Recently in Memories Category

The other day, I was listening to the radio while driving, and "Don't Want to Miss a Thing" by Aerosmith came on.  I absolutely love that song and want to include it here.  So thanks to YouTube, enjoy a nice rendition with lyrics, no less:



I actually have an emotional history associated with this song.  The song was quite popular on the radio back in 1998, thanks to Armageddon.  At the time, I was also involved with a young man name Zech.  It was actually my first relationship, providing you don't count the friend I experimented with in high school.  The song meant a lot to me back then.  Every time I heard it, I thought of Zech.

The other day when I heard the same song, it made me think of another guy.  I'll call this guy D (until he tells me he's ready for me to talk about him by name.  D and I have been talking, hanging out, and otherwise enjoying each other's company.  We're not actually dating, though I hope that changes some day in the not-too-distant future.

What I find interesting is that while similar, the reaction the song evokes in me regarding D now and the reaction I had back when I was involved with Zech.  In both cases, the theme of the song -- the desire to be with that special someone as much as possible -- resonated deeply with me.  However, the emotional undercurrents are worlds apart.

As I mentioned, Zech was my first boyfriend (though come to think of it, we never officially dated).  We were both young and immature, and I was only recently out (I had only finally accepted my sexuality two years earlier).  This meant that I was going through a lot of emotional turmoil, and tended to cling to Zech in a sense of desperation.  And that desperation came through back then as I'd listen to the song.  I didn't want to miss a thing, because I was terrified that things would end.  Part of me wanted to squeeze as much out of the relationship before the horrible ending came, and part of me foolishly believed that simply by being ever-present, ever-vigilant, and ever-suffocating, I could actually prevent the horrible ending from coming.

I've grown up a great deal in the intervening twelve years, and I now listen to that song again with a new guy in mind.  And once again, I find myself nodding along with the song.  But rather than a nagging sense of desperation, my heart is filled with a sense of peace and contentment.

The funny thing is, there area  few parallels.  There's no guarantee that things will work out between D and I.  (Is there ever really any such guarantee?)  I don't know how long I have with him or even if we'll ever become a couple like I'm hoping for.  I think it's likely though.

But in the end, it doesn't matter.  I have this time now, and I want to make the most of it.  Not out of fear or desperation, but out of hope and joy.

People often talk about how music can evoke powerful emotions and we can associate specific memories and feelings with a song.  However, I sometimes think that people forget that new connections and associations can be made with old songs that replace or overpower the old ones.  I know from personal experience that this is true, because I enjoy "Don't Want to Miss a Thing" far more today than I did back in 1998.

In fact, I think I'm going to go listen to it again.

I've spent the past several days playing around with Writing.com (WDC).  It's been good for me, as it's helped get me motivated again to actually write.  And I've enjoyed the feedback I've gotten from some truly skilled writers over there.  Tonight, I decided to further participate in the site by joining my first writing contest.  I chose to submit an entry to the Character Creation Contest. I figure I'm pretty good at character creation, so it's a good place to get my feet wet. I'll move on to more challenging contests -- one that force me to work on my weak points -- as time goes by. So I put together a character profile for Hargath, a dark priest.

Hargath is actually a recreated and edited version of a character I played in an online freeform roleplaying campaign. The way I came up with him always amused me.

When the group on the BBS decided to set up the room for the campaign, I hadn't decided if I was going to participate yet. So I sat back as people started making posts introducing their characters. I noticed that everyone was creating noticeably good -- as in morally upright -- characters. As I watched the party form up, I realized that this was looking like it would be a campaign where the players worked together perfectly well.

Now, perhaps it's because one of my favorite roleplaying games (though I never got to actually play it) was Paranoia, but that state of affairs didn't sit well with me. I felt that like good storytelling, good role-playing (I'm also of the opinion that the difference between the two is almost negligible) required some conflict between characters. It wasn't enough to just have to overcome the obstacles of the NPC's. There needed to be some obstacles to teamwork that needed to be overcome as well.

So I decided to introduce a dark priest. I forget what his name was, and I don't think I described him quite as well as I've described Hargath. But he was definitely the dark cloud looming over the party. And his presence did make for some interesting role-playing.

Shortly before the campaign fell apart (those of us involve simply found ourselves with not enough time to continue it), I remember an exchange between my priest and the mage that my friend, Ben played. At one point, the party came up against a particularly nasty captain we had to get rid of. The party agreed that assassination was the best course of action, and my priest volunteered to do the dirty work. The mage decided that my priest needed a disguise in order to get close enough. The mage happily helped out in that department obliged, by transforming my priest into a woman!

Of course, my priest got his revenge. His new disguise allowed him to get the captain in private and dispatch the captain in a formal ritual sacrifice to the dark goddess. And the mage's spell further enabled my priest to psychically link said mage to the victim. The end result, the mage experienced everything done to the captain as if it was happening to him. Ben thought the whole idea was a hoot. In fact, he wrote the entire scene for me because I didn't have time.

Of course, my choice of characters did create problems between me and at least one other player. Another friend, Jared, played a Druid. Jared was interested in Druidism himself at the time. And my priest character did a couple things (like steal the soul of a horse so that it would bend to his will) that freaked Jared out. Note that I said it freaked Jared out rather than his character. Jared was mad at me for days. That much was unfortunate. But as I explained to him, part of role-playing and fiction is allowing some characters to do things we wouldn't dream of doing in real life. After all, if all characters were the goody-two-shoes most of us try to be, our games and stories wouldn't be nearly as interesting.

And I admit that playing an evil character helped me write such characters much better.

I remember how frustrated Diane, our old IVCF staff worker, used to get with me my sophomore year in college.  I had decided to get involved in IVCF leadership that year and had taken a position on the chapter's executive board.  It quickly became apparent that I was not well suited or that kind of leadership.  My outlook was simply more relational.

The scene played out several times, varying only in details.  The day of a meeting would roll around, and I'd be talking to someone.  The conversation would be deep and personal, as I was never good at small talk and people tend to spill their guts around me anyway.  I'd note the time and decide that continuing the conversation was important than getting to my meeting on time.  Often, I wouldn't make it to the meeting at all.  This would frustrate Diane to no end, adn she'd try to get me to understand that while relationships were important, always breaking my other commitments for the sake of a conversation wasn't entirely right either.  I don't think she ever got very far with me on that score.  Eventualy, we agreed to muddle through the rest of the year.  We also agreed that I'd take a role the following year that would be better suited to my nature.

I've grown a lot in the fifteen years that have passed since then.  As a more mature person, I can now more readily see Diane's point more clearly.  And I'm more likely to judge a relational need more carefully these days, taking into account how immediate the need is, how serious my other commitments are, and other such factors.  Today, there's a real possibility that I'll say, "This is important.  I care and I want to be there for you.  But can we talk about it in a couple of hours?"

But I'm still mainly relationally oriented.  I'll keep my commitments to activities like meetings to a minimum.  The difference, however, is that I'm less likely to take on sucha  commitment in the first place, rather than taking it on and then breakign it later.  Because I'd rather have my time free so I can listen to people.  I understand that now.  And I allow for that preference reponsibly.

Adam Gonnerman wrote an insightful post about how showing the average user the Linux command line (or the DOS command shell on a Windows box, for that matter) can create a sense of fear and intimidation.  It's an interesting piece and I highly recommend reading it as well as the conversation in comments.

As I look at my own comments in that discussion, I'm reminded of how much my thinking about computers has changed over the years.  When I was in college, I was a total command line snob.  I looked down at GUI's in general and thought they were the road to making every computer user stupid.

I think this was a common mentality for a lot of us who were into computers back when I was in college and before.  After all, when I first started college in the Fall of 1992, Windows was still something you started from the DOS command line after you booted the machine.  And the computers in the college's computer labs were set up under Novell.  You'd enter your login credentials, get dumped to the DOS prompt, and type "win" if you wanted to start that stupid GUI.

Even Linux distributions tended to treat XWindows as an afterthought at the time.  That same freshman year, I loaded Slackware Linux onto my IBM XT clone (I will admit that I was nowhere near the cutting edge in terms of the computer I personally owned).  It involved downloading a couple dozen images and burning them onto 3.5" floppies and then using a special boot disk to install the system on the computer.  XFree86 was an optional install and the distribution was -- again -- set up to have you log into a command prompt and then start XWindows from there.  And since trying to get XWindows to work on your particular configuration was no easy task back then, it struck me as mostly a waste of time.

So I came through a time when using a computer meant you had to be a wizard with a command prompt.  It wasn't optional.  You learned all the magic commands and you lerned how to use them extremely well or you were hopelessly lost.  It was a glorious time, especially for those of us who loved the challenge.  So to me at the time, the growing popularity of GUI's (by my senior year, all the computers in the lab were running NT 3.5) and the ease of access they offered was destroying the challenge.  It was making computers something useful for anyone rather than the playground of the geeky elite.  And I was just enough of a snob (and had just enough of my self-worth invested in my geekiness) that this upset me.

So what changed?  To be honest, I changed.  I quit keeping up to date on computers.  I became the average computer user myself, and I found that I liked being an average computer user.  So I let go of my elitism.

I suppose a few readers may be surprised to hear me refer to myself as an average computer user.  After all, how can a software engineer -- someone who is well versed in programming computers -- be merely an average computer user?  Well, the answer to that is that I'm an embedded software engineer.  And that's a rather different kind of computer programming.

I'm currently developing the software for a very unusual device.  It's a computer, but you won't see it sitting on anyone's desk.  It has no keyboard, mouse or monitor.  In fact, if you look at it, all you see is a big metal box with a bunch of cables coming out of it.

Inside, there is a bunch of analog-to-digital converters and I/O expanders that allow the processor to read or assert logic levels on various signals on the circuit boards inside that box.  My job is to develop the software that accesses those ADC's and those I/O expanders with all the signals, do stuff with the data read, and assert certain signals based on that data.  I spent most of this afternoon making sure I could communicate with the ADC's and I/O expanders.  Tomorrow, I'll spend a significant amount of my time making sure that the readings I'm getting from the ADC's are valid and mean what I think they mean.  I'll also spend time making sure that I can read and control the logic signals from the I/O expanders as I expected.

This is a typical programming project for me.  I spend most of my time looking over data sheets for devices like ADC's, I/O expanders, microprocessors/microcontrollers, EEPROM's, and power management chips.  I also read schematics and hardware design specifications that explain how these devices are configured and are supposed to work on the system I'm currently working with.  I've learned to write assembly code for PowerPC's, ARM processors, Blackfin processors, and a few others I've probably forgotten about.

Quite frankly, after I've spent all that time learning about the stuff I need to know to work with the devices I program, I don't want to learn about the computer sitting on my desk anymore.  I just want it to work and work relatively well.  I'll let someone else worry about making sure all my programs work correctly and that my computer is secure and safe from viruses.  After all, the computer on my desktop is just a tool to me now, and tools are good if they're easy to use.  It gives me more time to focus on all that embedded stuff that's part of my job.

So I quit being a command line snob.

This week, my sister and her family had a bit of a scare.  They're fifteen year old beagle mix, Tasslehoff Burrfoot (Tas for short), had a bit of a medical scare.  They took her to the vet, expecting the worst.  Fortunately, the vet gave Tas a happy diagnosis and a promising prognosis.  So everyone's relieved to know that we have at least a little longer to enjoy her company, at least when she's not too busy sleeping.

When Stephanie first gave everyone the initial news, I began to think about what I wanted to say about Tas.  I wanted to give her something of a tribute like I did with Saddle when I heard he had passed.  So having thought about it, I've decided that even though it looks like Tas is going to be with us for a while longer, I figured I'd go ahead and offer my tribute anyway.  After all, why wait until a loved one is gone before expressing how much we love and value them?

For those who may be wondering, Tas's comes from a character in the Dragonlance Chronicals by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.  My brother-in-law, Bill, was a huge fan of the whole Dragonlance series at the time he and Stephanie took Tas into their homes as a little puppy.  Bill decided the name fit Tas as she was always friendly and high-spirited.  And of course, the day that Tas was sleeping on Bill's lap and he suddenly realized she had somehow managed to snake her front paw into the pocket of his jeans just cinched the whole deal.

When I thik of Tas, I most often think of her younger years, before she started facing the health issues of getting older.  I remember the highly energetic pup who loved to be chased through Bill and Stephanie's apartment in Rome, NY.  I still laugh when I think of how she would run up the couch at an angle, shift her body just enough to push off the wall behind the couch with her legs -- I always joked that her legs were longer than the average beagle's legs so they could fit the springs inside them -- and run back down the couch on a new trajectory.  I also remember the day that I had to stop in total amazement as I watched her leap from a total stopped position over the back of the couch (it had been moved so it was in the middle of the room rather than against a wall) and landed on the seat cushion.  I never understood how such a small dog could clear that height from a velocity of zero.

The other great thing about Tas was that as Bill and Stephanie began to have kids, she proved to be one of the best family dogs I've ever seen.  She was quite protective and nurturing of each as the kids when they were born, often expressing distress if the adults around allowed one of them to cry or fuss for to long.  (To Tas, thirty seconds often seemed to qualify as too long.)  And then there was the day my sister and I watched as Tas managed to retrieve her paw from my then-infant nephew's death-grip simply by licking his hand until he let go.

The years have worn on Tas.  She's not quite as energetic as she used to be, though the last time I saw her I still saw the occasional glimmer of that old fire in her eyes.  She's taken more to sleeping and her days of flying around the house or chasing rabbits in the yard are mostly to a close.  But she's still a sweet old girl and everyone who has known her can attest that she's probably one of the best furry family members anyone could ever ask for.  And I'm thankful we all have a little more time to spend with her.

One of the things that I have learned over the past few years is that there are certain consequences to having a blog under your real name and a visible presence on social networking sites.  Namely, people from your past suddenly start finding you again.  This can be both a pleasant surprise and an unpleasant experience.  This is especially true when said friends last associated with you when you were a completely different person -- say an evangelical Christian who identified as heterosexual.

In most cases, I've been very fortunate when people from my past pop up.  They either don't comment on how I've changed (though I suspect some of my old high school classmates might actually be pleased to learn I've loosened up since leaving Williamson) or they've expressed curiosity and a desire to understand how I got to where I am today, given my starting point.

This week, I had one of the -- fortunately rare in my cases -- less pleasant experiences.  A friend from my first two years in college decided to contact me expressing a strong desire to rebuild our friendship.  She also expressed remorse for how badly a prior attempt to rebuild our friendship turned out.  That previous attempt was extremely short-lived, so much that I never revealed any of the changes I had undergone.  It simply became clear that a friendship was not possible -- at least not the kind that was being sought.

So when Lynn apologized and asked again to rebuild a friendship, I did so with some hesitancy.  I still got the impression she had expectations for what the friendship was going to be like -- expectations based on the person I was in 1993 and which would not be met by the strong, self-loving person with a decent sense of boundaries that I am today.  But I'm also the kind of person that wants to give people the benefit of the doubt.  So I told Lynn that I'm willing to be friends, but that she needed to understand the kind of friendship I could offer due to the changes I've gone through in my life.  To give her an idea, I gave her the address to my website so she could learn about me again.

Alas, it would seem Lynn can't deal with the person I've become.  I'm not entirely surprised by that, though I had hoped that things may change.  So she's decided to let me go, though she promises to be there for me and be my strongest supporter if I should ever choose to "leave these lifestyle choices."

To that I say, "Bah, humbug."  I tried the good little straight boy routine before and it almost cost me my life.  I simply have neither the desire nor a compelling reason to return to that nightmare.  And if it means that I will have to struggle on without Lynn's support and friendship...well, let's be honest here.  I've thrived without her support and friendship since around 1994, and I'm pretty sure I can maintain that trend indefinitely.  After all, I wasn't the one who sought to renew our friendship after all this time.

In the end, I think that's what bothers me most about this experience.  Lynn came to me looking for something.  She talked about how she had missed me and wanted me back in her life.  But the moment she realized I no longer met her expectations based on her recollections that are over a decade old, she suddenly decided that wasn't possible anymore.  Not only that, then she started acting as if I would eventually be the one that needed her.  That's just not the way things work in the world I know and understand.

In the end, I'm a bit sad.  I don't like realizing that there are just some people I can't maintain a friendship with.  And in some ways, I'm sad that Lynn is unable to maintain a friendship with someone who doesn't meet her expectations and is apparently even unwilling to understand what happened in the sixteen years she's been absent from my life.  It tells me that blessing I offered her is still need of fulfillment:  that she finds the healing her soul needs.

The sad irony is that she now probably thinks it's my soul that needs healing.  If only she took the time to learn the truth.

This morning, my father called to let me know that his plans had changed suddenly, so he would not be coming to Rochester today. He also let me know that the reason that his plans had changed because our old pony, Saddle, died in the middle of the night. So Dad has to see to that today.

While I'm sad to hear that Saddle has passed beyond the veil, I am not surprised by the news. We all knew that it was merely a matter of time. Saddle would have turned thirty seven in the next month or so, which means that he lived roughly a decade beyond the normal life expectancy for his breed. Indeed, I remember back in the summer of 1997 when Dad was building Saddle's new pasture at the new house. Dad commented on more than one occasion that he was putting a lot of effort into building fence for a horse that probably wouldn't make it through the coming winter. But the following Spring, the old codger (Saddle, not Dad) was running and kicking as if he were still a young colt. (Come to think of it, Dad's still pretty spry, too.)

Dad went through that same process for the two or three summers after that, each time he went out to mend fence. After the last time, he simply decided that Saddle was going to stick around and said nothing more. We all knew that our little pony wouldn't be with us forever, but we decided to quit expecting the inevitable. And as if out of kindness, the inevitable stayed away for several more years.

I vaguely remember when we purchased Saddle (actually, we purchased him back, as he was originally born on my parents' property back when they used to keep multiple horses, but they eventually sold them all when they started a family) when I was about five years old. I learned to ride horse (both bareback and with a saddle) on him. Saddle was a stubborn old coot, and I learned quickly how to handle a horse who didn't want to do the things I wanted him to do. I also learned how to duck the low hanging branches that Saddle would sometimes walk under as I rode him. (I could have made him go around, but that would've spoiled the fun.) I also remember when Saddle bucked my sister and I off when I was between the ages of five and seven. Both of us had wanted to ride him that day, so my father decided to have us ride double as he led Saddle. The old pony decided that was too much to ask for and bucked. I don't think my sister ever rode him after that. I didn't give up, though.

Rest in peace, old horse. You will be missed. But I'm sure I'll see you again someday.

(Special thanks to Petr Kratochvil for releasing a public domain source for the image in this post.)

I'd like to preface this post with a warning that it will contain some frank sex talk. While I certainly don't consider what I'm about to say explicit enough to merit an NC-17 rating, I also respect that it might make some of my readers uncomfortable. As such, I would encourage everyone to use their own discretion while deciding whether to continue reading or skip this one.

Now that I'm home and had some time to think about it, I decided it's time to return to Barbara (unfortunately, her blog is marked private, so it'd do my readers no good to link to it) and her excellent question:

What is a childhood memory or even that has shaped your life in a significant way (either negatively or positively)

I suppose some might choose to pounce on the fact that the vast majority of the memories that rushed to my mind when I read this question related to sexuality. To be honest, most of the prominent memories from my childhood -- especially those that I consider somehow significant -- really do have to do with sexuality. I make no apologies for it. And while I feel I don't need to justify it, either, I will point out that when you're at war with your sexuality, it does tend to consume a considerable portion of your life.

At any rate, the memory I decided to focus on was of the day I first found out that there was such a thing as sex between two men. I was in the eighth or ninth grade at the time (I can't narrow it down any better than that), and I and the rest of my peers were sitting at our desks in English class. I'm not sure whether the bell to signal the class was starting hadn't rung yet or the teacher had to step out for other reasons. For whatever reason, however, we were left to our own devices, and numerous conversations were going on about the room. I was only peripherally involved with the one occurring one row from my desk, though I became interested in it. At one point, the others mentioned a rumor that two guys from school (one in our grade and another a couple years behind us) had been caught "screwing" each other.

At this time in my life, I was extremely naive when it came to most topics about sexuality. This is something that greatly amused some of my classmates, I think. So when I actually asked what it meant for two guys to "screw," one of my classmates described the basic concept to me in a tone that would best be described as a cross between amusement and disgust. I was both fascinated and disconcerted by this discovery. I didn't really understand how the mechanics of such an act worked, and I wasn't inclined to pursue the matter any further, given my classmates' obvious distaste for the subject.

So in a single moment, I learned three things. The first thing that I learned was that it was possible for two guys to sexually pleasure each other. The second thing that I learned was that most of my classmates found the very idea of doing so disgusting. And of course, the third thing that I learned was that unlike my classmates, the thought of having such an experience absolutely fascinated me.

At one point after this conversation, one of the boys from the rumor (the younger one) and I were in the same Boy Scout troop. I remember stealing quick looks at him and thinking about that conversation back in English class. Again, I found myself fascinated with the whole idea. I even considered ways I might get him alone to see if he'd be willing to fool around with me. I never did, though I'm not sure whether it was more due to the fear of rejection or due to the knowledge that doing so could prove to further set me apart from my peers and stigmatize me. And of course there were the religious issues.

So there you have it, during a single off-handed conversation in English class, I both got my first clue that I like guys and learned that many people felt this was something to be ashamed of.

This past weekend was a bit interesting. I received friend requests over on MySpace from a couple of people from around my old hometown. I have no idea who the one was, as he's twelve years my junior. However, the other one was someone I graduated from high school with. Needless to say, I was quite surprised, especially when you consider we weren't what I'd consider friends. Granted, we weren't enemies, either. It's more a case that we simply traveled in different circles.

Being contacted by people from my old hometown is always an awkard experience for me. I'm practically a completely different person now than the person who attended school all those years ago. And I'm never entirely sure how people will react to the changes.

Granted, I suspect that many would find the fact that I'm no longer Christian (or at least no longer a goody-two-shoes Christian bordering on self-righteousness) a pleasant change. I was very much a stick in the mud back then, and had no problems speaking up when the occasion to do so arose. So in that respect, I think many would take the fact that I "mellowed" as a good sign.

But all the same, we're talking about a rather rural part of Pennsylvania. So I'm not always sure how well my being a witch or being gay will be received. Especially the latter, as I still recall some of the reactions to the idea someone might be gay when I was in high school. I think that could still make for an interesting and even tense conversation today.

Of course, I also have to admit that some of my concerns stem from an experience a few years ago when someone I went to college with contacted me after we hadn't seen or spoken with each other in seven years. Basically, she came whirling into my life and flipped out when she discovered that I had developed a stronger set of boundaries in my relationships. (And we never got into my change in religion or my sexual orientation, which would've equally flipped her out.)

Reunions can be so unexpected and more than a little unnerving.

Back in November, I wrote about noticing a picture from my past while visiting my parents. While at my parents' house for Easter, I decided to scan a copy of it. So now, you can all see how incredibly good I looked back in the Summer of 1991.

I'm actually quite pleased with how well the scan came out. I commented to my parents that if I had made the printed copy I made the same size as the original, I could've just about swapped them without anyone noticing.

One thing I did note about the picture is my eyes. I didn't go in for the second surgery (the reasonably successful one) to correct my lazy eye until my late twenties. So if you look at this picture closely enough, you can make out where they were misaligned at the time. It's something I never thought about back then unless someone asked me about it. But now, it just seems so strange. It makes me wonder how much it actually did effect my feelings about myself on a subconscious level at the time.

I can still see a lot of myself in this picture, really. I have a receding hairline now, and my stomach is considerably larger, though I'm slowly working on changing the latter. (I think I'm on the brink of dropping another waist size.)

And for anyone who wants to know, the tee shirt says, "In the market for a new brain." It was my favorite shirt back then. Of course, that was also back when a lot of my classmates would ask if they could have my old one. ;)

In an entry on Mutiply, I talked about my perspective changed in regards to getting involved with a guy who has kids. It seems proper to note that while I've only become fully aware of this change, the actual change process has been a long time in the works. In fact, I can trace its beginnings back as early as 2001.

Back in 2001, I met Mike, who I ended up dating for four years. Mike didn't have any children of his own, but was fiercely devoted two his sister's two sons, especially David, who was in his mid teens at the time. In fact, he was so devoted to them, you would've thought they were his own kids.

Again, this level of devotion was very attractive for me, for all of the same reasons I mentioned in the previous post. And there was the fact that Mike was devoted and close to his family in general, including his mother. (To be honest, he struck me as something of a "momma's boy" at times.) That in itself was also an attractive quality. I myself have always been close to my family, so it was nice to see that reflected in the person I was with. Of course, I also think that it was a bit of a comfort to me, as my family was becoming more distant at the time, too. So it was nice to be reminded that such closeness could still last, even if not in my family. (Fortunately, things are on the mend in my own family now.)

Of course, in the end, Mike's closeness with his family contributed significantly to the end of our relationship. This is mainly because in the four years we dated, Mike never reached the point where he was comfortable coming out to his family. This meant that he spent that entire time leading a double life, keeping our relationship safely separated from his relationship with his parents, sister, and nephews. This also meant that when his time was limited, that time was usually spent with his family rather than me. After a while, that simply became unacceptable to me. Along with other issues, I finally confronted him and ended our relationship when he admitted he was unwilling to do anything to resolve these issues.

In retrospect, I don't hold Mike's devotion to his family against him, even if it did contribute to the end of our relationship. To this day, I consider that a positive quality and something I'd still find attractive. However, I do take issue with his unwillingness to integrate his devotion to me and his devotion to his family, because his failure to do so was the real problem. To this day, that fact is something of a sore spot in my life, though I've mostly made my peace.

Through the grapevine, I've come to understand that Mike's gone back to dating girls, and has been with the same girl for at least a year now. I guess things are going quite well, at least from what I can gain from indirect sources. When I first found out about this, I was deeply hurt. In fact, I won't say I don't still feel a twinge of pain over it now. However, I've come to be more accepting of his choices, and I hpoe he can truly find happiness with this woman. After all, I don't think he'd ever find happiness with me or any other guy. Because it's become clear to me that he could never make that choice that would ultimately be necessary. So I hope he can find happiness in the choices he has made.

I know I have. And to be honest, I'm starting to realize that my new choices since breaking up with him have offered me more chances for happiness than I ever would've had with him. (I just hope that doesn't sound too cruel.)

Originally posted to Multiply on 6 February 2008.

I've spent the last couple of days thinking about my story about coming out to my parents. I feel like there was so much that I left out. Of course, when I shared them during the panel discussion, I naturally had to keep my comments short, and this meant an extremely abbreviated story. So I shared what I felt were the most relevant points at the time.

However, now that I have more time to spend, I feel it's important to share a bit more. After all, when I talked about how much time it's taken my parents to work through everything, I felt like I was attributing it to them. That's not entirely accurate. In retrospect, I made my own share of mistakes which has probably prolonged the reconciliation process.

The most immediate example is the fact that I came out to my parents well before I was ready. After all, I had only come to accept my sexuality a scant two months before I told my parents. So in reality, I was still emotionally processing everything myself.

Mind you, I don't regret my choice to come out so quickly, mainly because it was the right choice at the time. The week before I had that fateful conversation with my mother, I had made another poor choice, the choice to tell another person about my sexual orientation. Telling that particular person was a horrible error in judgment on my part, and I can only say that I did so in a moment of emotional weakness.

The problem was, I knew that this particular person sometimes wasn't the best at keeping secrets, and I was concerned that news of my revelation could get back to my parents. When I realized this, I decided that if my parents were going to find out, I wanted it to come from me. So I I made my decision to make sure that's exactly what happened.

I made what I still believe was the moral choice. However, the moral choice meant trying to deal with my parents' reactions to my sexuality while still trying to go through the emotional healing and self-acceptance process myself. That was a high price to pay, and I probably wasn't always as understanding and patient with my parents as a result.

Another choice I made -- and I'm not sure whether this one was ultimately a mistake or not -- is that I backed off once I told my mother. Because of her reaction, I let the whole topic drop for a long time. I didn't deny my sexuality, but I didn't bring it up either. I didn't correct my mother a year later when I moved back home and she told me that I wasn't allowed to have "overnight guests of the female persuasion." (Actually, I snickered to myself, thinking that wouldn't be a difficult rule to keep.) In effect, I did allow my parents to linger in their denial and otherwise ignore the whole matter.

Was that a mistake? I don't really know. In some ways, I wonder if I might have sped up the process if I had pushed the issue a bit more at crucial moments. But then, I also think that maybe they really did need that time.

Then there was an incident that I'm almost positive I made a mistake. It was back during the first few months when I was dating Mike. I had met him and taken a picture of him. One day, I printed out a picture of him because I was going to visit friends and wanted to show them what he looked like. My mother saw the picture and asked who he was. I told her he was a friend and left it a that.

I think she knew I wasn't being completely honest with my answer. In fact, even back then, I had the impression she was looking for the real answer. But I chose not to tell her he was my boyfriend. I was afraid to admit it. I was afraid she'd once again go into a tense and brooding silence as a result. And I didn't want to deal with that at the time.

In retrospect, I think she was trying to bridge that gulf of silence that had developed between us when she asked about Mike. Instead of responding with honesty, I chose to reward her efforts by maintaining the wall between us. I have to ask myself what percentage of responsibility for the time it's taken us to be more open since then lies on my shoulders because of that choices. And I wonder what other ways I've shut my parents out without realizing it.

It's something I've been working on recently. That's partly due to my friend, Amy, who did a reading for me while we were at the Naturist Retreat this past August. She told me that I needed to share all of my life with my mother. And as Amy predicted, Mom's been fairly open to it.

In my previous post, I talked about a panel discussion hosted by the GAGV after a free screening of the movie Anyone and Everyone. In that post, I mentioned that I chose to share a few comments based on my own experiences. What follows in this post is an outgrowth of what I chose to share. I chose to modify and refine my comments here rather than offer an exact quote for two reasons. the first is that I don't remember exactly what I said. The second is that I feel I can say more and say it better, and wish to do so in hopes that it might further help others.

One of the things that I loved about the movie we watched is that many of the parents admitted that it took them a while to come around and accept their children's sexuality. Prior to that point, they even admitted to trying get their children -- even through manipulation -- to change their minds and live a "heterosexual lifestyle."

However, one of my biggest criticisms of the movie is that none of the parents gave a time frame, but instead left people to draw their own conclusions on how much time "a while" amounted to. Indeed, I myself was left with the impression that most of them were measuring that time in terms of months, if not weeks. The sad truth, however, is that for some parents, "a while" can be measured in terms of years.

I came out to my mother back in the early part of summer 1996. I'm not sure when she told my father that I was gay. I know I never did. After her reaction, I just never felt like I could bear it. She did not react well, and it is a truly painful thing to watch your mother cry, knowing that you caused those tears.

For years, my parents and I lived in a sort of unspoken standoff. They clearly loved me, but there was now an aspect of my life that we simply would not talk about. Indeed, I remember more than one time when I bitterly commented to friends that my relationship with my parents was fine just so long as we didn't discuss my love life (or religion, but that's fodder for another post). If it came up, my mother quickly turned quiet and moody, and I tried to find the quickest way to move the subject on. And the subject never came up with regards to my father.

It is only now, almost twelve years later, that I really feel that I can openly talk to my parents about this aspect of my life. And I have to admit that I still find it somewhat frightening to do so. Even after over a decade, I can say happily that things are finally improving, but we still have a ways to go.

I should also note that to the best of my knowledge, my parents still believe that homosexuality is a sin. I doubt that will ever change. And though I wish they'd change their views in that respect, I do take comfort that they're coming to a point where they can at least accept that aspect of my life and embrace me for it despite their own feelings on the topic.

So to anyone who thinks their parents might react negatively, I would offer some advice. My first bit of advice is to come out to your parents anyway as soon as you're ready. But my second piece of advice is to realize that you may be in for a long, rough road, and you need to be prepared for that possibility.

That means having the support you need to help you through the rough times. That means having someone to be there when you need to cry if and when your parents are less than understanding. That means being ready to offer your parents resources to help them with their own emotional processes during this time. The more prepared you are, the more likely it is that you can make it through such a difficult process, hopefully long enough to see some positive outcomes from the whole ordeal.

To close my thoughts, I'd like to offer a bit of story from my own experience. Four or five years ago, I was eating Easter dinner with my parents. As the conversation progressed, we got onto the subject of grandchildren, and my father said something about me having children. My mother took on a forlorn, bitter tone and announced, "Jarred won't have kids." I think I might have actually cringed at this point, as this was not a topic I really wanted to have dampen our Easter dinner.

However, my father completely surprised me by saying the first thing he ever did on the topic of my sexuality -- while in my presence at least. He took a consoling and even optimistic tone of his own as he reassured my mother, "You never know. He might end up meeting a nice widower with children."

Never let the long, rough road get you to a point where you close yourself off to the possibility of such an unexpected turn of events.

Earlier this week, Adam tagged me with a meme. I decided to spend the week thinking about it. But now I'm ready to give it a whirl.

The Rules
1. Answer the question, If you could spend one more day with someone who would it be? Why? What would you want to talk to this person about? This can be someone you know or someone from history.

2. Tag as many as you want or as little as you want. Participate even if your are not tagged!!

3. (Optional) Include a link back to the original post if you were tagged with the person who tagged you. Invite others to comment back to the original post.

I think I would choose to spend one more day with my father's mother, Grandma Harris. She passed away when I was still quite young, and all of my memories are from after she started chemotherapy and the rest of her battle with cancer.

I would spend the day with her in the kitchen, helping her bake. One of the things I do know about Grandma Harris is that she loved to bake. While we worked to turn out delicious goodies, I'd just spend the time talking to her and finding out more about what her life was like before I knew her. I'd find out things like what it was like to raise six children. Most particularly, I'd like to find out more about what my own father was like growing up. And I'd find out what kinds of things concerned her before her life was consumed by cancer.

Also, I'd ask her about my grandfather, who survived well into my twenties. But I have to believe that he was a much different man when they were together. The grandfather I knew was something of a bastard. He was old, cranky, and very bitter. But when I think of my sweet, caring grandmother, I have to believe he wasn't always that way. I figure there had to be something which drew them together. (I often think my younger cousin was right when she so thoughtfully opined that the best part of Grandpa Harris died with Grandma.) So I would love to find out what their relationship was like, as well of what kind of man he was before he had to endure the failing health and inevitable death of his beloved wife.

I'm not going to specifically tag anyone, given the intensely personal nature of this meme. But I would invite any reader who is willing to take us for a stroll down memory lane to partake.

Pam over at Willful Grace created a wonderful post in which she describes the major events in her life in each of the last twelve months as well as the lessons she learned from those events. It's a fantastic post and I encourage everyone to read it.

More importantly, Pam inspired me to do something similar. Sadly, my post won't be nearly as organized or well thought out as Pam's is. To be honest, I don't think I could come up with a single even for every month since last January. And besides, there are a couple of months that I doubt I could boil down into a single event or a single lesson learned from the events of some months.

The good news is that I'm not in a competition with Pam, so I'm under neither obligation nor pressure to match her excellent post. This gives me the freedom to simply allow her to inspire me and see where the inspiration takes me. So for that, I'd like to say thank you to her. And without further ado, I devote this post to the highlights of the previous year of my life.

I think that the first major highlight of the year came in February, when I met Rob. I didn't talk about Rob much in this blog, and there's a good reason for it. Rob represented the first time that a potential (and real, however temporary) love interest actually read my blog. As such, I struggled with finding the balance of what I could say, knowing that I didn't want to reveal anything I hadn't already discussed with him. After all, reading about what another person is feeling about you in his blog rather than firsthand strikes me as a horrible thing.

Rob found me online -- on Valentine's Day no less -- and contacted me to express a desire to get to know me and explore the possibility of a relationship. In many ways, we hit it off quite well. And I have to admit that I was swept off my feet. Rob was the first guy to actually pursue me. (Usually, I've had to chase after the other guy.) I learned just how much I could enjoy being the object of pursuit. In fact, I'd say that one of the things I learned about myself due to my encounter with Rob is that I like a slightly aggressive guy.

Sadly, things with Rob were fast-paced and terribly short lived. After a few dates and immediately after our first night together, Rob decided I wasn't what he was looking for after all. I have to admit that after being pursued that hard and dropped just as quickly, I was stinging. Though I did learn an important lesson in that respect, too. My guides tried to tell me things were going too fast and I should slow things back down. But I allowed myself to get carried away in the heat of the moment.

Of course, I don't think things would've ended any differently. After much time, I realize that Rob and I just weren't right for each other. And that would've been the case no matter how slowly we took things. Though I do admit that I wonder if slowing down would've enabled us to realize this before we took things as far as we did, saving at least some heartache. So the lesson I learned from that is that when spirit says slow down, it's best to listen, even if you are enjoying the heat of the moment.

March and April brought new choices with them. After the events of February, I realized that I needed to get out more and put myself in positions where I could meet more people. Before then, I had a small group of great friends, and I'm still thankful for them. But I realized that if I wanted more out of life (especially in the realms of socializing and dating), it was time to expand my circles even farther. So I began to join various groups and look for other ways to get out in the wider community. I would say I've seen some mixed results from those efforts, but I'd say they were positive overall. And it's still a work in progress. And I've made some great friendships (especially one in particular) as a result that I think I will always cherish.

The summer months, starting with June, brought unexpected changes in me. In June, I started walking more. In fact, the weekend before my birthday, I took my first ever seven mile walk along the Erie canal. That first walks was both exciting and draining. I came away with a sunburn and some pretty serious blisters on my feet, but I also developed a passion for the trek. In fact, I loved it so much, that I repeated the walk once a month through September and am even counting down the days until the warm weather returns and I can resume the little tradition.

In addition to the canal walk, I began taking a walk after my weekly dinner with friends on Monday nights. Those walks began when I got ready to leave the restaurant one Monday night and decided it was too gorgeous an evening to just go home. So a second walking tradition was born. By the end of summer, I was up to three one-hour walks a week (except on the weekend I'd take the canal walk, in which case that trek would replace one of the regular walks). I began to see this as something I did for enjoyment.

As an aside, this is also the summer that I began to enjoy sunbathing. This is something I had considered a waste of time while growing up and would often shake my head at my sister in disgust during summer vacations when she'd sunbathe daily. In fact, when I confessed to my sister this summer that I'd started enjoying the practice myself, she immediately asked, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

In August, I went with friends the Northeast Naturist Festival. I had a pleasant time while there (though I will note that I kept my clothes on 99.9% of the time I was there) and enjoyed my first real vacation (i.e. a prolonged period off where I did something other than visit family) in years. I came to appreciate again the importance of pampering myself.

The naturist retreat also marked the point in time where I'd say I really began to start coming into my own in terms of spirituality. I had a few moving experiences while there, and they initiated changes in myself that continued over the next several months, and will likely continue into the coming year.

At this point, I will also note that I started really "coming into my own" in general around this time. Or at least I began to notice it. I began building much more self-confidence and a willingness to take risks and make myself more vulnerable. In some ways, I'd say my transformation into a minor social butterfly started to become more noticeable at this point.

In September and October, I had more spiritual awakenings. It is at this time when my patroness, Freyja, began to make it more clear that the nature of our relationship was going to change significantly. (I'm still not ready to publicly discuss the nature of that change, however.) Again, I found myself in situations where my comfort zones were pushed and I was encouraged (not quite at knifepoint) to stretch as a person.

Also in October, I went to a cousin's wedding. While making the trip with my parents and members from my father's side of the family, Freyja also impressed upon me the fact that I've cut myself off from my family. She began to impress upon me the fact that I need to get closer to them. She says it's because there are ways in which I can help various people in my family. Of course, I'm not sure how that's going to work, considering that the kind of help I can best offer is something most of them would be opposed to. But I guess time will tell.

Then in December, the bombshell dropped. About two weeks before Yule, Freyja suggested (again, not quite at knifepoint) that I should plan the Yule ritual for a small group of friends. So I placed the necessary calls, made the commitment, and moved forward. I have to admit, I was rather nervous, especially after becoming sick for the week prior to the ritual, which I had originally hoped to better use for planning. But things turned out beautifully and everyone had a pleasant time. And fortunately, I have much more advanced noticed for the next ritual I'm expected to plan, which isn't until the Spring Equinox.

I'd say it's been an interesting, profound, and profitable year. Hopefully the coming one will continue in that trend.