By Modo
~
First Grade
We were walking to class, my book bag on my back with a cheery but casual face on. I was with my two best friends in the whole wide world. We were inseparable. Well, until the first one left. She gave me her number to call on a small slip of paper. I lost it the next week, and I never saw her again. Now let me tell you something about her, about me. This girl was not only my best friend, but a super duper top secret crush that even I kept hidden from myself. We were best friends. I contemplated the hints seeping into me like sunlight into my skin. Hints that said,"She's cute," or "I think I like her". Well, when I look back at it now, they weren't even secrets! They were full fledged reports dredged up from my brain thats news reporters were screaming , shouting at the top of their lungs, yelling the name of their Adonis. They were saying. They were saying! They were saying ______.
What were they saying?
I didn't know. And I wouldn't know for a long, long time.
Third Grade
When I was younger I went to a Christian private school from third to sixth grade, and according to my lovely cousin that shit messed me up. I'm black. I have always been black. And I forever will be. For all my life until the tender age eleven, I had never met a single non-black person.
It's a bit ironic though. My friend claims I'm anything but black. That's just due to my rich heritage of Caribbean and European ancestors that I constantly bragged about. That's probably why I hadn't met a person of different race as everyone in my school was black including me. At this point in my life it honestly didn't bother me because all ten of my classmates were doing it also, so I fit social norms.
The situation of me meeting the first non-black person- I don't know what other word to use- was quite funny.
My class and I were walking outside back from or to lunch, where we saw this guy, around eighteen or twenty, leaning on a red car wearing a pink skirt, a bow on his head, and a bikini shirt. He looked cool and relaxed as he leaned against the convertible, but I was horrified.
He was showing so much skin!
How could someone dress up like that, especially a boy? My cheeks flushed and I was conflicted with the emotions of turning away or keep staring as we passed by.
I believe this was the first white person I had ever laid eyes on. When we got to where we were going, there were whispers of the guy outside. If I had paid attention I probably would've heard the word. The insult that would hurt a friend of mine. This was also the beginning of people calling others gay as an insult. 'Cause when a guy starts wearing girls clothing he must be gay.
Well, in the 2000's anyway.
There was this one incident where we were going to lunch, all the exciting stuff happened on the way to lunch, and as we were walking down the stairs and the boys were calling each-other gay. One got severely butt-hurt about this and began yelling at the other. The teacher was hearing this and came and calmed the situation down asking him what happened.
"He called me gay" one boy said. The other boy huffed in annoyance, sucking his teeth.
This had been a problem for the past few months, so the teacher came up with a brilliant solution. With a very gentle but stern voice she told us,
"Gay means happy."
That line messed me up more than anything. And in a semi-near future I would begin to wonder, if gay means happy why are they so sad?
Fourth Grade
Okay, so my friend her hair was super short and because of this super hair shortness almost everyone called her gay or a lesbian. This was definitely not true, because the girl liked more boys than anyone I knew of. And she always kept around friends that said these things to her knowing it hurt her. I tried to get them to stop with gentle reasoning and I tried to get her to stop being friends with them. This it seemed, was impossible as we were in different grades, classes, and social groups. How was I supposed to stay friends with her, if all my other friends would leave me because they don't like her, and I would lose her as a friend and watch her suffer from others? I always get caught in situations like these. I'll have several more in the future. I couldn't be there for her in class and she would be left with the others that didn't treat her well, but she would still be friends with them, because who else would be. Friends in my school were like Life Call's. If you had one and fell they'd get you back up. If you didn't well you stayed in the floor suffering in pain, dying, waiting for someone to pick you up. No wonder she went back to them. The only time I was able to really meet up with her was during the summer at camp allowing her to vent and calm down a bit before going back to them the next school year.
Does that make me the rebound friend?
Sixth Grade
Summer
My brother started asking questions, about men kissing other men and he, of course, asked my dad about it. I mean who else was he to ask. My mom wasn't going to say anything about it, and I knew nothing about that, and I truly didn't want to. Kissing's still gross at this point of my life. My father instilled this lesson into my younger brother's and I's head with a thick patois accent. "No mon kiss mon."
Before this time I hadn't given much thought to my sexuality or sexuality in general because what did it matter. I knew I liked boys and that's all that mattered. Girls didn't like other girls like that only boys liked girls then the vice versa, and maybe boys liked boys. I guess that's why I didn't care to even look into that little conclusion of mine. Because if boys could do it, why not girls?
I try not to say the Lord's name in vain, but occasionally it happens.
My family and I went to the State Festival. Everything was going great. We were riding rides, eating funnel cake, going to ride even more rides. This was probably the most revealing day of my life. The ultimate milestone... for me. It revealed my plot hole, broke my minds fourth wall, and I looked around me as if it was a whole new world.
My mom had sent me to get more tickets from the booth, so then we could ride in this saucer thingy that made it seem like you could climb walls. It's the best ride there. As I was waiting in line there was a super tall man, who was kind of beefy, standing in front of me. In front of him were to young women locking face. My eyes went wide and in one of those rare moments I went, Oh My God. I couldn't believe it. In front of me were to young ladies making-out in public. It was disturbing and mystifying at the same time. Disturbing because no one wants to watch other people kiss, it's uncomfortable and extremely awkward for the other person seeing this, mystifying because that means all doors are open. I could be with whoever I wanted (With their consent). When I looked at those two tattooed girls exchanging bacteria filled spit with their mouths, I knew I had a chance. I had found hope.
Seventh Grade
By this time I was thirteen with an Instagram account and at a way more diverse school then my last one. My Insta was surprisingly informative about the LGBT community. I think it was the year same-sex marriage became legal. So, with Gay Pride flyers filling my suggestions page with dirty comics that I couldn't really grasp at the time, to pictures of people at gay pride parades waving flags in the air. I've never been able to fully understand "pride". When we had Black History Month and they'd play the song, "I'm Black and I'm Proud." I never got it, I never felt proud. Even when I thought I was, I wasn't. I just wanted to say I was so then I'd feel accepted. It didn't make any sense to me. If you're born with a toe are you proud you have a toe?
Let me answer that question for you. No, you aren't. Because majority of people in the world have a toe, and those who don't you feel bad for. I was born black, so now I have to be proud about the way I was born. I was born partially gay, and now I have to feel proud about being part gay?
I have to gloat about how black I am, constantly telling people what race I am even though you could probably tell just by looking at me.
Like my blackness, my attraction to girls boys, was blatant. From my point of view, it was so clear to see, you would've thought you were a bird looking at glass.
If I'm going to be proud of something can it at least be of something that I accomplished with my own two hands, not something that was pre-destined to be.
Eighth Grade
This was the grade for which I got my first crush on a girl. That's so weird to write. I didn't know her name, and I didn't want to know. Because if I knew that meant friendship, and friendship plus crush equals doom. I wish I learned her name.
Summer
I was at a writing workshop camp for a week. It was the best summer program I'd ever done in my life it was so much fun, and I felt so light. Everyone was so nice, and they didn't care about your views, or gender, or race. It was mostly girls and I believe half of them were on the LGBT+ spectrum somewhere. I loved it; I got so much work done. Anyway we were driving back to the main place we were staying from a field trip and they were asking if we ever fell in love . I didn't love anybody, I was only fourteen. So I told them this: I don't love, I have severe infatuations.
I then proceeded to tell them about these people. One boy from first to fourth grade, then another one in fifth grade, and the most current: the girl.
I felt so relieved when they just nodded their heads and went okay. I was terrified and guilty. I was scared they'd tell my mom who would tell my dad, and then other family members. They always tell their family everything. That's why I didn't want to tell them in the first place. It's one to have your parents resent you. It's another to have everyone else do the same.
I felt guilty because how could I trust four random strangers with my secret more than my own family?
So, to lessen my guilt I told my first cousin. She was family and I could trust her to not tell anybody. It was over text and it went like this:
Me: Hey
Cousin: hey
Me: You know what I want for my birthday
Cousin: What
Me: A big booty hoe
In theory this was the best plan I had so far, and it was direct, yet indirect. It went with an upbeat song about girls, and how I wanted one for my birthday. I loved the plan, but only in theory. She ended up confused by my statement and I had to explain everything, also I felt a bit uncomfortable using such a derogatory to describe a woman, especially since I am one as well and would definitely not enjoy being called one. It is a good song though.
I then told my best friend in the whole world a bit simpler saying I liked girls. But then I had to explain if I liked boys also.
Like wtf! This was supposed to be simple!
Sigh.
Later that summer, my father and brother were having another one of their little conversations on the greatness of the gays.
It started out a bit like this.
"Should boys like boys?" the little gremlin asked his father gremlin.
We were driving to the barber shop to get the little gremlins haircut. His hairline looked super bad. Father gremlin had an uncomfortable look on his face.
"No," father gremlin answered.
"What about girls?" My brother asked.
Okay. So, before I get to my father's response, I want to explain something. Shortly before this conversation I thought girls couldn't be gay, because I'd only heard of gay guys, not girls, until the state festival incident. So I didn't really know anyone's stance on lesbians or simply girls dating other girls. No one ever mentioned them so my conclusion was that it was fine since in the past people had multiple wives. I was looking very uncomfortable, as I stared out the window. It was getting extremely hot. My chest felt like it was being sucked in by a black hole inside it.
Before my dad gave his response, he looked over to me, from the corner of his eyes and he said no.
Let's just say I was moody for the next few months... or year.
Ninth Grade
I wanted to reap all the benefits I could before they decide to take any benefits away from me. From high school to college, everything would be payed for by them, and I wouldn't have to worry about being on the streets or kicked out because I liked the same sex as me, because they would never know. I wouldn't have to worry about being in a relationship in college because they would just assume I'm with a boy if I didn't specify that person's gender using the most gender neutral term "they". And if they ever asked about them, I could say they were gender neutral. Basically, I was going to use my parents to get everything I wanted from them, then blow their minds away, with personal, top secret, information once I wasn't reliant on them.
So one day, I was acting batshit crazy. Which isn't unusual when parents are absent. And while I was running up and down the hallways with my arms flailing around in the air and my voice belting out any lyric that came to mind (I was supposed to be cleaning) my brother asks me if I'm gay. He wasn't suspecting or anything he just likes asking questions that make me uncomfortable. Also he wants to make sure I wasn't for his piece of mind. And how my brother likes asking questions that make me uncomfortable, I like messing with people's head. I first answer with a no, and a smile, the tell-tale sign that I was lying to him. Not sure, he keeps asking and asking and I give him varied answers until he gives up. Each time I said yes he would look at me in disbelief before, I falsely reassure him with a yes.
I miss those days.
The next time he questioned me in the kitchen, and I was already in a bad mood which led me to my next boo-boo: Saying yes. Then making him believe me. He blows his shit, he's so fricken shocked. Throughout that day he kept asking me if I was sure and if I meant it, and all I wanted to do was curse his butt out saying, "No fucking Shit (his name). I'm lie girls, get the fuck over it!"
He still questions me a bit now, but he's starting to be a bit more understanding. Honestly, I just want him to shut up about it because it's none of his business, but that's what happens when you involve family. Your business is their business. Now let me tell you something else about my little brother, he is the best snitch that I know of. So if I cursed him out then in the next two seconds my parents knew. But he was patient with me on this new-found information on myself and gave me a day before he told them. Now even if he did tell my parents I could say he's lying, but I don't like lying to my parents because corporal punishment is really effective. The night before I balled my eyes out, playing out all the scenarios that went through my mind. I could be kicked out, they'd tell the rest of the family, they'd hate me, ignore me, beat me. I was more afraid of them to stop loving me though. I didn't care if they kicked me out or beat me, as long as they didn't stop loving me I would've been fine. I wrote all my fears, and a get-a-way plan in case they decided to kick me out. I was going to find my Godmother.
I went to school the next day, I was so scared and nervous. I decided to suck it up and tell them after dinner. I couldn't even eat. The food looked great that night too. I was so sad and scared. I thought I was going to throw up. The rest of my family finished up and I put up the dishes before going back to the table.
They were annoyed I was still at the table. My brother was preparing to take a shower, but I knew he was trying to listen in from his room.
They kept staring at me. I loathed their stares.
And then I told them.
"I'm bisexual."
Man, that sounds crude. No wonder they have nice little nicknames like, gay and lesbian, or trans. It sounds so neat and clean. Then you add the rest and it's like you've unleashed a monster of science and too long words.
It would've been better if I said, "I like girls."
Maybe I would've been nice and neat.
Any-who, my parents stared at me in disbelief. After giving them some reassurance that I wasn't kidding, my dad he started to tear up, his eyes were red, and my mom, she looked pretty scary at the moment. I remember her telling me not to label myself. And I'm okay with that. That's why I wanted to tell them I liked girls, just for a heads up, not a label like "bisexual", but it just... popped out. It was when she told me this, that I got confused.
"What your sexually attracted to doesn't determine what your attracted to romantically or what your life experiences will entail."
This is what I got from our conversation about this. And here's why I'm confused. If I'm sexually attracted to things, why the fuck do I have to worry about what I'm romantically attracted to?
Sexual attraction deals with genitals and general body features that are apart of someone that I would find ideal. Romantic attraction deals with personality and get-to-know-you shit.
Romantic attraction comes after I actually meet the person. I was talking about my sexy feelings and you brought relationship feelings into this. I wasn't ready for that, and so I just ended up wondering why did this even matter?
I went through all this agony just for you to tell me it didn't matter?!
The answer is yes. I did.
Because now I can tell anyone I like girls and boys and the in- betweeners, since it never really mattered in the first place.
As I said before, my sexuality is as clear to see as a bird looking through glass.
"Words are meaningless and fleeting"
- some old guy.