http://www.justusboys.com/forum/blogs/47434-sixthson JustUsBoys Forum en Sun, 19 May 2013 11:26:32 GMT vBulletin 30 http://www.justusboys.com/forum/images/misc/rss.jpg http://www.justusboys.com/forum/blogs/47434-sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9701-Life-lessons Mon, 04 Feb 2013 18:22:19 GMT When I started college at 17, with all the usual fears and insecurities, I thought I knew myself somewhat well. I soon discovered I had many hard and... When I started college at 17, with all the usual fears and insecurities, I thought I knew myself somewhat well. I soon discovered I had many hard and painful lessons to learn. Aside from the typical guilt and shame of knowing I was gay, there was terrible sadness at the thought I would never have children of my own. I always loved children and grew up in an enormous family where there were always babies and toddlers. I did a lot of babysitting in those days.
So, when I accepted that children would never be a part of my personal life, I decided that I could be involved in other ways i.e. teaching. I was quickly discouraged by a poor excuse of a guidance counselor ("too many teachers, not enough jobs", he said), so social work was the way to go, I decided.

Painful lesson #1:
Freshman year of college I was asked to be part of a group that would be involved with a home for children with mental disabilities. Perfect, I thought. We were to provide music, stories, activities and one-to-one interaction with the children. Our first day there, we entered into the large common area filled with children all wanting to touch us and be near us. We were surrounded by little bodies, all clutching at us, all very needy. Some had expressionless faces, many showing physical signs of their mental disabilities. Suddenly, I was overcome with repulsion. I didn't want them to touch me, I didn't want to make eye contact with them and they were all so hungry for affection. I wanted only to run away. There children were white, black, asian, latino. They had runny noses and drooling mouths. Their fingers were sticky and the smell was not good.
Somehow, we managed to get through the morning and left. Before I could get out the door, an elderly woman with snow white hair, a deeply wrinkled face and kind brown eyes, shook my hand and thanked me for coming. She said something very peculiar to me. "Don't be afraid of their eyes", she said. I wasn't sure what she meant at the time, but it cut me like a knife.

In the car ride back to school, everyone talked about how difficult the experience was, but that they wanted to continue it. I sat in silence, vowing never to come back.
When I got to my room, I ran into the bathroom and laid on the floor, as if to debase myself. With my face flat on the floor. I sobbed. I hated myself. Could it be I only I only cared about beautiful children, perfect children, white children? For days after that, I couldn't eat, sleep or study. I knew I needed to go back there and I knew I needed to talk to the old woman.

Late one afternoon, I used what little courage I had and went back to the facility. Most of the children had gone for the day and it was fairly quiet there. The old woman with the kind eyes saw me and recognized me. I could have sworn she was expecting me by the look on her face. I asked to speak privately with her. I could barely get the words out of my mouth. We sat in the empty dining room where she gave me a glass of milk and a warm chocolate chip cookie. What kindness she was showing me and it only made me feel worse. I choked up and I felt tears running down my face. My nose started to run. She gave me some tissues and said "Just relax, baby. It's alright". In her grandmotherly way, she knew me. She understood my pain and shame. She told me I was a beautiful boy with a tender heart. All I could do was to shake my head in disagreement. I sat there and she did the talking. Her words were like a balm to my wounded spirit. Finally, I was able to tell her how I felt. I didn't hold back or try to make myself look better. I wanted her to see my true ugliness. But she smiled at me, she reassured me with her gentleness and compassion. I told her I didn't deserve it, that I deserved to be treated the same way I felt about the children.
She placed her hand on my face and wiped my tears away. She smelled like nutmeg.
She spoke truth to me that day. She told me I could run away and harden my heart but that would only damage me in my other relationships. She told me I could face myself by facing "the babies" again. She spoke to me with such kindness, but also strength. She did not tell me just what I wanted to hear, but she told me what I needed to hear.
When I took a deep sigh, she asked me what the sigh meant. I told her she would see me again.
She said "I knew I would, baby".
I won't lie, the next time we went back, it was still not easy. But this time, I knelt down amongst the children and let them grab me and hug me. They still smelled bad, still had sticky fingers, still so needy. But after seeing ugliness in myself, I began to feel love rise up in me for these little ones. Over time, it became my great joy to serve these them, to get dirty with them, to be on their level, which I learned was much higher than who I thought I was.

I often wonder what has become of these little ones. I'm sure some have not survived to adulthood. Others are probably in group homes and functioning in their worlds. They probably don't remember me, but I will never forget them.
I kept in touch with Grace, the old woman with the appropriate name, until her death.

Red and yellow, black and white. they are precious in His sight! ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9701-Life-lessons http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9651-The-man Thu, 01 Nov 2012 17:52:38 GMT He was in a city far from home, in the kind of bar he visited only when out of town. Something about these kinds of bars excited him, made him feel... He was in a city far from home, in the kind of bar he visited only when out of town. Something about these kinds of bars excited him, made him feel free to be himself. Other than his nightly visits to the internet, this side of his sexuality was unexplored, for the most part. On the net, he enjoyed watching the young men and getting acquainted with a few in chatrooms. He had never met then in real life, however. Not because he didn't want to, however. He had taken good care of himself, was fit and healthy and handsome, looking younger than his years. He was successful in his professional career and he was proud of that. He felt it gave him something extra to add to a relationship, even if only on the net. He knew how to communicate well and the right kinds of words to use to charm the young guys. You could call it sweet talk or flattery, probably.
The truth is, he was really a good man who had been hurt by life from childhood on. Now in his 40s, his marriage was troubled and his life often felt lacking in intimacy. The more he felt his wife failed him, the more he looked to the men on the internet for friendship and affection of some sort.

At the bar that night, a young man sat down one stool away from him. They smiled and nodded at each other. The man thought the boy looked to young to be in a bar, but he was immediately attracted to him. He struck of a conversation with him because he was a friendly person. After awhile, he told the young man his full name and where he live. The young man only offered his first name. This struck him as odd, but he dismissed it as youthful poor manners. The truth was, should he dare to admit it, that he wanted to know the young man no matter what. Soon, the young man moved the stool next to him and asked if the man was married. "Do I look married?" he asked. "Actually, you do" the boy said. The man felt sad. The last thing he wanted to do was to look like a family man in a place like this. Then the young man quickly added "But it's cool" with a slight slap on the man's thigh. The man felt a familiar heaviness begin in his underwear. His mind was excited, too, and his body aroused. He felt young and full of desire.
It was inevitable that they should go to his hotel room, where they stood by the bar in silence, eyes locked on each other. The both wanted the same thing, except the man wanted to believe it was more than just sex. Lying to himself had become a way of life lately. Not a single thought of his wife and children at home entered his mind and had they, he would have quickly pushed them out. He wanted this and was going to have this. He asked the young man for a kiss. It was everything he hoped kissing another man would be like. The young man asked him to suck his cock. They undressed and got into bed. The took turns, but mostly the man did everything. He loved the feeling of an ejaculating cock in his mouth. They showered together and got back into bed. The young man fucked him. Shortly thereafter, he said he had to leave. As they were parting, they shared a kiss that had no passion. The man gave him his cell phone number and asked him to "please call". The young man did not give his.

The man spent the next day feeling excited and his body felt fully charged. He wanted this again and again. He called home and his wife said she was very tired from three days alone with the kids. The man said he would see her in a few hours, but his mind was not on her. For that fact, it was not on his children either. His mind was full of last night.

At home, that evening, his children were thrilled to see him, but his 12 year old son seemed a little standoffish. Like mother, like son, he thought resentfully. He kissed his wife on the cheek and life was back to normal home life. Boring, he thought. He wanted excitement.

One night, a few weeks later, he was online, missing the young man, but chatting with some young chatmates and looking at porn. The longer it went without hearing from the young man, the more he felt used. Had he been honest with himself, he would have realized he was probably more the user than the usee.
He was startled from his thoughts when he heard a voice saying "Dad?" "What are you doing up so late?" he snapped at his 12 year old son. When he saw his son's face, his tone softened. He deeply loved his son. He slammed the laptop closed, like one closed the door of a closet to hide the mess it contains.
"Dad, why don't you love me anymore?" his son asked with a weak, shaky voice. His father was stunned and told his son he was mistaken and that he loved him very much. The man was afraid to ask why his son felt he stopped loving him. But his son continued. "Do you know how you and I used to go out to eat, just the two of us?" His father reminded him that they had just done that 2 days prior, but the son insisted it was no longer the same. He said his father was no longer the same. "When we used to talk, you would look right at me. I felt very important to you. Even when you were upset with me and correcting me, you made me looking into your eyes so that I could only tell you the truth and not a lie. Sometimes you held my face in your hands. Do you remember?" The man remembered the importance he had placed on eye to eye contact with his son. "Now, you don't look at me anymore." Sharper than a surgeon's knife the boy's words cut into the man. He knew his son was right. He knew, too, that he was the one who had changed, he was the one who was putting the distance between them.
With this secret part of his life, he had been greasing the slide to failure and betrayal. He knew at the instant that not only had he betrayed his wife, he had betrayed his children. His son had the strength to tell him that without knowing it.
The man took his son in his arms and sobbed. With tears soaking his face, he told his son that he was right in what he said. He told him how sorry he was and asked for forgiveness. There were no tears on his son's face, because his young eyes were shining with joy. He had his father back. They talked a long time and then he tucked his son into bed. He knew that tonight his son would sleep the sleep of the innocent, something he had obviously not done for awhile.

As he climbed into bed with his wife, he want badly to cuddle her, but he was afraid to awaken her and even more afraid of her rejection. He knew he had wronged her deeply and he knew he blamed her for his actions. By telling himself that she forced him into what he did, he felt slightly better. That was just another of many lies. He resolved to love her again, even if she didn't seem like she loved him. Maybe he could win her back like had done years before. Just before he fell asleep, he felt gratitude in his heart, for the first time since that night in the city, that the young man had not called him. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9651-The-man http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9585-Sometimes-I-wonder Sun, 22 Jul 2012 06:01:41 GMT if things will ever get better for young gay people. A year ago, my nephew told me he thinks he might be gay. He also said he didn't want to be gay.
He is 25, out of the air force one year and working on becoming a drunk. His mother, my sister, is
a mean spirited, homophobic, angry person.
My nephew thinks she suspects he is gay because
she used to call him a sissy when he was a teenager when he made her angry. More than once she told him
no son of hers would be a fag like her brother Dan.
Not if he wanted to remain her son, that is.

So, for the last year, I have cried with him, held him, loved him and tried to help him come to terms with his life. He has done well, despite many set backs. The biggest setback was talking to his parents about his sexuality. As we expected, my sister went ballistic on him, even beat up on him. His father, a passive person, sat by and did nothing. Despite all this, he stayed sober, but I feared he might harm himself.
He leaned heavily on me and my family.
This week, his father died unexpectedly. He loved his dad and believes his dad loved him, but he knew his father was weak. Alcohol was a part of their lives, too. Now, there is no closure with his Dad.
When I got the news of his father's death, I called him. The only words he could get out were "Uncle Danny", then about 5 minutes of sobbing.
He is on his way to see his mother and siblings. I am hoping and praying for the best. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9585-Sometimes-I-wonder http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9536-The-house-on-Crenshaw-Street-Pt-2 Tue, 03 Jul 2012 23:16:51 GMT Our first visit to the old house was primarily to get an overview of the place. I knew immediately that there was one room that I would need to... Our first visit to the old house was primarily to get an overview of the place. I knew immediately that there was one room that I would need to spend some time in. The library. The shelves were filled mostly with novels, going back decades. Many appeared to be first additions. There were also stacks of newer paperbacks. It was obvious the old woman was into mysteries. A hospital bed covered by a colorful handmade quilt sat before a large window that overlooked a private patio and backyard. I imagined how beautiful the flower gardens must have been at one time. She must have spent her last days or years in this room and perhaps died in this bed.

In a room that was mostly old, except for the modern paperback novels was a contemporary Bose Wave music system. The contrast between the old and the new made me chuckle. It also made me want to know more about this woman. Old people often don't adapt to new ways, but here was someone who brought contemporary into the antique. It appeared that time had not stood still for her. I wondered if she had ever married. Was it possible that someone could really only have one surviving relative, a cousin?
I determined to speak to the cousin even if she didn't want to speak to me.

Beside a large fireplace, in the corner of this room was a built-in bar. The shelves were lined with Waterford crystal. There were only a few bottles of liquor and they look old and long since touched. Sitting on the bar sat a newer television set and VCR. In the opposite corner of the room were built-in book cases. I noticed something was off about them. They were not flush with each other. Upon closer examination, I realized they opened from the center. I heard "Oh, cool, Dad, a secret room!" from my son. He walked right in. Inside was a safe built into the wall, several locked boxes (some metal, some wooden) and a file cabinet. There was also a large stack of vintage phonograph records.
Since the safe was locked, we had no idea what was in it. The locked boxes were heavy and by the sound when shaken, something was in them. Surely, someone besides the old woman knew of this room?
Curiouser and curiouser I became.

Before we left that day, my son and I peered into the basement. We couldn't find a lightswitch and it looked pretty dark down there. My son asked what I thought was down there. I told him "dead bodies probably". He grinned a nervous grin, the kind of grin you have watching a horror movie. You know it's not real, but you feel scared all the same.
He asked if I was going down there. I said I was. He said he would, too, but I had to go first. I called him a chicken. He clucked at me. He informed me that if there were any zombies down there, that the only way to kill them was to cut off their heads. I remarked something about the extent of his knowledge about the walking dead.
The basement was not too interesting. The walls and floors were stone and the foundation was amazingly solid and dry. The walls were lined with canning jars, storm windows and screens, pails and the such. No zombies. This disappointed us both, but it was just as well, since we had nothing with which to decapitate them.

We decided to spend more time on our next visit. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9536-The-house-on-Crenshaw-Street-Pt-2 http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9525-The-house-on-Crenshaw-Street Sat, 23 Jun 2012 22:58:55 GMT I had driven by it numerous times, but only in the last few years did it look neglected. It was an enormous, old, red brick house built at a time... I had driven by it numerous times, but only in the last few years did it look neglected. It was an enormous, old, red brick house built at a time when houses were architecturally designed, sparing no expense. It sat on a huge piece of property in a middle class neighborhood. It looked out of place.

One day my office got a call asking us if we would be interested in buying it. I was less interested in owning it than I was in seeing what it was like on the inside. So, when I picked up my 11 year old son from school one day, we headed off to see it. The lawns had been kept cut, but that was all. The hedges and grapes vines were badly overgrown and needing pruning. The perennials were still growing in the gardens, but so were the weeds. When we pulled into the circular drive, my son asked if it was a haunted house. I told him I hoped so. He liked that and said he hoped so, too.
I have been in many unoccupied homes in my life and it has never failed to pique my curiousity about the people who once resided there. I've seen people leave behind things that should have been the first to be packed, like family memorabilia. In other houses, people have stripped permanent fixtures, like fireplace mantels or bathroom sinks.
Never had I seen anything ike this house. Apart from a few places where shadows were left on the walls where artwork had been removed, the place appeared to be fully intact. The place looked clean and dusted (until we went upstairs) and filled will antique furniture and art, including a beautifully carved old Steinway and Sons baby grand.
The house was part of the estate of a 108 year old woman who had died in it nearly 3 years earlier. The heir was in a hurry to sell and was not interested in putting it on the market. She wanted a quick sale and was asking a fraction of it's value, so probate could be closed.
There was one unusual condition, however. I had to buy the house "as is". "As is" is not so unusual but in this case it meant the sale included 100% of it's contents, including all personal papers and what appeared to be family heirlooms and photos.
This too, piqued my curiousity, not just about the old house and the dearly departed, but also her heir, who preferred all contact be made through the attorney, who was also the trustee of the estate. That was not good enough for me, however. I wanted to know everything about the old woman and her family. I began to feel like Miss Marple. My curiosity needed to be satisfied. It would be satisfied.
As we left that day, we looked up the staircase and I said to my son "I keep expecting Miss Havisham to come down the stairs". To my delight, he got it.
So began an adventure... ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/9525-The-house-on-Crenshaw-Street http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/8023-The-man-with-one-leg Sat, 24 Mar 2012 17:26:22 GMT Yesterday, two of my sweethearts (my hubby and soon-to-be 2 year old, Nik) and I were out running errands after a breakfast of blueberry (or... Yesterday, two of my sweethearts (my hubby and soon-to-be 2 year old, Nik) and I were out running errands after a breakfast of blueberry (or booberry, as Nik says) pancakes and bacon. As we were walking from the Target parking lot into the store, we saw a man who had only one leg. This may not be unusual, but the fact he wore no prosthesis was. So, he hopped instead of walking. Actually, he had a lot of spring to his step. This hopping caught the attention of our young son. I'm not even sure he noticed the man had only one leg. The hopping seemed to fascinate him. As we approached the man and the woman with him, Nik pointed at his leg and said "It's ba-lue" (his word for "blue".) Every inch of visible skin on the man, except for his face, was covered in colorful tatoos. He wore short, baggy, black cotton shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, so we saw much of his body. The guy and girl were very friendly and he showed Nik the tatoos of a spider and it's web on his leg. At some point, Nik seemed to have noticed that the man had one empty leg on his shorts and he bent down and looked up it. Uff da! The guy and girl were very amused. The man turned and hopped into the store, at which time, Nik decided he would hop, too. Oy!

Once in the store, we encountered a young hispanic woman and her very energetic son who appeared to be 3 or 4 years old. He would take things off the shelf and she would put them back. Nik watched it all.
The boy took a toy off the shelf and began telling Nik all about it. Nik paid close attention but only said "ohhh". Finally, the little boy says to Nik and us "It looks
e-e-e-LEC-trifying!" He then gave me a shoulder butt in my leg and ran after his mother. When we get back to the car, Tomas puts Nik in his car seat and as he is strapping him in, Nik shouts "It's LECTRIFYING!".

Our next stop was the bakery. Nik admires the cupcakes, which are his favorites. The clerk leans over the counter and asks Nik what he wants. Nik says "cakecups". When she asks him what kind, he says "chicken". I told Nik he meant chocolate and he said "Oh, nooo". The clerk then pulls a cupcake off the shelf that has a little rooster on it. Silly me. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/8023-The-man-with-one-leg http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7985-The-old-oak-tree Sat, 18 Feb 2012 08:06:42 GMT It was dead as long as I can remember, this old oak tree. It stood alone in the pasture, in a field of grass and the occasional clump of willow... It was dead as long as I can remember, this old oak tree. It stood alone in the pasture, in a field of grass and the occasional clump of willow bushes. It was not unusual to see a bald eagle sitting in her top branches, looking toward the earth or the nearby lake.
Beneath her, in the early summer, grew small, wild strawberries. These wild berries were sweeter than any domesticated ones you could buy or grow.
Year after year the tree stood tall, unchanged and unharmed by time or elements. After every storm, the first think I would do was look toward the tree to see if she remained standing. It was comforting to know she survived.
In my teenage years I spent many hours beneath this solitary friend, dreaming, reading, thinking and praying. No one bothered me there and I invited no one there. Until I was in my twenties, that is.
By then only my mother remained in the old home. By then I was in love, too.
Tomas and I would go to visit my Mom and I invited him to my private place. We hiked down the hill and across the pasture that once fed cattle and had a picnic beneath this oaken friend of mine who had, for years, heard my whispers as well as my cries, my singing and lamentations.
After lunch, I lay naked on the blanket, reading my book. I can still remember how warm the sun felt on my ass. If the tree could have talked, she would have told Tomas it was not the first time she had seen me naked, but it was first time I was not alone. Tomas, the awesome artist he is, sat nearby sketching me.

One day, we drove into my mom's driveway and I walked across the yard to look in the direction of the tree. She was gone. From the house there was absolutely no sign of her. It was as if she had been taken completely away. When we got down to her spot, we saw that she had snapped off at the ground and smashed into millions of pieces, as if she disintigrated. I can't fully explain my deep emotions except to say I grieved her loss, my old friend.

The tree came to my memory yesterday because we came across Tomas' sketchbook from that warm, sunny day long ago. It's better than any photograph, to see the old oak tree standing again. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7985-The-old-oak-tree http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7962-My-friend Sat, 21 Jan 2012 19:13:46 GMT Not just any friend. He was my best friend while growing up. There was always a secret I kept from him, however. I felt so much shame about being... Not just any friend. He was my best friend while growing up. There was always a secret I kept from him, however. I felt so much shame about being gay, I was terrified he would find out and reject me. His friendship meant everything to me. He came from a loving family and mine was exactly the opposite. I needed his friendship so much.I don't think I ever told him I loved him, but he knew. Best friends know that kind of thing. When we started college, we only got to see each other a few times a year, but when we got together, it was like no time had passed.

Unbeknownst to me, my father had seen Tomas and me in bed together, kissing one day. I think the only reason he didn't kill us was because he was dying at the time. He told my brother and his wife. My sister in law then told my entire family and word soon spread around our small town. It was scandalous. It makes me chuckle now to think I caused a scandal. When my father died, my relationship with my family was strained, to say the least. Most of my childhood friends shunned me. What hurt more than all of that was the loss of my best friend. He would not talk to me. He wouldn't answer my letters or take a call from me. I found out later he never read any of my letters. All I wanted to do was explain things to him.
He closed all doors to me and in time, I had to let it go or the hurt would have turned into something much worse. I thought about him so many times over the years, however.

A couple of years ago, under the urging of a fellow JUBber, I tried to reconnect with him. He answered my letter and told me he felt I had betrayed him and that he probably never really knew me. He said I had hurt him. He also said he never wanted to hear from me again. Obviously he could not see I had been hurt, too. Also, obviously, he still felt some strong emotions after all the years that had passed. Had he been indifferent, he would not have cared to express his hurt, I thought. It gave me some hope. I sent two more letters with pictures of Tomas and me and our family. He did not reply.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from him, telling me he was going to be in the states and asking if we could meet. He asked that it just be the two of us and none of my family. I am tempted to bring my youngest son because he is such a charmer and you can't look at him and not smile. It might make a potentially awkward meeting less stressful. But, more likely, I will do as he asks and just have it the two of us.

I am excited and nervous. I am trying not to have any expectations. It's hard not to be hopeful. I will not, however, give place to hurt again. The friend I grew up with and loved so much, was just not the hurtful kind. His reponse to me since he found out I was gay is just so out of character for the friend I knew so well back then.

We shall see... ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7962-My-friend http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7931-Our-first-Christmas-together Tue, 20 Dec 2011 05:27:00 GMT We moved into our apartment together the fall of our junior year of college. We were 19. All of our friends still lived in the dorms, so our... We moved into our apartment together the fall of our junior year of college. We were 19.
All of our friends still lived in the dorms, so our apartment became the place to hang out, share meals, watch movies, listen to music and just generally solidify the friendships that began in the first two years of college.
This was the place where we learned to live together as a couple. We were so different as individuals. He knew only unconditional love. I knew only abuse and manipulation. He was free spirited. I was guarded and reserved. He spent money freely and easily and I planned and budgeted and felt guilty when I eventually spent. When we conflicted, he would never argue and I would withdraw. But we were so in love. Learning to live together is not just about sharing a space. It's about sharing a life, being unselfish, understanding and forgiving.

Since I was not out to my family at that time (or so I thought), I had no choice but to go home to them for Christmas. I really wanted to spend it with Tomas and his family. We devised a plot. My family knew I had a part time job, so I lied to them about needing to be back to work right after Christmas.
The week before Christmas that I spent with my family was awful. I slept on a wooden floor in the cold upstairs of our house, my parents either argued or gave each other the cold shoulder (like always) and we existed on tension. We only had one phone in the house and it was in the kitchen, so when Tomas called, I had no privacy to say what I wanted. Tomas knew this and would torment me by telling me how much he loved me and missed me, knowing I couldn't respond in kind. He also said very naughty things, knowing the way my body would react. I kept my lap covered when on the phone with him. Once I called him from the only phone booth in town. It happened to be about minus 20 degrees F outside, which made the experience unpleasant, to say the least. The time was not all bad, however. I loved spending time with my brothers and cousins and reconnecting with my best friend. He told me how in love with his girlfriend he was. I told him I had something to tell him. I was pretty sure I knew how he would react, but it hurt too much not to tell him about Tomas. Just as I was about to tell him, his sister showed up and the opportunity was gone. I felt bad that I never told him but I felt relief, too.

Tomas drove 4 hours to pick me up. It felt like my whole family was looking out the windows when he drove in the driveway. "That's that Greek boy", my dad said. It didn't matter that they didn't know who he really was to me, because when he came in the house, I was just so proud that we loved each other. When we left the house, we drove down to the lake to get reacquainted. I needed to hold him for a few minutes. His hugs we so warm and strong and his kisses so sweet. All that mattered now was that we were together. I don't think I ever enjoyed a 4 hour road trip in the middle of a Minnesota winter before.
When we got to his grandparents home, it was full of family and friends. Some I knew, many I didn't. Tomas' grandfather introduced me as his grandson's boyfriend. There was no shame in his grandparents for who we were.
There were other college aged kids there that I did not know, but it soon felt like we had been friends for a long time, especially these two girls and a guy. At one point, they asked to take a picture of us kissing under the mistletoe. The mistletoe happened to hang in a place very visible to everyone in the room. Lake Minnetonka behind us was dark and snowy, but the dock and grounds were decorated with lots of light. I felt shy and hesitant, Tomas was anything but. Before we kissed, Tomas said "Danny, I love you so much" and all my self-consciousness disappeared. We kissed, they took a picture and everyone clapped and I got shy again.
The fact that Tomas was never afraid to express his love for me publicly had a profound effect on me. The rest of Christmas vacation only reconfirmed one thing to me: I had a new life with a guy I loved. I was never to spend another Christmas with my family.
That New Years is still one of the best in memory, too. We were with all these friends and family with whom we had no secrets. A great way to start a new year! ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7931-Our-first-Christmas-together http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7858-The-decision Mon, 03 Oct 2011 00:44:50 GMT As a follow-up to my previous blog concerning whether we would have another baby--the deadline came and went for our decision but the social worker... As a follow-up to my previous blog concerning whether we would have another baby--the deadline came and went for our decision but the social worker was patient with us and gave us more time. The little girl is to be born the end of October.

When we talked to our sons about adopting again, they were very excited and in favor of us doing it. We also sought out the wise counsel of the person on earth who loves us most: Tomas' grandmother. We always knew that she would love a great granddaughter, but she held back from encouraging us to go through with it because she did not want to put pressure on us.
We spent many evenings with our close friends, hearing how each one came to their own personal decisions about having more children. Some instinctively knew they didn't want more, but for others, nature and biology did not allow for more. And some were like us, they anguished over it. The anguish may have come for different reasons, but a common one was the conflict between the love of children and not having their whole hearts in it. Having children is often a matter of timing. Through our friends, we considered what was holding us back from committing to another child. We knew it had nothing to do with love. Having the means was not an issue, nor was making time for another baby. We have a 17 month old and while we are often tired, that was not a reason for our hesitation, either. We knew we had the energy it took to raise another child.

So what was holding us back? I'm not sure I can say exactly but I do know Tomas and I were of a like mind on it. I guess if I had to put one word to it, I would say 'doubt'. Maybe mostly doubting that the time was right, but is the timing ever perfect to increase your family?

The day we decided, we were hiking in the woods. As is often the case for us, we were laughing about the antics of our children.
Earlier in the day, Lucas and Nikolas had been out in the yard. They were lying side by side in the grass while Lucas was taking a picture of something on the ground. Nikolas appeared to be paying close attention when Lucas spoke to him as they studied whatever it was he was photographing. The attention span of a 17 month old is not very long, however. Soon his little butt popped into the air, signally he was about to stand up. He then jumped on his brother's back and said "horsey, horsey". So, big brother throw him over his neck and gave him a piggy back ride. It's a wonderful thing when your children like each other. We are blessed.

Some of the most difficult words I have ever had to say outloud were that we decided not to adopt her. It is the right decision for us at this time in our lives. There remains a profound sense of sadness, like grieving a loss. It was a terribly difficult decision to make, but I guess it should have been, considering how important it is. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7858-The-decision http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7799-One-more-time Sun, 07 Aug 2011 06:12:02 GMT The clock said it was 3:12 am. Something was weighing on my mind. The moonlight shining in the window was enough to illuminate my naked, sleeping... The clock said it was 3:12 am. Something was weighing on my mind. The moonlight shining in the window was enough to illuminate my naked, sleeping husband's body. I leaned over and softly kissed his butt and got out of bed. I like the stillness and quietness of the night for praying and thinking through things that are bothering me. I go into the nursery and look in on our youngest son and watch him sleep. Sleeping is the only time he is not in motion these days, it seems. I bury my face in his soft tummy and smell his wonderful smell. I kiss his nose. I go down the hall and check on our other sons, whispering "I love you" to them as they sleep, knowing somehow they are able to receive it.
In the hallway, I meet Max, our golden retriever. Max and I are best buddies. He always helps me sort things out in my mind. He doesn't say much, but he manages to remind me of what is important.

What is it that had me up in the middle of the night? A couple of weeks ago, we got a call from the social worker who handled our adoption of Nikolas. She told us about a baby to be born in October. A girl. She knew we wanted a daughter. Each of our adoptions have been difficult. No one has ever made it easy for us. We have been rejected and fought against every step of the way. This time the birth mother wants to know nothing of the adoptive parents and there are no hoops for us to jump through. This should be a no-brainer. But it's not.

Max and I go outside. The night breeze feels great, the crickets are loud and the sky is full of stars. Max pees against a tree. I pee in the grass. (What can I say? I'm a nature boy.)
We sit on the steps and I talk to God. Max listens in. "Why is this not easy?", I ask God. Olivia comes to my mind. She is the little latina girl that we fostered the first year of her life. We loved having a daughter. It nearly killed us to give her back to her birth parents. Despite not knowing what we should do, there is a calmness that settles over my heart. Max jumps up and greets Tomas at the door. Tomas sits down behind me and wraps his arms around me, rubs his face against mine. We sit silently for awhile and I know that what is on my mind is also on his. When he speaks he reminds me of a proverb: Blessed is the man whose quiver is full. Supposedly, this means it's a happy man whose home is full of children. In archery, the quiver holds arrows.

We will decide. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7799-One-more-time http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7668-A-son-talks-to-his-Dad Mon, 28 Mar 2011 00:07:52 GMT "Hello?"
"Hi, Dad."
"Hi, son."
"What are you doing?"
"Working."
"Am I bothering you?"
"Never."
**long pause**
"Something on your mind, son?"
"Yeah."
**longer pause**
"You want to tell me or am I supposed to guess?"
"Why don't you guess, Dad."
"OK. You got kicked out of school for blowing up the science lab? Again."
**he giggles** "Nope."
"Umm, the Romanian mafia is after you for the money you borrowed to finance your trip to the Belgian Congo?"
**he laughs** "Not that, either."
"You smuggled a band of gypsies into the house and they are roasting a goat in the fireplace?"
"No, but that's a funny image."
"Then it could only be one other thing on your mind."
"What's that?"
"A girl."
"You're smart, Dad."
"I know."
"She thinks I'm way cute."
"Well, you are way cute."
"I know."
"How do you know she thinks you are cute?"
"Well, she told her friends and they told my friends and my friends told me."
"Ah, how very junior high."
"What can I say?"
"Is she cute?"
"Oh, man, Dad! She's the cutest girl in class."
"That's my boy!!"
"She's Chinese."
"Sweet."
"I mean, she is from China."
"Very cool."
"She has an accent like me, too."
"You have a Chinese accent?"
"Daaaaaad!"
"Sorry, Lucas."
"Don't do it again."
"I promise nothing. So, she likes you and you like her, right?"
"I guess."
"And knowing that she likes you makes you nervous?"
"Very."
"You know what? She's nervous, too."
"When you and Dad met, who was the first to talk?"
"He started talking to me."
"Were you nervous?"
"Very. I think I blushed like crazy."
"Was he nervous, too?"
"He said it took him a week to build up the courage to introduce himself."
"Awesome!"
"Plus, he was the cutest boy in class, too."
"You made me feel better, Dad. Thanks."
"My pleasure."
"You know what, Dad?"
"What?"
"Puberty sucks."
"Ain't that the truth. And don't say sucks."
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you, my son." ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7668-A-son-talks-to-his-Dad http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7662-Eric Sat, 19 Mar 2011 18:03:58 GMT I think about you everyday. I miss you everyday. Had it not been for your love and friendship, I believe I would never have allowed myself to love... I think about you everyday. I miss you everyday. Had it not been for your love and friendship, I believe I would never have allowed myself to love Tomas. You pushed me, you challenged me. You were unrelenting but always with your unique sense of humor. You believed in me more than I believed in myself. You saved me from myself. You showed me true friendship.

When we first met, you were convinced that I would give you too much competition for the girls. For a few months I tried to date girls, but I knew they wanted what I could not give them and it only caused me pain. When I told you I was through with dating, you never pressed me for a reason. I loved that. A year later when I told you I was gay, you felt a little hurt, not because I was gay, but because I felt I couldn't tell you back then. When I told you I was in love with Tomas, you gave him the evil eye for a few weeks.
You were protective of me. Let's not forget the Christmas dance our senior year of college when Tomas and I danced together. Some guy called us fags. You punched him.

Today is March 19th, a day we would have normally spent together. Already I have shed some tears, but mostly I have laughed remembering how crazy you could be. You were so comfortable in your own skin and you were so heterosexual! Yet...you thought Tomas and me loving each other was the most natural thing.

We are watching out for your young son. He is growing up fast and it is shocking how much he is like you. He is feisty, willful, determined and so loving and affectionate.
For a long time he called Tomas and me Daddy because he heard it at our house. I know you would have liked that.

You will always be in my heart and mind. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7662-Eric http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7533-Don-t-go-near-that-house-Danny Fri, 12 Nov 2010 05:31:03 GMT It was after midnight on a late spring night and I was walking the 3 miles home from my friend Jerry's house. It was warm and humid, with no stars in the sky and the moon mostly hidden behind clouds. Half way home, I turned onto the last paved street that had sidewalks and streetlights before the dirt roads began. There was a house on that street that my older brothers had always warned me about. A bad man lived there. According to them he had been to prision for sexually mutilating another man. In the daytime, it looked like any other house, except that the shades were always pulled and there never seemed to be any signs of life. At night, occasionally there would be a dim, yellow light upstairs. This night, like any other night, I picked up my pace when going by the old house, but when I heard I noise, I stopped to listen. Someone said my name and grabbed my shoulder. I turned and looked at the dark figure. He smelled of cigarettes and something worse. He said my name again. HE KNEW MY NAME! His fingers gouged the muscles and bones in my shoulder. I was small and thin for 15, but I had lots of brothers so I knew how to throw a punch. Instinctively, I swung my fist into his body, hitting his ribcage. He released his grip on me as my punch knocked the wind out of him. His breath hit my face and I felt disgusted. I turned and ran until I came to the last streetlight and stood beneath it, as if somehow it's light would protect me from evil. There was no sign of him following me. Had he run behind the houses? Would he come down the alley after me? I ran down the dirt road to the path in the open meadow before me. I turned and looked for him, but he was no where to be seen. I walked the path quickly toward the railroad tracks that lead to another dirt road and my last 3 blocks home. Unless you have grown up in the country, you have no idea just how dark the night can be when there are no streetlights. My heart was pounding as I crossed the railroad tracks into the poor part of town. My family was the poorest of the poor and we lived at the very end of the road. As I stepped down into the ditch and up onto the road, there stood another old house, so dark, so quiet, so familiar. It was my grandparents home. I knew I could run into it for protection if I needed, they never locked their doors. My grandfather would be asleep on the daybed in the living room, my grandmother in the back bedroom. As I turned the corner, I saw a light coming from my Grandma's bedroom. I knew she often read late into the night. It comforted me to know she was somehow watching out for me, even if she was not aware of it. I knew she prayed for me. It began to rain as I walked down our driveway and into our house. Everyone sleeping, no lights on, no doors locked. When I got to my room, I felt all clammy and sticky from sweat clinging and drying on my skin. I wanted to take a bath, but I knew it would wake up my parents. Waking them would be grounds for a beating. I grabbed a washcloth and went outside in the rain. I took off my clothes and underwear and stood naked in the dark. The rain was cold and hurt when it hit my body. I scrubbed myself until my skin felt raw, especially my shoulder where 'he' grabbed me and on my face where his toxic breath hit. I had never been so afraid. Even with the rain on my face, I could still taste the saltiness of my tears on my lips. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I dried myself off in the porch and walked naked through the house, up the stairs to my bedroom. I put on clean underwear and climbed into the bed I shared with my younger brother. I turned my back to him and faced the open window next to our bed. I looked out into the darkness, I remember smelling the sweet fragrance of the plum trees below. I felt safe now, but so alone. Alone in a houseful of sleeping people. It was then I heard a familiar sound. It was the sound of the distant train. A haunting sound, a lonely sound, a reassuring sound. And I slept. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7533-Don-t-go-near-that-house-Danny http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7441-The-wedding Fri, 10 Sep 2010 04:48:08 GMT Two weeks ago, we attended an out of town wedding for my nephew. I love a traditional church wedding with the promises made by the couple so much in... Two weeks ago, we attended an out of town wedding for my nephew. I love a traditional church wedding with the promises made by the couple so much in love. During the service, my mind wandered back to the evening Tomas and I spoke words of committment to each other, on a beach on the Mediterranean Sea. Just he and I. And God. Only 21, with our lives ahead of us. Like every young couple, we had hopes and dreams, we made plans. That night I knew, like I know today, we are as married as any couple could be. The only difference is that we don't have the sanction of the state.
One day. The traditional wedding vows ask "Will you have him to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort and keep him and forsaking all others remain true to him as long as you both shall live?" Easy. "I will."

So, at 3 am, after my nephew's wedding, a lovely dinner and a long night of dancing, our sons asleep, the baby fed and happy, we get in the shower together and hold each other. Tomas says to me "You were thinking about the promises we made to each other, weren't you?" He knows me so well. Later, as we sit on the bed, tired and happy, we talk. Just how many of those late night talks have we had in bed over the years, I wonder?
How many laughs, how many tears, how much love have we shared? He tells me that loving me has been the easiest thing he has ever done. I feel the same about him. I know that we have loved, honored and cherished each other. We have not taken lightly the vows we made to each other. Vows of love are not onerous like weighty chains; rather they are liberating, like wings, allowing two to soar together like eagles. ]]> sixthson http://www.justusboys.com/forum/entries/7441-The-wedding