I’m From Clarkston, MI.

by Richard Robinson

State Satellite overhead image from Google Earth 2022

At the young age of 5 I had my first homosexual experience of any sort. I took another boys hand while in line to walk out for recess and I kissed it like I saw in those Disney movies. His next words I’ll never forget, he pointed down at this white speck that was where I pressed my lips and spoke:

“See, thats a germ.”

It was an odd day at Bailey Lake Elementary to say the least, I’m almost disappointed that the teacher didn’t see me do this, the news would have reached my parents and that might have prepared for the shock that was to come. It’s not my fault they couldn’t see the other signs though. There is not one picture of me standing alone where I am not cocking my head to the side, putting one foot up on it’s toes with bent knee, and either giving Jazz hands or pressing one arm into my backpack strap and holding it out with my other hand on my hip.

When I came out to my mother at 17 however, all I get is this look of pure flabbergast. At the time I thought that this meant I was good at hiding it, as no one else ever really called me out on it either. It wasn’t until more recently that I decided that they were all dense after having looked through a family photo album. I even remember a moment in high school where I was given the “nail test”. You are told to look at your nails and nothing further. It is presumed that a male will curl his fingers and look at his fist, I however took the presumed female option and spread my hand out to peer at the objects of interest. These friends still claimed surprise.

It’s also not as if I had fake girlfriends either. I remember being approached by a girl in the mall, I may have seen her before, I’m not sure. I was so taken aback by this strange and alien situation, so shocked was I to see a pair of supple breasts thrust at me, that I could only respond with what I was feeling inside; blatant disinterest. I wobbled my eyes right to left, as if I was at Wimbledon sitting center court, and walked around her. The friends with me, love them though I still do, continued to think that I was just stuck in my shell and that sometime hence I would be presented with a vagina that would pull me out of it. Idiots.

My life was not without its comedy during those times. After coming out of the closet I was presented with ample opportunities for comedy. One night at a gathering, someone in the room was feeling down, and when it was mentioned to someone on the phone that they were hanging out with a gay guy, he assumed it was him. To which I responded:

“Hey Jackass, I’m the gay guy, stop stealing my thunder!”

Ah, high school, it can go screw itself.

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