Now, for the most part, my high school experience wasn't really bad after the first year. I found a niche, found a clique, and just kind of went with everything. That day, I went ahead and admitted to a few friends who had their suspicions. Nothing changed between us. That school day went by so quickly. It was probably one of the easiest I had to endure, as well.
3:15 the bell finally rang, ending the school day. I walked out front, and there sat my dad's truck. I threw my backpack in the bed, hopped in the cab, and we took off. The radio played and nothing was said. Only, that wasn't different from any other day. My dad and I didn't have much to talk about those days, and so we just didn't. Every now and then we'd have a conversation about a song, or a car we passed, or so-and-so in my grade and how dad was in the same grade as their parents.
Out of the corner of my eye, I realize my dad is just staring at me. Paying more attention to me than the road or traffic around us. Suddenly, it occurs to me. Mother must have told. That drive home could not have gone any slower. I didn't think we were ever going to get home. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, we did. I jump out of the truck grab my backpack, dash in the house and corner Mother in the kitchen.
"You told him," I said, my voice so flat you could have set a foundation on it.
"Well, what was I supposed to do, Robert Lee," She starts, "He's your daddy and he has a right to know."
"I would have liked to have told him myself."
"Well, that isn't your place."
What did she mean it wasn't my place? I knew that I at least owed my dad the decency to tell him myself. I stormed to my bedroom, buried myself in homework, ate dinner, and went to sleep. That became my routine for the next week. Silent car rides to school, school days that flew by, silent car rides home, silence at the house. No one really knew what to say to me. I didn't have anyone else to speak to, but my Aunt Jane.
She and I had always been close so I called her. If anyone would help me out it would be her. After all, it was kind of her fault I was in the situation I was.
Mother was the second person I told. I told Aunt Jane first, right after school started; Right after I rededicated my life back to my faith. She was always like a second mother to me. I spent weeks at her house, and if anyone knew me better than myself it was that woman. Unfortunately, the nature of our relation took a very negative turn. Jane and I rededicated ourselves back to the Lord around the same time. Her life changed as much as mine did, just in two opposite directions.
So, I tell Jane one day the feelings I have going on, how it's making me feel, the confusion, the anger, the aggression. She prays with me, and I'm all for it. If this isn't what God wants me to be, I want to change it. I start going to therapy sessions with a very nice christian lady, a friend-of-a-friend of Aunt Jane's. I go for a solid week, right after school, staying with Jane that week just to make sure I get there. I leave there everyday feeling more frustration, more guilt, more regret. The lady told me that it was my fault I was feeling these feelings because I wasn't willing to change, I wasn't doing enough, I wasn't trying hard enough. How she couldn't believe that "the homosexuals" chose to call their lifestyle "Gay" because there was nothing gay about it. How "the Gays" were the most miserable people she had ever seen. On our final session, after she had pretty much told me I was a lost cause 10 minutes into the session, I walked out. Tears of failure were flooding my eyes. I walk to a relative's who lives a few blocks away, call Jane, and wait. I get in the car, and I lost it.
My Aunt had always been in my corner, taken my side, had back. ALWAYS. Until now. She looked at me, unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes. I get myself composed as we pull in her driveway, and tell her that tomorrow after school I wanted to go home. That night we sat outside after I had worked on my homework, and prayed. Jane looked at me and asked if I felt any different.
"No," I didn't want to lie to her. I had lied enough.
I then get a good lecture about Old Testament scripture "condemning" homosexuality. I get a very long definition of the word abomination. Then, this woman who had been my best friend, refuge, hero for the past 15 years says two things that I will never forget.
"Well, John [her husband] and I won't want you around our boys."
I look away. Absolutely ashamed of myself for having these feelings. For feeling like I somehow fueled her ignorance, like it was a contagious virus.
She then began asking me about my intentions of telling my parents. I explained to her that I had no intentions of telling them anytime soon. Then came the ultimatum.
"You tell them, or I will."
I went upstairs, packed the overnight bag I had been living out of for the past week, made a phone call and left.
Here we were, two weeks later. I had told my parents. And they couldn't stand to look at me.
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