“In the end, we’re all just one big group of freaks I guess, trying to find ourselves in this crazy world. And I’ll always be that gay boy, trying to find himself through music, books and art. And I love that about myself…”
This is how I ended my post The Gay Boy. Someone commented that I should start off my life novel with this sentence. Maybe that’s true, but the funny thing is that I’m not really sure I define myself as “The Gay Boy”. I’m not really sure how I define myself.
Man? Son? Husband? Coach? Friend? Dreamer? Alcoholic? Mentor? Romantic? Who Knows. My definition changes on a daily basis. One thing I’m sure of though, is that I tried for a very long time to run away from the label of being “The Gay Boy”. I’m not really sure that applies, now, being that I’m over 40, but I guess there will forever be a bit of innocence and childishness in me. And then again, I don’t even really like the term “Gay Boy”, because it almost has a dirty connotation. There’s almost something pornographic in it’s nature, especially being over 40.
Which brings up the question of labels. For years, people have been stuck on this idea that they don’t like labels. I guess I don’t necessarily care much if someone labels me or not, I just don’t know how to label myself. I know there are certain words I don’t like. I’d love if my label was “movie star” or “famed novelist”, but those don’t seem to quite fit.
Gay. Homosexual. Fag. Faggot. Queer. Sissy. I don’t really care for any of those, although at times I’ve been called those in hate as well in other times with endearment. Well, all except for faggot and sissy. But at times, I’ve used those words too and I guess that makes me a hypocrite.
I just don’t think that when I die I want to be remembered as “gay”. I mean, I don’t care if that’s a defining factor about myself, but aren’t I so much more than just “The Gay Guy”. Ahhh…that’s better. Rid myself of the boy syndrome. And who really defines themselves by that anyway? “I’m the gay guy?” I guess in the end, I have been running from this all of my life even though I really don’t care anymore. In the last 10 years I’ve embraced being gay in a way I never believed. Today, I love being gay. I probably wouldn’t change it if I could.
When I came out to my father he told me that he felt like my being gay was a genetic factor no different than my eyes being blue. I think he was right. It’s not a definition at all. It’s a descriptive word about myself.
But really, I’m just a freak.