As I sat across the table from him, I wondered what it was like to hear the secret confessions of those who felt guilty or sinful. I imagined that the confessions of the young were different than the older folks. I mean, 13 year old boys must reveal lustful thoughts and frequent masturbation, right? What do the elderly share? Bitterness, unforgiveness...? Were his experiences as a young priest hearing confessions different than an old priest? Were the older ones bored by it? I mean are there
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
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
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
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.