Illegitimi non carborundum

          When I came out to my mom, she told me, “I’ve known you were gay since you were two years old. That’s why I never got you baptized. My parents made me go to church,” she reminisced with me, “ and I didn’t want you to grow up with a religion that believes who you are is a sin.”

            Sometimes she will say, “I honestly do not know what I would do it you were straight!” She tells me she loves having a gay son and we both know why- because she has a diva down the hall who can give her fashion advice when and when not needed. Often I get the same generic question, “But how is your dad with it? Does he care?” In response, I counter with, “Well he has had a gay roommate and he has gay friends. He honestly treats me no different because it is just who I am.”

            In the news, online media and by word of mouth, I have heard of gay teens getting cut off from their family because of the life they have “decided” to live. I once briefly dated a boy who told me his parents ignored the fact he was gay. It was such a shock to me because my mom has always told me to embrace the person I am. For his parents to ignore this part of him, it was like they were ignoring he had a face. Both were equally important parts of his identity. Alas, the worst is teens who are beaten for who they are. No wonder there have been incidences of suicide, our community does not feel welcome by ignorant people.

            Though we have made much progress in the US same sex marriage is only legal in 16 states. Yet according to NCSL.org 25 states allow you to wed your first cousin. Is it asking too much to be given the same rights as a straight couple? I find it to be unjust for legislators to base these laws off of a person’s sexual orientation. To with-hold certain abilities because “it’s against evolution”, “immoral” or because “God says fags burn in hell.” is no real reason.  While all of this may seem to be fantasy, it is my reality.

            Perhaps our lives are full of fabulousness. And when you think of the word “gay” you get the urge to throw sparkle dust on your tata’s and shimmy. We have such a fun and supporting community, which most of us are involved with [e.g. party at the club.] But the reason is is so easy for us to smile is because we know we have crushed our haters. Dealing with bullies and communities who do not accept you is difficult. And right now there are 33 states who are denying us the freedom to be who we want to be. My state included. 

"Let me get back to you"- as if

              I’m beginning to learn what an excuse is; “I might be working.” “I have other plans.” There these stories people come up with too wiggle their way out of a situation they don’t want to be in, “I’m sick.” A co-worker told me, “It’s something a coward uses when they are too afraid to confront you with the truth, because they fear it will hurt your feelings.” Whereas, when you lie, it’s pretty basic, “I miss you too!” “I’m sick.” “I’ll get back to you.” They probably won’t get back to you, probably aren’t sick, and are only telling you they miss you too because it’s easier to do then saying “I’ve enjoyed not talking to you!”

                The bullshit you’re being fed is candy coated therefore making it appear harmless. You want to believe what your being told and not second guess it. But how many “I’ll get back to you’s”  can you withstand until you finally realize-“ Uhhhh no you won’t! You never did before so why would you now? Seriously what makes this time any different?” Yet you reach for your phone…just in case. But I think deep down you know the only way you’re ever going to talk to him is if you text him first.

                So why does this happen? Why are we so attracted to the things that hurt us? Is it because we are drawn in to something we know we can’t have yet desire with all our might? And it’s so difficult because you try hard- so damn hard to get his attention. You’ve changed your appearance, workout more, always try and look your best, but it seems to go unnoticed. There is only so much that can be changed until you have lost yourself.

                Okay fine, “I’ll ignore him, totally forget about him.” you think.  But it’s so difficult because now that you two aren’t talking he seems to be the only thing that lingers on your mind, and you can’t help but think, “He makes not caring look so easy! I bet he doesn’t even miss me. I hate him so much. I just hate him!” You begin to wonder what you did wrong and if there is anything you could have done differently.

                Days pass, and it gets easier once you get on with your routine- then one day you find yourself forgetting to think about him. Your confidence is soaring back to you and that big smile is opening up. “Honestly I miss him, but I’m over it.” You work out harder than before, and try to keep your mind away from social media and your hands off your phone. Then for the one second you stop thinking about him, he pops up again and there he is on your phone, the evil notification that your dreading to open. It hits you, “well obviously you aren’t dead, and your phone isn’t broken, because you have the ability to like things I post. You just never got back to me, you didn’t miss me. You just didn’t reply. You kept me holding on, waiting- hoping you would but you never did! And for weeks I felt so stupid and desperate…” Then your mind came back from its imaginary rant, and you remember what you learned from a former teacher, “Just because someone walks out of your life doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing, and you can’t dwell on the negative. You just need to think of it as one door closing and soon an even better one will open.”

                So although you know he will never get back to you, you’re okay with it, because it’s just how he softens the blow. And even though it’s taken time to realize these excuses- you find it easier now to  deal with, because you no longer need to hold on and wait for the day that he might “get back to you”.

My First Bike Ride

When you are four years old, there is only one thing you must learn before you are considered a “big kid” and that is how to ride a bike without training wheels. If you still have training wheels you can’t join any biker gangs or go on any bike excursions. I practiced like a fiend usually before lunch and after nap time. These were the perfect times for practice because then I was fully energized and ready to pedal. I rode continuous circles around the green belt in the town homes where my family lived at the time.

One night I was on my last lap without the training wheels everything I had ever done had all led up to this. I surpassed a different member of my family as I rode around the giant complex and they kept me going, cheering me on with encouraging words. Almost finished, I could see my front door and accomplishment was building up. I heard one last cheer from everyone, and in a swift moment of distraction, lost all control then collided head first with a hanging metal “for sale” sign that was posted in the neighbor’s lawn. The beast knocked me right off my bicycle and threw me to the floor. It was an unforeseen enemy. Low clouds had overcast the arena and a sudden wind began to kick in. A slow trickle of rain fell onto the ground landing onto my cut knee and face. My mom ran over, and I no longer knew if I was crying or if my face was wet from the rain. Helping me up from under my red bike she said, “Let’s get you cleaned up, bubba.”

            I trudged along till we reached the steps, “I did so good, huh, mom?”

            “Yes you did! I’m so proud of you, in fact once we get you cleaned up there’s a Butterfinger in the fridge for you.”

            The following week my mom thought it would be a good idea to take a bike ride outside of the confines of the townhomes. I have not ever ridden on the street before so I didn’t know what to expect, but I was very excited. I just had to be sure to follow any directions my mom gave me and to always stay on the sidewalk. It was mid-April and everything was in bloom. The trees swayed like monkeys moving vine to vine which caused leaves to fall and get crushed beneath my tire. Sometimes they would get caught in my wheels spoke and make a noise that I imagined a motorcycle made when starting up.

Bright oranges, vivid pinks and blues illuminated the dessert sky until it all cast over to an ominous purple that was caressed by glowing city lights. Once the sun set, we headed for the streets. Starting with a quick warm up, we circled the green belt, then we headed off out towards 23^rd Ave. I had never been there on my bike before. It was a place I had only seen from the booster seat in the car. Other kids were playing across the street kicking around a soccer ball. The tantalizing song that every child knew crept up behind me. I looked back and a line had begun to form in front of the big white ice-cream truck.

It only took a few minutes to finally leave our complex behind and enter a whole new world! I was keeping a steady pace, but every now and then I had to duck in order to avoid getting hit by low hanging tree branches. The street was desolate, and my brother rode into the middle of it, which my mom didn’t seem to mind since there were no cars coming. It was as if we were the last people on earth and everyone else had been exterminated in a zombie apocalypse.

            “CAR!” I belted out, to my mom, as an oncoming car sped towards my brother.

            “Joshua Anthony get back on the sidewalk!” my mom only used his middle name if she meant business! “Okay so I want you two to listen to me, we are going to reach an intersection up here, okay?” Both my brother and I continued to ride and listen. “When the light turns and the sign says we can go, I want you two to just ride across Josh you go first I will go in the middle then Jonathan, you follow me.”

            “Why does Josh get to go first? Why can’t I go first?”

            “Because Josh has known how to ride a bike longer then you have! Just follow me Jonathan this is very important!”

            We approached the intersection of 23^rd and Camelback no more than a minute later and were at rest for only a little while to review one final time what my Mom had told us. Right across the street was a Burger King. I had never eaten there, but I had always watched it pass by in the car. Everything was a vast change, all the bright lights and reckless noises. I was a bit dumbfounded. My head was spinning.

            Just then the light changed to red and all the cars to my left came to a sudden screech. Across the way the mechanical light said “WALK.”

            “Okay, Josh, you can go!” my mom shuffled him along and he rode across without any hesitation. Then she bolted right after him. I was still trying to get a hold of the pedals and get a good grip on my handle bars. By the time I left the sidewalk they were in the middle of the crosswalk vastly approaching the other end.  We were headed northbound on the left side of the intersection. I kept looking to my right at the mesmerizing red light. When I reached the middle of the intersection my mom and brother were on the other side and I was lost. Half way in the intersection, I began to turn left, heading west bound into traffic. There I was a tiny four year old riding next to a colossal silver monster truck that had the letters 4x4 stamped on the back. Once my mom saw this, she dropped her bike and sprinted into traffic to come save me. When the light turned green, the man in the truck called her a “stupid idiot” and loud horns began to honk. The next thing I knew I was on the sidewalk in my mom’s arms crying, and my bike was there too. For all I know my mom’s super human maternal senses tingled and she stopped time, kicked that guy’s ass and brought me back to the sidewalk safe and sound.      

            My mom held me in her arms for what felt like a lifetime.

“Mom, what did that man call you?”  I asked picking my head up from her soaked shoulder, “A very bad name!” she said.

I forgot my brother was even there until he said, “Can we get Burger King?” She thought it would be a good idea to go in after what just happened and take a break, “I can see if they’ll let me use their phone to call dad.” My mom was still a bit shaken up.

The aftertaste of Burger King still remained in my mouth when we got home that night. I retold the story to my dad as if I were the star in a big action film. He sat me on his lap and said, “This is something you will remember for the rest of your life.”   

Big Brother

Every individual, when broken down to their finest form, is composed of the same anatomy. Five senses: sight, hearing, taste, touch and smell. We each contain a heart that beats at different speeds; some thump and bump rapidly while others hold a slow monotonous pace. Then there are others that cease all together. But perhaps it only stops for a short moment in time—due to heartbreak. You aren’t dead but you don’t feel alive anymore.  All you do is exist; you go through the most difficult motions of life while others proceed to pass you by.  And although we can’t control anyone’s behavior, we can control how we decide to react.  So perhaps we aren’t all composed of the same anatomy. There are people in the world who are blind, deaf, missing limbs, special needs, black, white, purple, orange…whatever. The point is, when it comes to basic appearances it is obvious that we are all different. Yet, we all have simple emotions. Each of us have those “buttons”, and when pushed they tend to set us off (whether it make us sad, angry, annoyed or embarrassed), we all have these triggers. 

                On St. Patrick’s Day my family sat out on the patio to enjoy the nice weather and our newly revamped backyard. There were lights that dimly shown upon the food as we all indulged.  I always figure, we are either very hungry or the food is very good if the conversation is kept to a minimum.  That night it was me doing a lot of talking and eating, partly because I was extremely hungry and also because I can’t stand unnecessary silence! When the meal came to an end, we all began to banter about different things from the past, to what we having going on in the upcoming week. I grabbed some things that were set upon the patio table and brought them to the kitchen then came back. It was just my mom, brother and myself for the moment, and my brother turned to my mom and said, “So when do you think I can get my drivers license? You know how much I love classic cars.” He was neither begging or pleading he just seemed to state something that had been on his mind.

                My mom replied, “Sweetie, you won’t be able to get your drivers license because you have uncontrolled seizures.”

                “Yeah but I really want it!”

                “What would happen if you were driving and you had a seizure? That would cause a big accident. Maybe we can talk to dad about getting a classic car to drive you around in.”

my brother Josh & his girlfriend Diane

                My older brother was 23, he’ll be 24 in July, yet he has the mental capacity of about an eight year old. At times it can be very difficult having an older brother with special needs. I have always wondered how my sister was able to get along with him with such ease, while him and I do nothing but fight. There are days where we get along, and I think as I have gotten older I’ve become more understanding of it all. But somehow it scares me; when my parents, “What’s going to happen to him when we aren’t there anymore?”  My mom has told me I need to be so grateful for what I have, because I have a brother that will never be able to drive, get married, live on his own or go to college.

                Maybe he won’t be able to do any of those things, but he’s made so much progress from what I can remember.  He’s making his own bed now, and being a bit more independent when he gets dressed. Perhaps he can’t drive, but he is learning to play the guitar which he has loved to do for as long as I can remember. He sings the blues like he is B.B. King or any famous Blues singer. And although I don’t know a hell of a lot about bowling, he comes home saying how well he did.

He isn’t your typical big brother and I know he never will be. There are days where he annoys me, makes me laugh and even proud. He’s my family, my “big brother”, and I’ll always love him. 

           

Revision- Yay or Nay?

I think the hardest part to writing is the revision process. According to Webster’s Dictionary revision is: The act of revising; reëxamination for correction; review; as, the revision of a book or writing, or of a proof sheet; a revision of statutes. But if you asked me, I would say that it is a step that I much rather hire someone else to do for me. It seems like such a grooling process, and most times I get very defensive when the wrong person makes the harshest critic, but in the end I find revisions to be beneficial and a learning experience.

Often times, I don't want to think that I am making errors or need to remove or add details that I may have left out from my writing. I find it difficult to ponder the fact that my writing at any stage( rough draft, in between editing stage, final draft) may need some sort of revision. Although this may come across as egotistical, it’s how I’ve always been. It is extremely difficult for me to revise and find flaw in my own writing. Honestly, unless you know what you’ve written was just total crap, then I’m sure every write has confidence in their writing and thinks it’s this magical unicorn of perfection? Que no? Maybe it’s just me.

Think of it like this; you’re writing it your baby, and you would never criticize your newborn because he\she is the most precious thing in the world to you. You love him\her so much! Yet it’s much easier for other people to find the flaws in this baby of yours. They help on many aspects to aid as another set of eyes; pointing out the flaws, emphasizing the strengths, helping us to see where there areas can be improved or taken out completely. And that’s why I think II have an easier time letting peers read and give me feedback on my writing. 

Me Talk Pretty One Day

                The name David Sedaris may sound familiar; whereas his voice might be even more recognizable if you have ever tuned into This American Life on NPR (National Public Radio). He is a man well known for his witty humor, collection of stories and essays; one being Me Talk Pretty One Day. Before this book hit the shelves and became main stream, he read several of the essays from the book on NPR. Little, Brown and Company published the book and it was released May 2, 2000.  Sedaris finds reflects on his own life and draws humor from these situations. It is a collaboration of essays that have been split into “deux” parts.  In the first segment he reflects on his life prior to his move to Normandy, France.  I was dead from laughing after I read the first chapter. He talks about when he was younger in grade school and was forced to speech therapy for his lisp. Then in part deux he talks about his move to France.

From chapter one- “Go Carolina”

“None of the therapy students were girls. They were all boys like me who kept movie star scrapbooks and made their own curtains. ‘”You don’t want to be doing that,’” the men in our family would say. “’That’s a girl thing.’” Baking scone and cupcakes for the school janitors, watching Guiding Light with our mothers, collecting rose petals for use in a fragrant potpourri: anything worth doing turned out to be a girl thing. In order to enjoy ourselves, we learned to be duplicitous. Our stacks of Cosmopolitan were topped with an unread issue of Boy’s Life  or Sports Illustrated, and our decoupage projects were concealed beneath the sporting equipment we never asked for but always received. When we asked what we wanted to be when we grew up, we hid the truth and listed who we wanted to sleep with when we grew up, “’A policeman or a fireman or one of those guys who works with high-tension wires.’” Symptoms were feigned and our mothers wrote notes excusing our absences on the day of the intramural softball tournament. Brian had a stomach virus or Ted suffered from that twenty-four-hour bug that seemed to be going around.”

“’One of these day’s I’m going to have to hang a sign on that door,’” Agent Samson used to say. She was probably thinking along the lines of SPEECH THERAPY LAB, though a more appropriate marker would have read FUTURE HOMOSEXUALS OF AMERICA.

                I would recommend this book because it was able to make me laugh out loud and typically I’m not the type of person to “lol” to literature. It was a very entertaining and kept me wanting to read more constantly. I was able to read it effortlessly, he isn’t the type of author to pick up a thesaurus and find a replacement word just in order to use big words. (i.e. big-gargantuan) And that said I suggest you download, or go pick up a copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day, if you’re looking for a large laugh!

The Climb

"If life was easy it wouldn't be worth living, that is why we have obstacles we over come and friends to help so we won't have to do it alone." -Kimiko Martinez.

     

     I can recount the fondest memories from my childhood from when my mom would take myself, my brother and whatever family dog we had at the time to go hike North Mountain. Often times we went early in the morning. The cool fresh air sent intense surges down my spine when the breeze blew onto my face. I distinctly remember moms two outfit staples: her visor and her fanny pack. Back then in the 90's there weren't iPod's or Mp3's. But my mom did have a large over sized yellow Walkman  We would 'hike' the mountain, or rather walk up the paved trail that spiraled along the sides which led to barbaric electric towers. Sometimes we would take turns holding the leash of the dog. And when we reached the top we made sure to touch the black metal fence. 

      Today I still hike the same mountain. I guess I can thank my mom for instilling such a great habit into me from such an early age. Although now I don't hike that same simple path, which I could easily conquer in a mere 20 minutes. As I've grown older, my desire for a greater adventure as increased. This has lead me to discover countless number of trails, and if I stay on them long enough they all lead back to those gated towers.

      The mountain is constantly changing. It evolves to the weather; summer, spring, fall, winter. Over time I've noticed the different formation of rocks and become accustomed to the steeper incline. Just this spring I really opened my eyes and saw how the side of the mountain was growing grass and other plants began to bloom. Typically I hike alone because it gives me this serene time to just be with my music and my own thoughts. It's the time where I don't need to answer to anyone and I can try rationalize any mishap. Some of the best memories have been formed there and I'm sure there will be many more to come.