[An excerpt about not knowing who you are]Nevertheless,
I let Chris load my bicycle unto his Jeep. After which time we rode away,
taking a ride around Newtown up Point O’ Rocks Road and Boggs’ Hill, smoking a
joint or two and just talking. From what I remember, Chris came on to me,
thinking that I was gay and simply in the closet. Naturally, I pushed him away,
telling him that I didn’t want to do this. Being the decent guy that he was,
Chris was okay with that and discontinued his pursuit of me, his trying to
bring me “Out” of the closet. However, Chris was not one to give up easily.
Later on during that summer, he would pick me up and offer me some pot to
smoke. Taking me to see a friend of his from New York City who had a summer
house on Candlewood Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. A novelist who was
published and also worked for an advertisement agency, Chris’ friend lived in
nearby New Milford. Taking him up on his offer some two weeks later, despite
the fact that I was not ready to “Come out” as a gay teen, one who even knew
that [she] was “gay” to any extent, I had a really good time that evening with
Chris and his writer friend at his Candlewood Cottage. I liked his writer friend, feeling that I
could be more the adult and less the teenager I had to be around most of the
other people I hung around.
The evening
that Chris took me to see his friend, I had a very good time. For once, I felt
that I didn’t have tom pretend to be what I wasn’t. Not only had he shown me
all his record albums; he also showed me all the books he both owned and wrote
himself. Truly, I felt comfortable, however, there was still that “Gay” thing
that I did not understand. I was not ready to come out as a gay “male”. Oddly
enough, I still saw myself as the “Straight male”, or so I thought. Fellatio,
or oral sex upon a man, was not the thing for me. Not that I wasn’t at
least open-minded enough, sexually speaking, to try it that night. I was. Much
unlike all the homophobic asshole guys back in Newtown, including those I often
chilled out with. Honestly, I did not know what the right path to take was. After
all, I still had hopes of being the heterosexual “male” I thought I was. The
one I was raised to believe that I was, yet really wasn’t. I was not “gay”, or
so I thought, anyway. [Back in 1976, nobody ever used the term “LGBT”, an
acronym that stands for “Lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender”.]
Despite that,
I really enjoyed visiting Chris’ friend. For once in my mostly fucked up
teenage life, I felt comfortable.
Both Chris, and his writer friend made me feel as if I were actually a part of the human race. No
more and no less. For once, I felt as if I could simply be myself. However, at the time I was way too hyper, too confused by
my attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, to see myself as artistically
inclined. Looking back, however, I have a feeling that both Chris and his friend
sensed that I was “One of the family”, or “Queer”. The only problem being that
I, at age thirteen, was not quite ready to realize this. After all, I saw being
“queer” as a bad, not good thing. “Queers” were abnormal. They were “Faggots,
ass fuckers, ass lickers, pussy lickers, child-molesting Boy Scout Leaders” and
the like. Not human beings like everyone else, who, like everyone else in America,
had every right to the same civil rights the United States Constitution
intended as a guarantee when our American Forefathers wrote “All men are
created equal and have certain inalienable rights guaranteed by their creator”.
If you actually believe in a creator, that is. Seeing what oppressive, evil “parasites”
many who consider themselves to be “Christians” have become, ever since
President Nixon designed and planned his “Republican Southern Strategy” to lure
all the Southern bigots away from the Democratic Party of America [the conservative,
prejudiced “Dixiecrats”] back in the early 70s, after age thirteen, I found it
hard to believe in a fairy tale “God” and his so-called “Son” named [by Paul of
Tarsus] “Jesus Christ”.
About Maria? Well,
without a doubt, Maria was definitely attractive, from the Playboy Magazine
perspective, anyway. An Italian-American woman who was highly athletic, she was
tall and thin. Much like the character “Jill” in Preiss and Reese’s One Year
Affair, Maria had long black hair parted in the middle. That and a well-toned
body; long before the yuppie-jockstrap fitness craze of the 1980s became popular
and many upstart racquetball clubs and gyms soon took over the landscape in
city and suburb alike. Exceptionally friendly beyond belief, especially after
one took into account that she was a cheerleader and lifeguard, Maria was one
of those teen women I could talk to without pretending to be something I was
not. She was very smart and on the Newtown High School Honor Roll; I loved the
fact that I could carry on a conversation
with her. However, as the testosterone-driven “Gorilla” I was raised to be [due
to physical birth sex assignment], often, I confused a woman wanting to be ‘friends-only’,
with someone wanting a relationship
with me. Put simply, I did not know the difference. That soon
would play a part in whether she and I would get along. At first, she and I
would became friends, true. Whenever I had nothing better to do, I’d ride into the
town park and stop by her “post”. She and I would end up talking for at least
an hour or more.
However,
unable to understand the difference between “Friends-only” and sexual love, also
called infatuation, in an opposite sex relationship because I didn’t understand
how people of opposite sexes could even be “Just friends”. After all, back in the
1970s, that never happened in magazines; or on TV and in the movies. That and
it never happened in any of the popular love songs I heard on the radio, one
that comes to mind is B.J. Thomas’ 1968 hit, Hooked on a Feeling. 50 Particularly
in the remake originally performed in 1971 by the United Kingdom’s Jonathan
King, who, producing his own version, added “Ooga chukka” jungle chants at both
beginning and end of song. [A version later reproduced in 1974 when Björn Skifs,
lead singer of the Swedish pop group Blue Swede, did a cover including their
own version of King's "Ooga chuka" introduction. The version I
remember best, as it reached number one on the United States Pop (music) Charts.]
That said, I began pursuing Maria to the point of obsession. Always pestering
her for a “Date” because I liked her; unlike many other women living in
Newtown who were, essentially, stuck-up bitches. Often I’d follow her home on
my bicycle, all the way up Brushy Hill Road where she lived. Riding behind her
bicycle, I’d holler “Maria! Maria! I like you a lot and want to go out with
you!” During which time she’d constantly remind me, to no avail because I just
could not [and still really cannot] understand the rules of social engagement, “I
like you as a friend, ‘Frog’. Can’t you understand that? I think that you’re
really sweet; however, I’m too old for you.”
Needless to
say, I couldn’t take “No” for an answer from Maria, and, much the same as was
with Jodi Harrington, soon I pissed Maria, too. However, Maria was a sweet,
forgiving teenage woman. That said, I finally got it through my thick skull
that all she wanted was for us to be friends and chat. Maria and I, as naïve teenage
‘Frog’ Oropal, became great friends. Referring again to my sister’s assumption
that I had Asperger’s syndrome, despite never being diagnosed as such by a
psychologist or psychiatrist, maybe that was true? That I do not know for sure.
However, after reading what the symptoms are, maybe I did have [or still have]
Asperger’s. Not really sure to be honest? However, for someone like my sister
who subscribes, fully, to Wisconsin Senator Paul Ryan’s worldview of “Work as
important virtue to all Americans”, in particular when he mentions those like
myself [ and “ Urban males from the inner city”, translate “Black men”] who are
“ Too lazy to work and would rather depend upon government Food Stamps and
welfare”, whether or not I had/have Asperger’s and how it might have been the
reason I was never able to hold a full-time job [or two to three part time jobs]
is of primary importance. She, of course, referring to the social awkwardness
often associated with those having Asperger’s; an inability to understand and
interpret non-verbal, and verbal social cues.
However, this
social awkwardness did not seem to interfere with my friendship with Chris; nor
did it with his friend, a successful, published writer with both Manhattan
apartment in New York City; and gorgeous weekend house overlooking Candlewood
Lake in New Milford, Connecticut. Despite my fears of gay men at the time, the
three of us had more than a great time that night at Chris’ writer friend’s
place that night. His friend, whose name I have since forgotten, took me on a
tour of his lovely weekend home in Connecticut. Telling me about the many other
famous neighbors living in the area, he showed me all of his albums and played
whatever I wanted to listen to. Honestly speaking, for the most part, he made
me feel at ease. However, I did not think I was gay. I was basically sure that
I was not a gay kid. To be perfectly honest, I was not sure what I was,
exactly. It would be another thirty long years [chronologically speaking], that
and a few sexual experiences with men, plus many more with women that never evolved
beyond the first week to two months period, until I’d finally figure this out
and “come out” of the closet. Much like Chris and his writer friend were
encouraging me to that very night.
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