didn’t worry about having food for dinner, I found peace. I wrote a poem about it a few years ago you can find here: (Foster Home) and I’ve pasted it here too

    brown house now blue

    gray hair then and now too

    Ma in rocker knitting

    Pa in recliner

    fear crawls up my spine

    my bags packed, all that is mine

    social worker pressures shoulder

    keeps me from running

    dinner together, conversation and laughter

    alien world, foreign notions – food a plenty

    tears delay that first night,

    though hard fought, buried deep

    rules, responsibility, chores

    wake up myself for school

    wash dishes, mow lawns

    allowance? what’s that?

    foster brother and i

    share smokes and stories

    on the front patio

    now enclosed, then exposed

    three years teach me, show me love me

    five years gone, back i come to make right

    show them i’ve found the light

    love unconditional, no exceptions

    dc bound, to find my way

    just call anytime

    no questions asked

    you can always come home

    breast cancer scare,

    tears unhindered

    stream down my cheeks

    fear strikes deep and hard

    twenty years later, college bound

    ma and pa, rhonda and greg

    come to see the sites,

    nope!

    to see me off, wish me well, show me love

    the family i didn’t choose

    forced upon me by action of youth

    became the one that mattered most

    showed me the truth of love itself

    When my Pa died a few years ago it … it still brings tears to my eyes… I decided to change my name to honor him. That’s the kind of impact they had on me – I owe my life to them (to AA too, yes) and have had so much opportunity as a result of everything they gave me.

    I’m not a foster parent, I’m not very patient with kids, but I urge you to be. I urge you to be the person that makes a difference in the life of a child, show them that not all parents are irresponsible, hurtful and mean. Show them a path that leads to a better life… and make sure you hug them, kids need hugs.

    Here are some links about foster care, if you’re interested give them a read and help make a difference.

    http://www.adoptuskids.org/for-families/how-to-foster

    http://www.fosterparents.com

    http://nfpaonline.org

    http://www.kidspeace.org/Foster.aspx

  • Friends, Memories and Time

    In May of 1988 I graduated high school with a whole bunch of people I hardly knew. See I’d been at G-E-T High (that’s really the name of the school) for only 2 years after I’d been shipped off to foster care because I was a dirty rotten thief – actually, more of a petty thief or a snatch and grabber… To be fair, I can only recall a handful of the folks I went to school with in Whitehall also and I spent many years in elementary and high school with those folks.  – I think drugs did a lot to my memory….

    GET High
    GET High

    It was mentioned to me that it’d be nice to get together and I created a Facebook group and invited a bunch of the old gang. A year later we all actually showed up. Some of these people I hadn’t seen in 22 years. People get new jobs, join the military, marry, move a million times and disappear from our radar – one good thing about Facebook is the ability to find some of these folks again.

    We had a dinner Friday night at Wason’s Supper Club outside of Galesville and most of us were there, we quickly fell into old patterns of solving the worlds problems and rolling our eyes at one another. Time may have come and gone but we are all basically the same people – the same friends – we were back in school.

    Saturday we had a bar-b-q, and even with a few of us getting lost we all managed to find our way to the old cabin where we used to do all manner of things which young people do that they are encouraged not to :-). Someone found a radio station that played old 80s music and we all brought food and drinks.  Just being in the cabin stirred up all kinds of old memories:

    beer parties

    pot smoking

    don’t worry the alcohol will kill whatever is wrong with you, just take a sip

    warm fires in the cold winter

    getting snowed in for a few days and running out of booze – that was terrible, running out of booze is unforgivable

    the old nicknames: Burnout, Sleazy, Zeus… more I can’t recall

    I had to head out early and didn’t get to chat with all of my old friends as much as I would have liked, but it was nice to see them. They are people that help make me who I am today a million different ways and I’m glad I had them in my life them and hope that i’m lucky enough to have them in my life for however long I have.

  • Finding a Home Group

    Walking into new meetings the first thing I notice almost every time: OMG they’re so young! Where are the old people? It’s at that point I realize I consider myself old and that my age prevents me from remembering that I was one of the young people when I came into the rooms. Which makes me say out loud, almost every time, “Well crap”. Last night at my friend Cliff’s home group we were talking about that and he said “if they’re lucky some day they’ll be as old as us and still going to meetings” or something to that effect.

    Cliff has made that meeting his home group recently and people have been asking me recently where my home group is and I just haven’t decided yet. It was so much easier when I was new to find a home group: my sponsor said “this is your home group” and I nodded and made coffee, set up chairs, greeted or whatever they would have me do. Oh… you might not know what a “Home Group” is …

    Excerpted from “The A.A. Group . . . Where It All Begins”, a pamphlet published by A.A. World Services and available online here http://www.aa.org/en_pdfs/p-16_theaagroup.pdf

    The A.A. Home Group 

    Traditionally, most A.A. members through the years have found it important to belong to one group which they call their “Home Group.” This is the group where they accept service responsibilities and try to sustain friendships. And although all A.A. members are usually welcome at all groups and feel at home at any of these meetings, the concept of the “Home Group” has still remained the strongest bond between the A.A. member and the Fellowship.

    With membership comes the right to vote upon issues that might affect the group and might also affect A.A. as a whole—a process that forms the very cornerstone of A.A.’s service structure. As with all group-conscience matters, each A.A. member has one vote; and this, ideally, is voiced through the home group.

    Over the years, the very essence of A.A. strength has remained with our home group, which, for many members, becomes our extended family. Once isolated by our drinking, we find in the home group a solid, continuing support system, friends and, very often, a sponsor. We also learn firsthand, through the group’s workings, how to place “principles before personalities” in the interest of carrying the A.A. message.

    Talking about her own group, a member says: “Part of my commitment is to show up at my home group meetings, greet newcomers at the door, and be available to them—not only for them but for me. My fellow group members are the people who know me, listen to me, and steer me straight when I am off in left field. They give me their experience, strength and A.A. love, enabling me to ‘pass it on’ to the alcoholic who still suffers.”

    It was definitely easier when someone assigned me a home group and when I was ignorant about the things that matter so much to me now (Traditions, knowledge, Big Book, steps, history…). Now it seems I start dismissing a groups chance before I even attend a business meeting. I think a part of me will always want the Northside Group to be my home group, or the Eau Claire Pacific Group or the Tuesday Night Big Book Group… Those groups hold special places in my heart and are the model for me to find a new home group where I feel like I belong… All of those groups had flaws, some more glaring than others, but each of them felt like I belonged there.

    What I want in a home group isn’t that much, I don’t think…

    • knowledgable people talking about the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous
    • knowledge and working of the 12 Traditions
    • regular business meetings
    • structure
    • reliability
    • greeters (this one is just a hope… but it was a part of some great meetings I used to attend)

    There will always be a part of me that wants old-timers and big book thumpers to be armed with stun guns to shock people who are off topic and or rambling on and on… I’ve had that desire since I started attending and it’s never going to go away. But really, I want to be at a meeting where they aren’t afraid to call someone on their bullshit and ask them to shut the fuck up.

    So, for now I’m still without a “Home Group”, but i haven’t given up looking and I haven’t given up hope to finding one. It took me almost 14 years to find a home group in DC and being the type of alcoholic that searches for loopholes to slip through I’m glad this sentence is the first in the Home Group portion of the pamphlet:

    “Traditionally, most AA members through the years have found it important to belong to one group which they call their ‘Home Group.’”

    That “most” keeps me looking and keeps me from settling for second best when the right group is probably out there for me to find.

  • Coming Out and Coming to Terms with Me

    A friends brother came out recently after many years of being closeted and she wanted to talk to me about how that kind of thing can happen… so I wrote this long email to her and decided I should put it here too.

    Long before I had any notion of what it meant to be gay I found men attractive (especially bearded, hairy men). When I’d play with my superhero figures it was usually Batman and Superman that were kissing – Wonder Woman was nowhere to be found, it could be that I didn’t have Wonder Woman… who would buy a boy Wonder Woman in the 70s? We were actually pretty poor and I don’t recall having Superman and Batman dolls so that was all in my imagination… so I could have thought of Wonder Woman, but she didn’t come up.

    It didn’t take long to see how homosexuals were portrayed on TV and in movies and even though I couldn’t identify as one yet, I was suddenly much more aware of how limp my wrist was or how I walked, talked and dressed, I’d seen the way other people (my parents, TV stars, school kids) talked about gay people and I didn’t want them to talk about me like that so I was very careful at a very young age to not show too many signs… lol, seems silly to me now. Elementary school and high school gym class and shower rooms were very uncomfortable and i would get out of there as soon as possible, not looking at anything because I knew I might get excited and then I’d be discovered, the worst were the gym teachers and coaches – with their hairy arms and full bodies… just don’t look, just don’t look.

    When I was around 12 or 13 an adult friend of my mother seduced me and took me – and several other kids in our small town – as his own for his pleasure. That was more secretive than being gay and exciting too. Finally the things I couldn’t really put into words or thoughts in my head were happening and it felt good but it felt bad too and it was a struggle to get through with that. It didn’t help that at that point I didn’t have any positive male figures in my life, all my mothers husbands beat her and were drunk no one I wanted to be like. This was the first time I had been loved, that I could tell, by another man.

    When the adult that molested me was caught they sent us to therapy, in the 80s at the beginning of the AIDS crisis, what I heard the therapist say was “if you enjoyed any of that than your a sick pervert too and will catch AIDS and die…” again, that’s what I heard what he actually said might have been something very different. But it did instill in me again this feeling that I WAS WRONG, not that there was something wrong with me but I was completely wrong.

    When I was seeing a therapist while in my foster home I was honest with him about my feeling towards other guys and explained I could only get off thinking about guys… he suggested that that was a learned behavior and could be changed… if I wanted to I could imagine cars when I was beating off and after enough time that would change, I was desperate to be normal and not “get AIDS and die” … sadly, thinking about girls, or cars… didn’t seem to do it for me… and wasn’t satisfying, so I gave up.

    Outside of the molestation, I didn’t have sex with anyone until I was 19 or 20. My friends convinced me I had to have sex with a girl so that happened.. but I honestly had to think about a man to perform. It wasn’t enjoyable, it didn’t feel right and it wasn’t something I ever wanted to do again… but my friends were excited for me, I felt they accepted me a little bit more now that I was normal…

    During my first drug and alcohol treatment I discussed my gay thoughts and feelings about it with my counselor… who suggested I might be gay… which I didn’t like very much. How dare he say such a thing! Even though I’d been fighting that very thought for years in my own head. But the thought stuck there and I started to give in – I was a doomed homosexual and the world would hate me.. and the “God” of my understanding was going to condemn me to hell because of something I didn’t have a say about.

    After that treatment, when I was drinking again, a friend offered to let me see if I was really gay by having sex with him… he wasn’t “gay” of course, just doing a favor for a friend… It wasn’t really an enjoyable experience, but he wasn’t exactly my type either. So I didn’t repeat that experiment and it didn’t answer any of my questions about myself really.

    After my second (and hopefully last) treatment visit I decided I was gay, but I didn’t have to act on it… so at night I’d pleasure myself and then ask “God” as I understood him, to forgive me for being a monster… every night, again and again…

    At that time, the mid 90s, the internet was pretty new so there weren’t the massive amounts of gay sites there are now… so I did this Phone Bank thing where you could listen to guys on voicemail like things and then hook up… the closest city was Minneapolis/St Paul and I found a guy that I was interested in base mostly on his voice – he didn’t sound “gay”. I told my two best friends I was going to my Ma and I told my Ma that I was going to a conference – this is me in early AA lying… even though I know I have to be honest about everything to stay sober… and I went up to the Twin Cities and had the best time ever with this guy who was very patient, gentle, understanding and virile… OMG VIRILE, insatiable event. Then I was being destroyed by the lie… I felt so horrible for the lie but felt so right about what I had done… it was so conflicting, so I told my two best friends that I lied to them and told them the truth about me, which they knew anyway, but it felt better to be honest.

    one of those two best friends was moving to Washington DC and told me that I had to come with “Eau Claire WI is no place for a gay boy to be” and I jumped at the chance, but mostly to get out of WI, it wasn’t about exploring being gay at all. When I told my co-workers I had to tell them something (that I was leaving) one of them said “You’d better not be coming out, you fucking faggots all need to die”

    When I did get to DC it was amazing: guys were holding hands with one another ON THE STREET, for that matter, there were other races and some of them were holding hands with other races and some of them were gay or lesbian… I didn’t know what the hell was going on… it was so cool but I didn’t think you could do those things…

    Shortly after moving there I was walking down 17th street, minding my own business and a car of a bunch of kids drove by and tossed a half-full beer can at me yelling “fucking faggot”… so there was that, this hatred of me for being me was everywhere not just in my head or in small town America, even in our nations capital.

    I learned more and more about gay people and our history the longer I was in DC. I became more and more comfortable with myself the more I let myself… I came out to my entire family (loved ones) via an email on National Coming Out Day in 1998… and later that year I came out to my mother by wearing a t-shirt that said something clever like “my boyfriends mother doesn’t know I’m gay” or some such… she was not amused 😉

    I’m a typical gay man, because I happen to like having sex with other gay men… but in other senses I’m not a typical gay man. I don’t care about the Tony Awards or Liza Minnelli, I’m not a fan of drag shows or say “fabulous” a lot… but not all straight people like NASCAR or Fox News or find Rhiana attractive… I’m an individual who finally came to terms with being who I am after much trial and error. Are there still times I feel hated by others? sure. Are there times I hate myself? not so much anymore. I think I’m fortunate to live in these times when people start to realize that there are more than one kind of love, more than one kind of relationship in the world… To come out today with all the wonderful things happening for gay people … well it would have been a great time to get to know myself… but I wouldn’t trade the struggles I had for an easier softer way, those struggles shaped me into the man I have become and I like him… I wouldn’t date him, not my type at all 😀