Why Pride Can Never Lose It's Protest History

Gabriel Fernandez, 8 years old

Ronnie Parris, 3 years old

Anthony Avalos, 10 years old

Giovanni Melton, 14 years old

Itaberli Lozano, 17 years old

Alireza “Ali” Fazeli Monfared, 20 years old

Amir Issa, 38 years old

And every single other LGBTQ+ child who has been brutally murdered by their own family, either for their sexuality or perceived sexuality. 

Leelah Alcorn, 17 years old

Jamel Myles, 9 years old

Justin Aaberg, 15 years old

Andrew Leach, 12 years old

Jadin Bell, 15 years old

Nigel Shelby, 15 years old

Channing Smith, 16 years old

Tyler Clementi, 18 years old

Avinshu Patel, 19 years old

And every single other LGBTQ+ child who has taken their own life due to bullying and self hatred instilled by our cishet culture. 

Matthew Sheppard, 21 years old

Charles Howard, 23 years old

Reecey Walker, 32 years old

David P., 42 years old

Sophie Váquez, 36 years old

Harvey Milk, 48 years old

Brandon Teena, 21 years old

Scott Johnson, 27 years old

Billy Jack Gaither, 39 years old

Bree Black, 27 years old 

And every other LGBTQ+ person who has been brutally killed for living their life.

For every LGBTQ+ child who has died on the streets, scared and alone. For every one of our youth who had to turn to selling their bodies to eat, who got hooked on drugs to numb the pain, who was beaten by a John, or died from hunger or disease, while laying in an alley.

The countless LGBTQ+ lives we have lost, both famous and not, during the early years of the HIV/AIDS crisis, as our government sat back and watched us die. For the countless LGBTQ+ lives we have lost since then to this virus, who are continously let down, time and time again.

As long as we are dying, Pride can never be allowed to be just a party. It has to remain a protest movement, or we will have let them defeat us.

R.I.P., Cugina

 

I haven't been doing any blogging, or really any blog reading for the last several weeks, because I've found myself either escaping into work, or movies. I haven't wanted to do a lot of anything, for several reasons. One of those is that I lost the person I was closest to in my family. Tara was born one day, and one year after I was. We were the first and second grandchildren on our mutual side of our families, and I loved her so damn much. 

I knew Tara was the one person who would always have my back, no matter what. She had her struggles, but she always rose above them. She was truly one of the strongest people I've ever known. I'm going to miss her so damn much. 

I have a lot of guilt in my soul for how little I talked to her as she was fighting her last battle with cancer. I hate that I allowed myself to be distracted as much as I was. I loathe that I wasn't able to see her before she passed. I'll get to say goodbye next month at her memorial service in WY. But, it's not enough for me. I will forever regret that I didn't get to say goodbye in person. 

Love you, Cugina. 

Leaving My Reading Comfort Zone

 

I've been pondering this whole notion of comfort zones when it comes to reading, though I think we could apply this to any sort of media that we choose to consume. At first, I didn't even want to admit that I have them. I felt embarrassed by the idea. 

After I thought about it some more, I started to look at my reading patterns. In reality you could call what I've done over the last few years as being in holding patterns. If I wanted to aim some judgement at myself, I'd even go as far as calling them ruts. What I started to question is whether or not I would equate those patterns/ruts as comfort zones. And I can admit that while both my more recent "ruts", Golden Age mysteries and M/M romance, give me comfort, I don't think they qualify as actual comfort zones, at least not in the way I choosing to interpret the whole concept. 

Oddly, it's actually my romance reading that even has me pondering this whole esoteric concept. In my romance reading, I tend to get sucked into series, more than I do standalone novels. Though I read quite a bit of those too. What I've found myself doing in certain series is the issue at hand. Anytime a book has featured a relationship that is either M/M/F, M/F, or F/F, I've skipped over those books. At first I wanted to just shrug it off to not wanting to read sex scenes that involve women, despite the fact that I skim through most sex scenes anyway. Then I decided I have to see M/F relationships all over the place in every other form of media, that I don't need to read romances about it. That really didn't explain my skipping over the other two types of relationships though. That sort of left me with no other explanation than they make me uncomfortable, so I needed to figure out why. And while some of it is the sex scenes and the fact I have heterosexuality shoved in my face on a regular basis, I had to admit something I'm not all that proud of. It's partly because as a gay man, I don't understand those types of relationships. It's the same reason I've tended to skip over M/M romance that has a transman as part of the couple. Since I don't understand how they work, I chose to not read about them. I chose to not invest my time in something I didn't understand, nor cared to.  

After I realized that, I had to take a hard look at myself. I began to wonder what other books, or even movies, I was ignoring because I didn't care/wonder about the perspective and story being told. What books were I ignoring because I don't understand the culture, religion, ethnic background, sexuality, disability, or world view that was at the heart of the story being told? That isn't something I can easily answer. All I can do is try to be more aware in my choices, and do my damndest to broaden my exposure. It's time to start pushing beyond my comfort zones, and maybe someday eliminate them altogether.

For the record, I'm now reading a F/F romance novel that is the fourth in a series I absolutely love. 

Age Sneaks Up On Us

On August 15th of this year, I'll be turning 45. Its not something I think about all that often. Hell, half the time I need to stop and think for a few seconds when someone asks me for my age. When I do think of it, its more in terms of where I thought my life would be by this time; normally I would married with kids, and a hell of a lot more financially stable than I am. The older I get, I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to feel. What is approaching 45 supposed to feel like? I don't think I feel any different than I did in my 30s, or even in my 20s, at least not mentally. I'm definitely more mature in some of my choices, though some like budgeting are still an issue. But, I can't say I normally notice that much of a difference. I can definitely tell my body is aging, and fattening, but it's hard to remember what my body felt like 5 years ago, let alone 10 or 20. 

Life has a funny way of reminding us just how old we are getting. Some are ongoing, like I've been trying to get used to the idea I probably need bifocals. I'm just not ready to pulls the trigger, and admit defeat. Others just slap you in the face. I'm in Kansas City for work, staying in a hotel, and like everyone else I pack all my essentials to take along with me. I am also one of those annoying people who unpack everything once I get to the hotel. This time around, as I'm unpacking, I notice all the damn pill bottles I'm pulling out. All I can do is sit there staring, wondering when I got this old. I used to pack 8 pairs of shoes, not 8 medicine bottles. I only brought one pair of boots with me, and that's it. I unpacked 8 freaking bottles, and not one is a supplement or a vitamin. The powers that be need to design disclaimers about what getting older really means. Maybe then I wouldn't be so dismayed that instead of packing multiple pairs of shoes, I'm now taking pharmacies along with me. 

Let's Talk About Sex, Or At Least About Sexuality - Mainly Mine

 

Let's have a frank talk about sexuality.  I'm going to get personal,  and you will probably learn things about me that you really didn't want to know,  so if this isn't a conversation you want to be involved in, just skip this post.  I actually first posted this on my Facebook page, so if you already read it there, I apologize for subjecting it to you twice. Actually I don't, but I thought I should say that.

I identify as a gay man.

Prepubescent Ryan, had more crushes on boys, than on girls. I do think those kind of crushes have more to do with personality, than gender at that stage in our lives. I would try to catch glimpses of men's dicks in public bathrooms. I did steal a pack of topless women playing cards once, though the glimpses of Playgirl magazines were more interesting to me.  

Once I hit puberty, men are all that I paid attention to. I wanted to lick, suck, fuck, touch, and play with every inch of a man's body. I had a lot of sex, with a lot of men. The number of men should be embarrassing, hence the reason I won't put it out there, but I'm not ashamed of it. It is what it was. Do I wish I had met THE ONE? Absolutely. But even if I had, which that is for me to know and you to never find out, it wouldn't have mattered. I was too damn immature, and frankly enjoying the attention too much, to not fuck it up.  That is another post though, I'm not ready to get into my body image and self-esteem issues right now. 

The sweaty sex that can last all night, is not the only reason I identify as a gay man. I am mentally, emotionally, and spiritually attracted to cismen, at least so far. At 44 years old, I've never been sexually attracted to a woman, nor had sex with one.  I've made out a few times, kissing and breast fondling, but that's it. The breast play never went underneath clothes, or involved nipples. Truthfully, the fact it even happened had more to do with alcohol and those specific situations, which also included other men, than any true attraction. It also never happened once my early clubbing days were over with.  To be even more truthful, I felt nothing. I may as well been brushing my teeth. 

As I've aged, while I still identify as a gay man, I've also come to identify as demisexual. And eventhough it may be hard to believe, given my dashing looks and ripped body (said with pure sarcasm), I've actually been celibate for almost 18 years now, by choice. I've gotten to the point where I have to be mentally and/or emotionally attracted to a guy first, before I truly find them physically attractive enough to want to get sweaty with them. Since I don't go out, or even make the attempt to meet guys in a situation where that can happen, I've been celibate. I can still look at a hot guy, and admire the scenery, but I have no desire to do any licking or sucking. Hence, why I also identify myself as demi. I still get off on porn, though it has more to do with the physical and endorphin release, than it does with actuall attraction.

The fact that I identify as a demi gay man, brings me to the point of this post. I tend to have random thoughts, like we all do, and while part of what I'm about to say is something I've always accepted about myself, the thought I had last night was completely new. It's also the aspect that I brought up in a conversation with Viki, that inspired this post. I accepted, years ago, the fact that just because I identify as a gay man, as a demi gay man, that doesn't mean it will always be that way. I'm comfortable with myself enough that if I ever do find myself mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically attracted to a woman, a transwoman, or a transman, I'm not going to hurt myself by not accepting that attraction. I'm not going to let how I currently identify, keep me from being happy. I don't think it's probable, but I know that it's possible. To reject that, makes absolutely no sense. 

My point is this, sexuality is not stagnant, at least not in the way I view it. It's already evolved for me, and I know it may evolve again. And while I think labels are important, for a myriad of reasons, I also think we can end up using them as barriers when we find ourselves reacting in ways that run counterintuitive to those labels. I personally choose to use labels, for both personal and political reasons, and I probably always will. I'm starting to wonder if I should, could, or even can start using a different label. I'm not sure I can call myself pan, just because I acknowledge the idea that I could find myself attracted to someone who is not a cisman, while never actually experiencing attraction to anyone else. Nor do I necessarily feel a need to right now, but it's something I've at least thought about. Even if it was just once.

Wordsmithonia Radio --- The Songs Currently Stuck In My Brain

There are a few songs that I can't seem to stop listening to lately.  Whether I have Youtube pulled up on the computer, listening to iTunes, playing a CD in the car, or humming in my head, they are songs that, for whatever reason, seem to be stuck on repeat.  Some of them are new, or newish, some of them are fairly old, but every single one of them are relentlessly bouncing around my head, including a television theme song (because of a game I'm playing). So with no further ado, here is the current soundtrack of my life.

One Day, What Happened In Orlando, Will Never Happen Again

I've been trying to get a review written for a little over 2 hours now, and no matter how many times I get it started, neither my brain, nor my heart is really in it tonight. Every time I blink, every time I let my mind wander, even for second, the images of the early morning attack in Orlando, FL is all I can see.  What has now been determined to be the largest mass shooting in United States history, has taken fifty lives, with countless others still fighting to stay alive.  It has claimed brothers and sons, mothers and fathers, husbands and lovers.  It has robbed the LGBT community in Orlando of a place they thought would be safe.  I has robbed the national LGBT community of our collective sense of safety.

The man who did this, and at this point in time, I could really care less what his motivations were, was a monster.  I know some want to jump up and down and scream it was Islamic extremism rearing it's head, and if that's the talking point you need to spout, go for it.  I won't name the shooter here, because I think he is getting enough attention already, but from what I'm reading, this guy sounds like a unstable, homophobic bastard who decided it was his place to teach us a lesson. Whether his motivation was religion, hate, or a combination of the two, it doesn't change the results of his actions.  Fifty people are dead.  Fifty people will not be able to go home ever again.  Families are left grieving as they read texts sent to them from inside the club, as their loved ones were dying.  Communities are left reeling, and it will be a long time before many will really feel safe again.

This isn't new though.  The LGBT community has had a target on our backs for far longer than any of us really care to think about.  This guy is no different from Eric Rudolph who bombed an Atlanta gay bar in the 1990s.  He's no different from the folks at Westboro Baptist Church, who called this shooting a righteous act of God.  He's not different than the arsonist who killed 32 people in a New Orleans club in 1973. He's no different than Scott Esk, the Oklahoma politician who, in 2014, called for the stoning of gay men and women.  He is no different from Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, the two men who beat Matthew Sheppard, before tying him to a fence post to die.  He's no different than the regime that sent gay men and women into gas chambers during WWII.  He is no different than those who sent gay men and women into asylums, to be experimented on like guinea pigs. He is no different from the doctors who used electrocution, chemical castration, and lobotomies to try and cure us. He's no different than the American "Christian" organizations that helped pass the death penalty for gay people in a few African countries. He is no different from the monsters in the Middle East, and elsewhere, who are willing to use religion to take the lives of gay teenagers.  He is no different from the parents who kick their gay children out of their home, and force them to fend for themselves on the streets.  He's no different from every other person who has beaten, spat upon, or killed someone simply for being gay.  He's no different from every other person who sees us, and our relationships, as worth less then themselves.

One day, this won't be an issue.  One day, we will be able to live our lives without worrying that we could lose our families, or our lives, by being true to ourselves.  One day, coming out won't be a term anyone remembers.  One day, we will be able to go out in public and not worry about being attacked if we show even a little bit of affection to our partner.  That one day, needs to get here soon.

Final Admission by Sue Brown

Synopsis From Publisher:

When Ethan Williams lands a job at Bingwell, Brock and Bacon, he realizes his coworkers aren't exaggerating about James Trenchard.  He really is a dick.  But after Ethan is forced to work closely with James, he realizes there's more to the lawyer than meets the eye. 

Vibrant Ethan is a desperate reason to live again as James endures silent guilt and abuse from his husband after an accident.  He calls Ethan for help after a beating, and stolen moments soon become the norm, but they can't hide forever. 

Ethan's coworkers think he got his promotion because James is sweet on him, James is still being beaten despite his family's concern, and the situation is swiftly becoming intolerable.  Ethan and James need to find a way out of the cycle that's hurting them both before their brand new loves suffers a well. 

I'll be the first to admit, that when I first started reading m/m romance novels a few years ago, I wasn't expecting much from them.  I had hoped I would be entertained by the stories, and at the least, be able to get lost in the romance unfolding on the page.  I wasn't even all that concerned about the hotness of the sex scenes, as most of the time, I tend to just skim through them.  I just wanted a few hours of mindless entertainment, and in a few cases, that's what I've gotten.  More often than not though, I have discovered some of the best written fiction out there, and it's not mindless.  So much of it explores themes I wasn't expecting in romance; abuse, drug addiction, mental illness, and a myriad of other subjects.  My eyes were first opened to what this genre can be when I first read The Tin Box by Kim Fielding.  As I've discovered additional authors, I've run across books that keeps opening my eyes, ones of those is Final Admission by Sue Brown

This isn't my first go around with this book, I've actually read it twice before, but because of some of the themes it explores, I was never ready to review it.  Truthfully, I'm still not sure my brain is fully on board, so I'm not totally sure if this is really going to be a review, as much as a rambling narrative of what this book made me think about, and how I reacted to it.  So I apologize if this post goes off on too many tangents, or ends up being incoherent.

Many of you guys know that I grew up in a rather abusive home.  I've hinted at it in different reviews and in explanations for different Favorite Fictional Character posts.  I've even let you guys in on the ongoing, internal conversation I have with myself as I try to figure out a way to let go of the pain of not only what my father did, but in the way I lost him.  Physically abusive relationships have always been a trigger for me in my reading, and viewing for that matter.  What I've never let you guys in on, is that for a brief moment in time, I found myself in an abusive relationship as well.

Much like James in Final Admission, I'm not a small guy, nor am I a pushover.  I'm pretty determined in what I want, and normally have no issue standing up for myself, at least that's the adult version of who I am.  Between 2000 and 2002, I was dating and living with a guy, that while I was never truly in love with him, I was never truly unhappy either.  He was actually a lot of fun when we first started dating, but once we moved in together it changed. He would disappear for hours at time, sometimes until 5 or 6 in the morning.  It was always, he was with a cousin, or in the prayer chapel at church, and I was dumb for not believing him.  Needless to say, after almost a year of that, I went out with friends, and met a hot guy in the Air Force.  Stupidly, I went home with him.  In my mind, I was ending the relationship I was in, and I was ready for it.

When I got home that morning, I was met with a fist.  Growing up in the home I was in, I always told myself I would never let that happen to me, but when you are confronted with it yourself, it's a different story altogether.  This was not the first time I had a guy hit, or try and choke me, but that first time, I didn't feel as if I deserved it, so I got rid of him quick, and never looked back. But this time I froze, and while I won't drag you through all the details, it continued in this fashion for six months. A part of me felt as if I deserved it, as if I brought it on myself, and in that regard, I can understand some of what James was going through.  Where James was feeling guilty for coming through the accident unscathed, when his husband not only had physical trauma, but brain damage as well, I blamed my actions for the way I was being treated.  I brought it on myself for going home with someone else, even though my relationship had been dead for a while.  What I didn't realize is that the emotional neglect, and I can say the emotional abuse, I had been living with for the prior year, conditioned me for the physical abuse that came later.

I never had to deal with the level of abuse James, or even my mom went through, so I know it could have been worse.  And I did eventually start fighting back, something James never felt he could do, as the guilt was too thick.  Where I'm a bit jealous of James, is in his relationship with Ethan. When he meets Ethan, a small part of him grabs the hope he represents. In Ethan, James, who has given up on being happy, and living to a degree, realizes that there is something else out there, another path to chose.  It's not smooth sailing for them by any stretch of the imagination, and I can't imagine what Ethan was mentally going through, but the hope they instill in each other is beautiful to see unfold on the page.

It's actually something I have yet to allow myself to have.  I have been completely single since 2002. I always want to blame my lack of time, my work schedule, or lack of interest, but it's really more about fear.  It's not just a fear of putting myself out there again, it's a fear of what's behind the veneer, once it's wiped away.  Everyone James works with, except for his cousin and his boss, thinks he has the perfect relationship with his husband.  Yes he's a flirt, who enjoys the attention he gets from others, though he normally keeps it's to the girls, but everyone thinks he's truly happy in his marriage. I don't know if his husband was a controlling dick before the relationship, and the brain damage took it to a whole other, horrible level, or if the accident completely changed his personality.  When your husband is trying to kill you, does it even matter.  I'm not sure, given my family and personal history, when I'm going to be ready to take that risk again.  I'm not sure you can ever truly know what another person is capable of, or of who they truly are.  It's that uncertainty I have to let go of, and I have James as a role model to follow.  And yes I know this is fiction, that James and Ethan aren't real people, but seeing a path forward, even a fictional one, is enough to give me hope that I'll be ready someday.

On the short review side of things, please don't think this is a dark or depressing book, because it's not. Yes, it does have some darker moments, but remember, this is a romance novel.  In Ethan and James, you have two men who are drawn together, who truly do end up loving each other.  I won't get into all the details, because I want you guys to read the story for yourselves, but it's a gorgeously written love story.  There are a few hiccups along the way, other than those dealing with James' husband, and while I don't think I would have handled the separation in the way Ethan did, I get the reasons behind it.  The nature of an office romance is well fleshed out, and the ending scene is brilliantly staged.  This is a love story with hope at it's core, and it's one I know I'll end up reading a few more times.

Out Sick

Sorry I haven't posted anything since Saturday, but I've been fighting a severe cold since Monday.  I didn't leave bed the first two days, and I've used up all my energy since then to get through work.  I'm starting to feel a bit better, so I'm hoping I'll have the energy to get some posts written soon.  I have a few reviews ready to be written, and a few other posts planned for next week, so I'll see you guys then.

Life Is Getting In The Way

I'm going to be taking a break for a few weeks, for the simple fact I don't have the energy to do anything with the blog right now.  On Monday of last week, I was informed that a very good friend of mine killed himself, and the funeral was on Friday.  Then on Friday, after the funeral, my car was totaled after a woman going 50 in a 35, slammed into the rear of my car, pushing it into another one. Luckily, my roommate, who was driving the car, was not seriously injured, but I'm going to be dealing with the consequences of that accident for a the next two weeks.  I've haven't slept all that much the last few days, and about the only thing I have the energy to do is read.  So I need to step back from the blog for a bit, and get this stuff taken care of.  I promise I'll be back.  Take care of yourselves.

When Do You Decide It's Time To Let Go?

My dad wasn't a very nice man.  Actually, I should strike that statement, because truth be told, I'm not sure who my father really was.  I know he was an alcoholic.  I know he had some severe anger issues, and took them out on the walls, the furniture, and my mom.  I know that 90% of my memories of him are negative.  I know his full name was Michael Allen Groff, and I know that he is dead.

I still remember the day I found out that he had died.  My mom had divorced him, and we were no longer living in Minnesota.  We were actually visiting family in Wyoming, and my grandparents, who still lived in Two Harbors, showed up.  I knew it was an unexpected visit, and at six years old, I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew something was wrong.  My Aunt Jenny actually took me for a walk, and let me know that my father had killed himself.  I still remember that I really didn't react, I didn't cry, and I'm not even sure I felt much of anything.  As a matter of fact, I did not cry until I was a Freshman in high school.   At one point in time, we had moved back to Two Harbors, and I walked by, on a weekly basis, the cemetery he was buried in, and never thought about him.  The idea of visiting his grave, which is still unmarked, never occurred to me.

As I got older, I became really damn angry.  I couldn't understand how he could do the things he did.  The strongest memory I have of him is the day he took my mom out to the back yard, threw her against a brick shed, and hit her, repeatedly, with a 2 x 4.  I can still see myself, standing by my younger brother, crying and feeling powerless.  I don't know if I tried to stop it or not, but I couldn't understand why it was happening.  I remember coming home and there would be fresh holes in the wall, and broken records on the floor. He was the man who took a shot at my mom, and actually did shoot my dog.  He never laid a hand on me, or my brother, but what those memories did to me as a teenager, was almost worse.

By the time college rolled around, some of that anger dissipated, and I entered a period of time where I really wasn't sure what I thought of him.  I started to think of the time he took me fishing, and I got pulled into the lake because I wouldn't let go of the pole.  I can remember being in the car with him, and loving the time I was spending with him.  He was my dad, and despite everything I saw him do, I loved him.  College was the first time I visited his grave, and for years afterwards, I put him and my feelings behind me.

That's not such an easy feat for me anymore.  At 38 years old, I'm still wanting my dad's love and approval.  Even if he couldn't deal with the fact that I'm gay, even if we didn't have a relationship right now, the fact that I will never know eats at me. Like any kid, I want my dad's approval, I want to know that he would be proud of the man I've become. The fact that the option of having a relationship with my father was taken away from me, and in the matter it happened is something I'm still struggling with.   He allowed alcohol, anger, and the shitty childhood he had at the hands of my grandfather, influence the man he became.   He chose to deal with his issues the only way he knew how, instead of getting help when my mom, and others, begged him to do so.  He made the choice to not be a father when he was around, and he made the choice to leave two young kids without a father for the rest of their lives.  I know it's not that easy, that he was probably suffering from depression, and when you  mix in depression with his other issues, there isn't a lot anyone can do if he's not willing to get help.

I know he didn't fight the divorce, that he didn't fight for custody or visitation, that he didn't pay child support, and that he really didn't spend time with me or my brother that much after my mom left him.  When I talk to my mom about him, she says it was because he didn't care enough, or that he didn't love me.  And maybe he didn't, maybe she's right.  I would like to hope that wasn't the case.  I would like to think he thought he was doing the right thing by giving us up, that he knew what he was putting us through was wrong.  I would like to think that he was trying to get his act together, that he wanted to be a father, but the truth is, I really don't know.  And that uncertainty, is what's keeping me from letting go.  More than anything, I want to ask him why I wasn't enough, why I wasn't good enough for him to get help.  I want to know why he chose alcohol over me.  I want to know why he didn't pick me.

This is the only picture I have with me and my dad.  As far as I'm aware of, it's the only picture that exits of the two of us together.  That's my mom and little brother on the outside of the picture.  I'm not sure who took it, but they obviously sucked at it.  I look at it, and all I see is what I've lost out on.

I don't have a picture of my dad teaching me to ride a bike, or him showing me how to drive a stick shift.  I don't have one of him at my high school graduation, or when I moved into the dorms.  I will never have a picture of him in a tux, attending my wedding, assuming I ever have one, and assuming he would have come.  I don't have pictures of the two of us together during the holidays, or even of us taking a nap on the couch.  I don't have any of those pictures, but even worse, I don't have any of those memories.

I have the memories of a six year old who loved his dad, and was scared of him at the same time.  I have the memories of a teenager who could only remember the bad, and did everything he could to convince himself that he hated his dad.  I have the memories of a twenty-something who was just started to deal with his conflicting emotions, and wasn't quite sure what to think.  And now I have the memories of a 38 year old man, who would give anything in the world to have his dad back.  It may not be the relationship of my dreams, but at least it would be my choice, not his.  He may not accept the fact that I'm gay, he may not be proud of the man I've become, but if he was still here, it would be a decision I had a hand in.  I would be the one to walk away if he couldn't accept me, but even then, I know I would always be hoping for the day he would come around.

So maybe the question I should be asking is not when do you decide it's time to let go, but rather how do you let go?  How do you let go of the fact that the choice wasn't yours, that someone else made the decision for you?  How do you let go of what might have been and what should have been?  How do you let go of the pain and anger?  But most of all, how do you let go of that want?  How do yo let go of the need to have your father's love?

Three Ex-Boyfriends & The Books They Made Me Love

For the most part, a lot of us think of ex-boyfriends (or ex-girlfriends) in a rather negative light. For whatever reason, they are the ones we invited into our lives, only to have them leave on a negative note.  There may have been something horribly wrong in the relationship, or that spark may have just fizzled out.  In a lot of my past relationships, it was the timing of the whole thing that was a huge factor.  I've dated some great guys, just one of us would not be ready for a serious relationship. No matter the reason it didn't work out, most of us don't like think of our past relationships.  They tend to be examples of failure, and failure never feels good.

I would like to think I've taken something positive out of every relationship I've been in, no matter how disastrous they turned out to be.  From Andrew, I learned to love Dos Equis Amber, and it's still the only beer I will drink.  From Alberto, I learned how to recognize my limitations, and not to try and push myself into accepting things I'm not willing to deal with. From Joel, I learned to love Shania Twain, and that I won't put with the silent treatment.  From Martin, I learned that I don't have infinite patience and expecting a different result with the same factors in place, is a dumb idea.  And from some of my ex-boyfriends, while the love may not have lasted between us, assuming it was there to begin with, I did leave the relationship with a new love.  Some of those relationships exposed me to new books, and authors, I've grown to cherish over the years.

My relationship with Vincent was doomed from the start.  I got sucked in the night my first real boyfriend, Jeremy, broke up with me.  It seemed that Jeremy was tired of sneaking around behind my back, and wanted to be able to pursue others, without it being a secret.  Vincent was a mutual acquaintance of ours, and one night at the club, it seems as if they joined forces.  Jeremy told him he was going to break up with me, and that if Vincent was interested in me, to be waiting in the wings to come swoop me up.  It was a tacky thing to do, oh lord was it tacky, but I fell for it.  I let him comfort me that night, soothe away my pain, and my first rebound relationship was born.  It didn't last very long, thank god, but I did walk away from it with my first book boyfriend, Vanyel Ashkevron.

Vincent was a huge Mercedes Lackey fan, and he kept on talking about the three books in her Last Herald Mage trilogy.  He knew I loved to read, and I think he was trying to connect with me on a more than physical level.  It wasn't long before I was in love with not only Vanyel, but with Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar series in general.  Here was a world in which men and women were called, from all corners of society, to serve their kingdom.  They sacrificed their lives in some cases to defend their realm, and they were to the one, good and honest people.  The Heralds, and Vanyel in particular, where the personifications of sacrifice and honor, and I loved them for it.  

I now own 40 of her books, have read them all numerous times, and Vanyel is one of my all time favorite characters.  I try to visit with him at least once a year, though blogging has made rereading a little more difficult than it used to be. 

Derek was my first kiss and first, well you don't need to know that part.  I met him in college, and while I can't say we ever dated, it was more than a casual hookup.  It was during the first semester of my Freshman year, and I wasn't really out to a lot of my friends on campus.  A bunch of us had gone to another town to a club that allowed anyone 18 and over to come in.  We met him there, and a bunch of us became friends.  He came down to our campus one night to hangout, and while a few of us were talking, I slipped in my coming out so smoothly, two of them didn't realize I did it for a good ten minutes.  That night I kissed a guy for the first time, and it felt like I was coming home.  Over the next two years he was a great teacher, if somewhat infrequent, and while I think we really did care about each other, the love spark never happened.   We are still friends, connected on Facebook, and I will always be grateful for making my first of everything as enjoyable as it was. 

He ended up moving to Colorado, and for the longest time we kept in touch, and I actually took a trip out there for a visit one year, and that's when I was introduced to The Thief of Always by Clive Barker.  It was one of Derek's favorite books, and I was enraptured almost from the first page.  It's a modern day fable of a young boy who just isn't happy with his life.  He is bored all the time, and just knows there is something out there, something better than what he has now.  He is quickly conned into visiting a magical house where all four seasons, with the accompanying holidays, cycle throughout the day.  Little does he know that every day spent in the house, is a full year in the real world. Once he figures out something is really wrong, he does everything he can to get home.

This is another of those books that I've read multiple times, and has led me to reading Clive Barker's Abarat series as well.  I've fallen in love with the way he writes books for young adults.  They are edgy, darker in tone, and completely surreal.  I haven't read The Thief of Always since I started blogging, but I'm pretty positive it will be getting a visit this Fall. 

What can I say about Brent? He was slight nerdy, adorably nice, and hung up on someone else.  I'm positive this wasn't a love match for either one of us, but we enjoyed each other's company, and for the most part we had fun with it.  It was one of those relationships that just sort of fizzled out, all on it's own, and thankfully we both not only recognized it, but we were okay with it as well.  We stayed friends for a while, but life drifts people apart, and the last I knew he was living in Florida.

Brent introduced me to the books of Guy Gavriel Kay, and I owe him dinner a thousand times over for making that introduction possible.  I've had a hot/cold relationship with fantasy for a long time now, and for whatever reason, I tend to be a little picky in what I read.  I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I can pick up any Kay book, and I will instantly fall in love with the world he created, and the inhabitants that dwell there.  There is a lyrical quality to his books that is pretty impossible to explain, but it makes his books a physical pleasure to read.  Within a few pages, I will be transported into another world, and I will never want to leave.  His writing is beautiful, and his characters are so well written, you can't imagine them not existing in real life.  He has never failed to deliver, and as I'm writing this post, I'm feeling an almost overwhelming pull to grab a few of his book off my shelves, and lose myself for the next few hours. 

It Gets Better...It Gets So Much Better

I've been heart broken by the rash of young people killing themselves because they are having a hard time believing that living life is worth it.  They have all taken their own lives because they have been ruthlessly bullied for being gay  I think what I'm feeling and what many other's are feeling is magnified by what we had to deal with in school.  Listening to the stories of young people as young as 12 who have given up and let the bullies win makes me feel like I've some how let them down.  That our community has let them down somehow. 

There is a wonderful group on youtube called the It Gets Better Project.  It was started by columnist Dan Savage and his husband to let young people know that life gets better.  People can download videos to post their stories so they can tell young gay men and women that life is worth living and to not give up.  Since I don't have a video camera right now I felt I needed to do something on my blog.  I'm not sure how many young people, who I'm going to addressing this post to, will be reading this, but if only one teenager reads it and is helped by it, it's worth it to me. 



I also wanted to share with you the video that convinced me that I had to say something about this.  After watching it I needed to put into words what I'm feeling right now or I was going to feel powerless to help.  Joel Burns, who is a member of the city council of Fort Worth, TX, addressed the issue and I couldn't stop crying throughout the video.



The rest of what I write is going to be directed at any young person who is dealing with growing up gay in a world that still doesn't quite understand you.  I want you to know that you aren't alone, that you have a large community of people that love you and accept you for who you are.  We want to help you in any way we can and that we will be here for you when you need us.  If you ever need to talk, my email address is fforgnayr@yahoo.com and I'm always willing to listen.  I want you to understand that you aren't alone.

I wish I had the opportunity to tell you in person that yeah it's hard right now.  That you have to deal with a lot of shit and people being cruel to you.  You may have to deal with adults that aren't willing or able to protect you.  Teachers and parents who either don't care, understand, or know how to deal with it.  I wish I could be there for you to hold your hand and protect you from all the pain you are going to deal with over the next few years.  It hurts knowing that I can't keep you from being hurt, that I can't stop the bullies who are going to call you names and tell you that your life is worth nothing.  I can't stop the bigots from calling you a faggot or dyke.  I can't force your parents to protect you or your teachers to be there for you when you need them.  What I can do is tell you that no matter what is going on now, that not allowing them to win, that living your life is so worth it.

High school was hard for me too, I wasn't picked on that much but I felt alone and isolated.  I wasn't all that popular but I wasn't on the bottom of the ladder either.  I was one of those kids that showed up for school, had a couple of friends, but never really fit in beyond that.  I tried to join different groups so I wouldn't feel so strange but even then I never felt all that welcome. 

I joined a church because  I couldn't understand why God would make me gay to only have people tell me that it was evil and that I would go to Hell.  I would pray every night for almost two years that if me being gay was wrong that if God really did hate me for it, that I would just die in my sleep.  I didn't want God to hate me.  I didn't want other people to hate me for that matter.  I wanted to be just like everyone else, I wanted to be normal.  Over that period of two years I started to feel better about myself.  That maybe God doesn't hate me, that he in fact loves me for who I am.  Then I realized that if God loves me for me, that maybe I should love myself.  So I started to come out to a few people that I thought I could trust and for the most part I could trust them.  I know it kept me from being friends with certain people but luckily I found people that accepted me for who I am.  I'm not saying it was easy though.  I still wrestled with thoughts of ending it but I realized that while the pain can seem oppressing at times that high school doesn't lat forever.  That eventually I would be able to get out in the world and create my own family.

I have created that family for myself.  I am surrounded by friends who love me and that I can count on to be there for me when I need them.  I have a son that I adore and that I thank God for everyday of my life.  He alone makes high school worth it.  I'm single right now but I've been in love before I know the joy of having that in my life and I know that I will have it again at some point.  I have a decent job, a good car, hobbies that I love to do, and interests that keeps me living a full life.

I want to let you know that if you don't let them win, if you fight through and allow yourself to experience life, you won't regret.  There is a whole world out there for you to discover.  You will fall in love and have your heart broken but you will learn from it every time.  You will find a group of friends that will support you and love you and be there for you whenever you need them.  You will create a life for yourself that while it won't always be rosy, will be your own.  You have some many choices ahead of you that I'm wanting you to understand that please, no matter what, don't give up.  Give yourself the opportunity to find out what life is all about for yourself.  I'm begging you to believe us when we tell you that it does get better.  That you will be happy and loved, that you are worth having around and that all of our lives will be a little emptier without you in it.  Please, please just give yourself the chance to discover it for yourself.

Now to the adults out there that are reading this, I want you to look at yourself and at those around you.  I want you to pay attention to what's going on and protect these kids.  Let them know that they can count on you to save them from the worst of what they are dealing with.  Let them know that they are loved and cherished and that their lives are worth living.  Just be there for them, please.

There is another wonderful organization called The Trevor Project that provides a suicide hotline that gives LBGT young people someone to listen to them and to help them deal with what they are feeling.  Their number is 1-866-488-7386.