The night air was thick with musk, perfume and a hint of freshly cut grass lingered in the distance on that hot summer night in 2001. I stood in front of what seemed at that time a massive crowd of proud parents, friends and family members. Everyone’s cheers seemed lost in the distance, muffled in a sense. The only thing I could hear clearly was the beating of my own heart as it began to beat faster and faster and the tone of my breath as I exhaled. Then finally my name was called. I stood up and made my way to the podium. The sound of my classmates screaming seemed odd. Could it be? After all these years of being taunting and teased, had I finally been accepted? But as everything in high school is, it was just a production. Or perhaps it was just the overwhelming feelings of their own demise knowing that they had peaked in high school. I stood in front of my peers nervous with a feeling of uncertainty. The heavy beaming lights from the football field blindingly guided my view. The lights shined on my green cap and gown which was nicely ironed a couple hours before hand by my meticulous mother. I stood there with my rapidly beating heart, the muffled screams of the crowd holding a bright red balloon in my hand. The balloon as our principal and graduation coordinator described was a symbol of our past that we were to let go of our childhood and move forward into adult hood. I stood there with my “symbol” in my hand closed my eyes, made a wish and let go. To me my balloon represented much more then coming of age, it represented hope and my escape.
Growing up in a small town had its advantages but it also had its drawbacks. Our town was so small nobody has ever really known what our population was. We had two major state prisons in driving distance within the town, and the inmates were included into our population count. I was a small town boy with big city dreams. I was looking for a way out as far back as when I took my first step. My home town is called Blythe those of you who might recognize the name might have stopped by to get gas on your way to somewhere, anywhere else. This town might be small geographically but is big in heart. From an outward glance the town might resemble the town that time forgot or that time stood still for. When you take a closer look you see much more. Yes this tiny town that is unnoticed by the world is where I call home.
I grew up with the same morals and view points as everyone else in my town, that Family was everything and that we should love yet fear God and your mother. But most important, you were supposed to be attracted to the opposite sex. The Problem was that I knew at a very young age that I was diffrent. I also questioned everything which did not go over to well in my home town. I remember being in catechism as a child and being kicked out for coloring Jesus black. My aunt who was the catholic school teacher at the time asked me in front of everyone why I did that? I responded with, “If Jesus was made in our image, why was he only white in every picture I saw I'm not white? Why couldn’t he be black or brown?” as I pointed to my broken brown crayon. I continued with, “And if he did walk the land preaching the good word of his father, wouldn’t he have at least some kind of tan?” my aunt grabbed me by my ear and walked me outside and asked me to go home. I was never asked to come to catechism again. To question anything or to think differently was considered an act of treason and was punishable by disowner ship from the rest of the pact.
The day after graduation I woke up to a banging at my bedroom door, it was my strict and compassionless father. His idea of a good time was chain smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and telling me what a disappointment I was. He asked me to meet him in the living room in 10 min. I quickly grabbed some jeans that were tossed on the ground and rushed to meet him. I knew that when he had that certain look he meant business. As I wiped the sleep from my eyes and yawned I quietly mumbled, “Good morning”. He looked at me up and down and said, “Well?” I looked down at my bare feet and back up at him and said, “Well what?” he stared at me with eyes full of anger and said, “You graduated yesterday, you’re officially a man.” Looked at me up and down again, “Or as close as one you will probably ever be. It is the first week of the month. If you want to continue living here you need to pay rent. Which means you need a job.” I couldn’t believe it I had not been out of high school for a full day and already I had bills. “Because I just told you about rent I will give you a grace period of another week to get rent to me before you are charged a late fee.” He smirked. I’m sure in his mind he thought he was doing me a favor.
When my mother woke up I told her about the whole incidence which caused a huge fight. My father was a very stern man. He was never physically abusive but he was verbally abusive towards me which at times I felt was much worse. I was the product of a blended family. My father legally adopted me when I was about 8. My mother thought I needed a male father figure in my life and he was it. My mother’s best friend since high school was down visiting for my graduation; Martha suggested that I move out with her to San Diego. I could help her with her son and look for a job out there. An invitation and a free ride out of this town, there was no need to think about it, I ran to my room and packed my bag.
As I strapped my suite case on the hood of Martha’s old car, I looked back at my mom as she stood there, eyes filled with tears and arms crossed in front of her chest being as tough as always. I gave her a hug, kissed her cheek and said, “Don’t worry mom I will be fine, I will call you when I get there.” She grabbed my face and said, “You will be great, I always knew you would leave this town, your dreams were always bigger then this town. Be careful and call me every day.” This came as a huge shock. My mother was never one for showing emotion. In fact at times growing up she was quite cold. She always felt she had to be tough with us. As a child I remember playing outside with my cousins which there were many of, and crying because one of them had called me a distasteful name, A name that would haunt me forever, a name that at the time I found hurtful and full of shame but later I would pull strength from and learn held great power. The name was, “Faggot”. My cousins’ who were a little older would scream at me as I played with my best cousin Monica “Moni”. “Come on Faggot, why are you crying Faggot”. At the time I didn’t know what the word meant but I knew it couldn’t be good from the way that they kept taunting me with it. My mom came out and saw me crying as my cousin Moni stood above me brushing my hair with her palm. “What’s wrong?” my mother asked as she squatted to the ground next to me. “Tia it’s the boys, they keep yelling at him calling him…..You know…that word” Moni said full of anger tough like I wish I could be. My mom stood up as the boys ran away. My mother grabbed me by my forearm and lifted me to my feet. As she brushed my light blue corduroy jeans with the patch on the knees off she looked up at me as I rubbed my eyes and said, “Never let anyone see you cry because that is a sign of weakness. What you are showing people is how to hurt you.” She wiped my dirt stained face off and said, “Now go play, and remember if you ever feel like crying hold it in and when you’re alone in your room then you can cry”. That advice had followed me all through my adolescence and into young adulthood. Later in life I learned the warm companionship of Revenge, which at times could keep you warm in even the coldest nights.
As we pulled out of the driveway and drove down the street I looked back in the rear view mirror and watched my mom get smaller and smaller, as the tears rolled down my face, I quickly wiped them away I turned to Martha as she said, “Don’t look back. In life the only thing you can do is look ahead, no use dwelling in the past all you have is the present and future”. But I did look back and as my home, my friends, my family vanished my small town life had become nothing but dust in the distance. As I sat there I thought to myself. I made it. I was free, who knows what my future had in store for me. Would I find a job? Would I find love? Would I find a place in the world for me? Who knew? What was certain was that this was going to be an adventure but it was my adventure, and I couldn’t wait.
