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320 pages, Hardcover
First published May 28, 2013
I know that I need to close my window shades, unless I want to see a show that no son should see.
So maybe being openly gay isn't a curse, but it's fucking exhausting.
Finally, here it was. My chance for a do-over. Here at Natick, I could be just Rafe. Not crazy Gavin and Opal’s colorful son. Not the "different" guy on the soccer team. Not the openly gay kid who had it all figured out.
I was going to be label-free. Don’t ask, and I won’t tell. The only way I would actually lie was if I were asked directly, "Are you gay?" In that case, I’d say no. But even then I wouldn’t go on about being straight. I didn’t want to lie; I just wanted to not be the guy whose main attribute was liking other guys. Been there, done that.
As soon as I tried to remove the label, a lie formed. In the end, that lie created a barrier way worse than the original one. How crazy is that? Ironic, I mean. I created a barrier getting rid of a barrier.
Can you just put a part of yourself on hold? And if you do, does it cease to be true?
How was I expecting to get closer to someone by not being truly me?
“It’s hard to be different,” Scarborough said. “And perhaps the best answer is not to tolerate differences, not even to accept them. But to celebrate them. Maybe then those who are different would feel more loved, and less, well, tolerated.”
“We’re a pretty tolerant place,” Steve said, an edge to his voice.
“Ah, interesting word. Tolerant. What does tolerant mean?”
“It means we tolerate,” Steve said, flat. “We accept people.”
“Actually, tolerance and acceptance are different. To tolerate seems to mean that there is something negative to tolerate, doesn't it? Acceptance, though, what's that?”
“Well, if you need to accept something, that means it's not like it should be, right? Like you accept something as it is. Acceptance is an affirmation you're good enough.”
"I'm so tired of being a type," I repeated.
"It's not just a black and white thing. Jock. Geek. Stoner. No one is considered just a human being, it seems like."
"…Nothing that comes from love could ever be wrong."
It was just such a thing my mother would say. Then she started singing 'All You Need Is Love' and I excused myself because there's a certain level of cheese that's too goopy even for me.
“We’re a pretty tolerant place,” Steve said, an edge to his voice.
“Ah, interesting word. Tolerant. What does tolerant mean?”
“It means we tolerate,” Steve said, flat. “We accept people.”
“Actually, tolerance and acceptance are different. To tolerate seems to mean that there is something negative to tolerate, doesn't it? Acceptance, though, what's that?”
“Well, if you need to accept something, that means it's not like it should be, right? Like you accept something as it is. Acceptance is an affirmation you're good enough.”
I created a barrier getting rid of a barrier.
“I know, I’m gay. I’m your gay son. But could you just give me a fucking break for two minutes so I can be just me too?”
“I guess I’d like to think of what we have as agape. A higher love. Something that transcends. Something not about sex or brotherhood but about two people truly connecting.”
“It’s hard to be different,” Scarborough said. “And perhaps the best answer is not to tolerate differences, not even to accept them. But to celebrate them. Maybe then those who are different would feel more loved, and less, well, tolerated.”