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June 6, 2006

Roots.

My first sleepover was in preschool with Taylor Lang. My favorite five year old comrade and I formed our friendship around play dates that consisted of tea parties with little white cakes catered by my mother. “More tea?? I asked my friend cordially extending out my Fischer price teapot.
“Why thanks,? Lisped my friend.
“One lump or two,? I giggled as the gentle splash of invisible tea filled my friend’s cup. Some invisible connection seemed to forge this friendship.
The civility of our interaction spoke of a gentle sophistication that put a smile on my mother face but left on my father’s face a scowl that of anal fissure which stung him with an instinctually aberrant unease regarding our friendship.
To me it was just your average Barbie themed sleepover between two boys. Sing along:
Now you can do what you never did before, you can snip snip snip and snip some more, for the very first time cut as much as you dare, cause just like magic she’s got long hair, snip it and twist it, spike it and then, add some more hair cut and style again, new cut and style Barbie, THIS IS FUN!


“So Mike, again, don’t you want to find out why you are homosexual? Somewhere along the line you must have turned the wrong page.?

My dad wanted me to “dig deep!? and find my root. My mind conjured up images of my friendship with Taylor and the neatly clipped bangs of my beautiful Barbie. Startled that my childhood was a reified stereotype of diagnosable homosexual behavior, I decided on a beautiful lie that would displace the responsibility from that of irresistibly glamorous Matel dolls to my father.
“Well dad, remember the one time we played catch in the backyard, and it was a total disaster? You hit me in the jaw with the baseball. Yeah my jaw has cracked everyday since. That’s why I’m gay.?

Posted by droz0008 at 11:50 PM