You may hope that this story quickly gets me out of that unpleasant upbringing, but it doesn't. My parents presented themselves to me in certain ways, and I made choices. My father represented anger and threat, and my mother poised herself as the "innocent victim" who would gladly make the household better if she could deal with her husband. She professed it amongst our gossiping aunts, her friends at Tupperware parties, our family therapist, and three church pastors. So, I chose to help my mother and make things easier for her: breakfasts in bed, playing soothing music on my cassette player in the mornings (our only time free of my father), and doing some of her weekly housekeeping that my OCD "neat freak" father expected: scrubbing the bathtubs and shower tiles, cleaning the interior of the refrigerator, vacuuming the staircase and under the sofas, cleaning streaks off mirrors and windows, and cleaning the garbage pails. All done with paper towels (only Bounty's brand)—folded the correct way, and used until they got dirty enough.
I also had my own chores: taking out the trash, gardening/tree branch trimming, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, vacuuming/washing/waxing the 3 cars. Using an outdated vacuum from 1952, I cleaned the carpets, floors, windowsills, furnace, and seat cushions. My tightfisted father didn't replace it until it died, when I was 12! With a style kept from the 1930s, the heavy vacuum was an Art Deco antique. It didn't have wheels! If I didn't carry it, I had to buff the scratches that it made on the tiled kitchen floor.
My sister didn't have any chores… but that didn't mean that she was exempt from Dad's anger.
I also had my own chores: taking out the trash, gardening/tree branch trimming, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, vacuuming/washing/waxing the 3 cars. Using an outdated vacuum from 1952, I cleaned the carpets, floors, windowsills, furnace, and seat cushions. My tightfisted father didn't replace it until it died, when I was 12! With a style kept from the 1930s, the heavy vacuum was an Art Deco antique. It didn't have wheels! If I didn't carry it, I had to buff the scratches that it made on the tiled kitchen floor.
My sister didn't have any chores… but that didn't mean that she was exempt from Dad's anger.
Our father tried ripping earrings from her ears, after she got
them pierced (on her own) for her 16th birthday. My mother was afraid to stop him. I tried calling
for help on the telephone. When he
ripped the phone from the wall, I escaped and went to neighbors' houses to seek help. I yelled and made a commotion to attract assistance for my emergency.
Sadly, most people ignored me and didn't want to get involved.
Finally, I got a neighbor and his wife to
come over and help us! But my efforts were sabotaged. My mother
ushered them away, saying everything was okay. The neighbors never followed up, merely peering at us from a distance. (Thanks for all the help).
The worst memory was when he tried choking my mother up against the wall because she made a poor comment about his father.
The only time I ever saw my father back-off was when his dad suggested that I try strawberries dipped in sugar. My father mildly objected to the sugar. With a "death stare" and a commanding voice, my grandfather growled at him, "I said let him try it!" My father meekly walked away.
The night that my paternal grandfather
had a heart attack and died, my father
sobbed.
When he caught sight of me, he ordered my mother to get me
out of the room.
Dad’s mother died when I was an infant, and my grandfather married his platinum-blonde secretary. The problem with not updating his will was that, upon his death, his “estate” went to his new wife. It bypassed my father and uncle (Dad's brother). My step-grandmother kept it all.
Dad’s mother died when I was an infant, and my grandfather married his platinum-blonde secretary. The problem with not updating his will was that, upon his death, his “estate” went to his new wife. It bypassed my father and uncle (Dad's brother). My step-grandmother kept it all.
My father tried being
nice and made “family visits” to cajole her. He tried
pleading for some of the antiques or personal
effects. She kept it all. Upon each visit, we saw how she sold part of her
enormous property, or built a house for her sister on the property and
then built a house for her niece on the property. She sold my grandfather’s antique cars—even
his restored 1930s fire engine (like below, that he gave me rides in and let me activate the siren)...
...and his vintage wooden "rum runner" motorboat.
That put a "chip" in my father’s shoulder that was expressed upon our household as, “Well,
now that I’m not getting anything, none of you or any part of this life really
matters anymore.” In
his mind, he created a plan to leave us, as soon as my sister and I reached the legal age of 18. While he waited, he
lavished his income on electronics and gadgets: VCRs, laser disc players, DVD players, big screen TVs, CD mega-carousels, custom cabinet speakers, amplifiers, equalizers, atomic clocks, hunting & fishing gear, an air
compressor for the garage, and tools. He spent money traveling to Canada, so he could hunt on Crown Lands. (As a Commonwealth Realm with Queen Elizabeth as its Head of State, 89% of the land is owned by The Crown, and much of it is strongly protected as Nature Preserves).
My mother’s reaction was to let it happen, try not to “make
waves”, and try to appease everyone by pitting us against one another so she
didn’t have to be the “bad one”.
As my sister got older, our parents called her lazy and self-interested. In school, she chose to be the rebellious "black sheep". That role seemed to absolve her of responsibility. I did the “correct things”, as a matter of preserving some sanity at home. Certain things were “expected of me” because I was the oldest, while she was considered a “poor test taker”. She failed her classes, skipped classes, broke truancy laws by avoiding school, acted outrageously, began illegal underage smoking/drinking, got detention, fought with students, and got suspended. Unlike other school districts, our grossly-overpaid district never sent a social worker to investigate the situation at our home. That might've helped us.
I wanted to succeed and get out of there. My sister wanted to do whatever she wanted and still get out of there. Her way was probably easier.
Thankfully, an older couple befriended me: Leslie and Lillian. Lillian was my mother's coworker. She and her husband lived in the Incorporated Village of New Hyde Park (named for London's Hyde Park). They were British (with different regional accents).
As my sister got older, our parents called her lazy and self-interested. In school, she chose to be the rebellious "black sheep". That role seemed to absolve her of responsibility. I did the “correct things”, as a matter of preserving some sanity at home. Certain things were “expected of me” because I was the oldest, while she was considered a “poor test taker”. She failed her classes, skipped classes, broke truancy laws by avoiding school, acted outrageously, began illegal underage smoking/drinking, got detention, fought with students, and got suspended. Unlike other school districts, our grossly-overpaid district never sent a social worker to investigate the situation at our home. That might've helped us.
I wanted to succeed and get out of there. My sister wanted to do whatever she wanted and still get out of there. Her way was probably easier.
Thankfully, an older couple befriended me: Leslie and Lillian. Lillian was my mother's coworker. She and her husband lived in the Incorporated Village of New Hyde Park (named for London's Hyde Park). They were British (with different regional accents).
They occasionally babysat me. They had a loud collie, drank gin, and watched Public Broadcasting (PBS) in the evening. We enjoyed the network's BBC comedies: Faulty Towers, and Are You Being Served (featuring a swishy-but-accepted gay man—which never existed in American TV).
We watched Keeping Up Appearances about a snob who caused her own problems. Those episodes taught me what not to do, so I was well-balanced. The elderly couple enlightened me that musical theatre existed beyond the pricey confines of Broadway. Together, we were enthusiastic about show-tunes. They behaved like a truly loving couple. From them, I easily learned to hold my utensils the way Europeans (and most of the world beyond the USA) do.
It is more efficient and sensible than how Americans switch their forks between their left and right hands during cutting and eating.
You cannot guess how many times people labeled me as uppity or fancy, simply because I smartly chose to do something convenient (they called it "foreign") that made sense.
Alas, after two years, the man died, and his wife died during the next year. Yet, I realized a LIFE LESSON that “the world outside” my family nucleus was
actually a beautiful place...
You might assume that I had many childhood friends, but I didn't. On my entire block of 34 homes, there were only two other boys: both six years older than me, and both named Scott. (How cookie-cutter is that?) They weren't interested in playing with me, yet the sister of one was my babysitter. The only kids at the local playground were much younger than me.
For Nursery School, my Lutheran parents enrolled me in St. Francis of Assisi, part of an Episcopal church. There was one Chinese boy; he was the only non-Caucasian. I didn't understand why people treated him strangely; ethnicities are not barriers. (Perhaps that was an omen, because I am now in love with an American with Taiwanese lineage). I didn't encounter another Asian pupil in my life until college, 12 years later.
The Levittown public school system sent me by bus to a kindergarten in the Town of Seaford. For grades 1-5, they suddenly reassigned me (and children in my area) to another Elementary School in Seaford. I had three friendships there: Evan, Kevin, and Colin. Each boy lived in a different neighborhood. Due to my disinterested parents, I only socialized with them when their moms drove me to their homes. Other kids disliked Evan because he was overweight—and Jewish, but I saw nothing wrong with him. Classmates didn't like Kevin because he was nerdy, but I saw that he had great qualities and enjoyed his friendship. Students criticized Colin's mischievousness, but I had fun riding bikes and playing "Cops & Robbers" with him.
You might assume that I had many childhood friends, but I didn't. On my entire block of 34 homes, there were only two other boys: both six years older than me, and both named Scott. (How cookie-cutter is that?) They weren't interested in playing with me, yet the sister of one was my babysitter. The only kids at the local playground were much younger than me.
For Nursery School, my Lutheran parents enrolled me in St. Francis of Assisi, part of an Episcopal church. There was one Chinese boy; he was the only non-Caucasian. I didn't understand why people treated him strangely; ethnicities are not barriers. (Perhaps that was an omen, because I am now in love with an American with Taiwanese lineage). I didn't encounter another Asian pupil in my life until college, 12 years later.
The Levittown public school system sent me by bus to a kindergarten in the Town of Seaford. For grades 1-5, they suddenly reassigned me (and children in my area) to another Elementary School in Seaford. I had three friendships there: Evan, Kevin, and Colin. Each boy lived in a different neighborhood. Due to my disinterested parents, I only socialized with them when their moms drove me to their homes. Other kids disliked Evan because he was overweight—and Jewish, but I saw nothing wrong with him. Classmates didn't like Kevin because he was nerdy, but I saw that he had great qualities and enjoyed his friendship. Students criticized Colin's mischievousness, but I had fun riding bikes and playing "Cops & Robbers" with him.
I was assigned to a Middle School (grades 6-8) in the Town of Wantagh, a 30-minute walk from home. I tried staying connected with my trio, but my paranoid father refused to let them visit our home, and my mother tired of driving me to them. We fell out of touch. Meeting new people, I befriended Rob and George, but they lived in the opposite direction of me.
My High School was an hour bus ride away, on the North Shore. It was even harder to get to those friends' homes.
They say that a soul is born already equipped—not necessarily dependent on the folks involved in its home-life upbringing. Thats true for me. Knowing that I had good qualities to offer, I sought adults who appreciated me: my teachers, church leaders, and Boy Scout leaders. I made their interactions count as meaningful mentorships.
I was fortunate to have the last generation of classically venerable teachers: many retired after my “class” passed through. Nowadays, American teachers are lackluster, uncaring, defeatist... and a few are underpaid.
Being a smart kid, I attended Levittown's Summer Studies: launching a self-made model rocket, building a weather station, exploring oceanic marine life, and studying Nature. I attended sessions of Summer Story Time at the public library. I completed their Summer Reading assignments and talked about them (akin to a Book Club). Mrs. Donato, the librarian, wrote to my parents, praising my "good habits of listening, courtesy, and participation".
I got “tastes of life” through class trips, church trips, summer camp, Boy Scouts, playing at other kids’ houses and having “real family dinners” with their families. In the picture below, that's me with my Boy Scout Troop Leader, Mr. Hank, who admired me. If he liked you, it was a honor that the whole district new about. The other Troop Leader, Mr. Keane, admired me... and my sincere friendliness with his blind son (whom other boys avoided because he was different than them). Mr. Hank was an appliance repairman, and Mr. Keane was a carpenter. They were wonderful, upstanding, big-hearted, and gentle men.
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Sadly, a decline in Scouting caused our troop to merge twice with other troops. Eventually, my troop ceased to exist. Few men wanted to volunteer as Troop Leaders. It was a shame, and a loss of uprightness for modern youth.
In whatever area of life that I applied myself, I easily made friendships, good impressions, good times, and fond memories. Unlike other kids, I also made friendships with adults, who spoke about life’s adventures. It was easy for me to learn things like table manners, Boy Scout values, social skills, cooking, human compassion, and a sense of community service.
I did very well in the Boy Scouts, progressing through Cub Scouts and Webelos, and I even achieved "Order of the Arrow": a national Honor Society. I earned induction after an "ordeal" weekend. Based on Native American customs, candidates endured an "ordeal": a weekend of silence, small rations of food, completion of community projects, and sleeping apart from other campers. In addition to the unique Boy Scout handshake, it had its own handshake.
Earning red bars on my "arrowman" sash, I was soon admitted into its Brotherhood level of membership.
My scoutmasters enthusiastically/firmly maintained BSA ideals and traditions initiated by the founder of Scouting, who was an English baron: Lord Robert Baden-Powell. I got a "Norman Rockwell" experience. I loved the team-building "trust exercises" and learning about nature, conservation, and leaving a campsite cleaner than when you found it. I'm grateful for those experiences.
We did whitewater rafting along the rocky rapids of the Delaware River (named for another English baron: De La Warr). We explored subterranean caverns in the Catskill Mountains. We slept in log cabins in the Adirondack Mountains. We reconnoitered forests of Mohawk Mountain in the Berkshires highlands. We hiked along the famous Appalachian Trail. We hiked the 10-mile Nathan Hale Trail. We camped on the snow in tents in winter. Another weekend was spent at a lodge for cross-country skiing. We caught catfish on trawlers in the Atlantic Ocean. We went whale-watching by Montauk Point Lighthouse. My BSA troop took me to the top of the Twin Towers (World Trade Center), which was a thrill because my parents never took me to NYC. For Summer Camp, we either sojourned to Baiting Hollow in Suffolk County, NY, or drove 170 miles—across two state borders—to the 1,800-acre Camp Yawgoog in Rhode Island. My hiking boots gained unbelievable mileage!
Gathering a squad of scouts, I led annual Food Drives for St. Kilian Parish's Social Ministry Center. Its director wrote me a commendation because the amount of donated foods that we collected astounded him! It made those holidays brighter for many struggling families.
I rose to the rank of Scribe, Quartermaster, Patrol Leader, and Senior Patrol Leader. For my efforts to the community, the Columbus Lodge of the Son's of Italy in America bestowed a civic award on me.
A state assemblyman named Marc Herbst publicly gave me a commendation for my good deeds. Hence, Scouting was valuable in my formative years.
To learn about my experiences in the BSA, please click here:
http://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2015/04/boy-scouting.html
Despite my abilities, I wasn't revered by all of the scouts. While at Boy Scout Camp, some boys in my troop played a prank on me by taking things out of my footlocker and masturbating all over them...
They left the gooey items by my sleeping bag. They did it because I didn't have stories about "experiences" with girls.
I hid my sexuality from them, and I was very subtle when admiring the adolescent lifeguards at the lake.
The Boy Scout Troop that I belonged to consisted of boys from across the county. I befriended one who lived the closest to me; his home was four miles away from mine. To get to him required walking for one hour or riding a bike for 20 minutes, and my parents fearfully forbid both options. Since they disliked driving me to "unnecessary" places, I only socialized with James if one of his parents drove to pick me up (and brought me home later, if my mother didn't). He and I raced remote-controlled cars, swam in his pool...
To learn about my experiences in the BSA, please click here:
http://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2015/04/boy-scouting.html
Despite my abilities, I wasn't revered by all of the scouts. While at Boy Scout Camp, some boys in my troop played a prank on me by taking things out of my footlocker and masturbating all over them...
They left the gooey items by my sleeping bag. They did it because I didn't have stories about "experiences" with girls.
Watching guys swimming triggered my erections. (How could it not?)
Yet, I was ashamed of my urges, as a result of a homophobic culture. I thought that something was wrong with me; homosexuality was unacceptable in that society. (As I write this, Eagle Scouts are returning their medals in protest to the BSA's policy that prohibits gay men from being Scoutmasters. During the year of my college graduation, an Eagle Scout named Travis Morello was illegally fired from his job at Camp Yawgoog because he admitted that he was gay—and they confiscated his Eagle Scout card).
The Boy Scout Troop that I belonged to consisted of boys from across the county. I befriended one who lived the closest to me; his home was four miles away from mine. To get to him required walking for one hour or riding a bike for 20 minutes, and my parents fearfully forbid both options. Since they disliked driving me to "unnecessary" places, I only socialized with James if one of his parents drove to pick me up (and brought me home later, if my mother didn't). He and I raced remote-controlled cars, swam in his pool...
...played ping-pong in his basement, played softball, and sparred via his video games. Our favorite was Nintendo's Super Mario Brothers, where plumbers from NYC went to a kingdom to rescue its princess from deathly creatures.
After a year, his family relocated for a nicer/affordable life in another state.
Unfortunately, my early education taught "Delay Gratification", "It Could Always Be Worse", "Stick with Something Even When It Kills You". Those are the WORST lessons! Nobody was taught to be "individual".
Being gay in 1980s suburbs was terrible. (There was no internet yet). In the 2008 film, "Milk", Harvey Milk said that there’s nothing wrong with gay males, and they should move to the nearest city. Imagine how frustrating it was to live so close to New York City but actually living on Long Island. It was like being on another planet! I knew that I was gay when I entered Middle School. As friends began boasting about their fantasies with girls, I figured that there was something wrong with me. At that time, media coverage of teenager Ryan White scared Americans who associated homosexuality with the HIV virus. The stigma that surrounded me falsely warned that same-sex urges would pull me into inescapable depravity.
Being gay in 1980s suburbs was terrible. (There was no internet yet). In the 2008 film, "Milk", Harvey Milk said that there’s nothing wrong with gay males, and they should move to the nearest city. Imagine how frustrating it was to live so close to New York City but actually living on Long Island. It was like being on another planet! I knew that I was gay when I entered Middle School. As friends began boasting about their fantasies with girls, I figured that there was something wrong with me. At that time, media coverage of teenager Ryan White scared Americans who associated homosexuality with the HIV virus. The stigma that surrounded me falsely warned that same-sex urges would pull me into inescapable depravity.
My parents never had a "sex talk" with me, and they didn't have any kind of love life together. Sex was taboo for them. Even when I was 14-years-old, my family watched a movie on television and a steamy scene occurred—and my mother actually reached over and covered my eyes!
Another social oddity exists: when girls have their first "period", their adulthood is celebrated and talked about, yet a boy's pubescence is not given the same transparency. I discovered things from different sources.
In 6th grade, a kid named Jason boasted about his lust for girls… probably imitated from his pubertal older brother. I kept quiet. Noticing me, he came over, grabbed/rubbed my crotch and asked, “Has a girl ever done that to you?” He laughed and assumed correctly that I wouldn’t have much action with girls. He was aspiring to be a jock and enjoyed taunting people who were more timid than him. However, his physical touch illuminated something inside me. As soon as I got home, I wanted to relive the sensation. Living in a parental-made cocoon, I had no idea how masturbate to release my excitement, but I tried. I didn't do it the conventional way because I was woefully uninformed.
Discreetly, I checked the library, but its ONLY book about sex was outdated from 1954!!! It was worrisomely full of intentions to shame its readers. Nowadays, there are daytime TV commercials for masturbation toys—which was unheard of in the 1980s or 1990s—and that once-taboo subject (forbidden in my home under threat of brutality) is healthily referred to as "self care". See this brief example of a recent TV advertisement.
Thankfully, I was indoctrinated. Months after Jason groped me, I finally discovered the correct "self-pleasuring" technique. I was outside of school when two sophomores from the high school (both schools shared the same property) walked past me. One said, "I'm so stressed about the upcoming exam that I'm going to jerk off twice tonight!" And he did the gesture (seen below). That's how I learned what to do.
Due to my restricted awareness, I was shocked that boys discussed such things... openly... and in front of other people. I wished that I could've gone with them because my companions never breached that topic in any way. So, I explored myself by myself.
Being a preteen, I didn't have the same results as a boy during puberty. Yet, I already knew that men aroused me, instead of women... even if my society misconstrued it as "fruity", sinful, queer, and irregular. In that era before computers, I relied on my imagination to stimulate me. My only other fun came from looking at the male underwear models in the Sears catalogs, catching glimpses of shirtless A.C. Slater on Saved By the Bell,
...and topless men on Baywatch or "beach scenes" on The Grind. Due to American censors, there weren’t gay TV shows or pro-gay magazines to relate to.
The Universe provided some "handy" education, soon after. My father's brother (my godfather), divorced his wife, abandoned her and their son, moved in with another woman, got thrown out, burglarized the woman's home but escaped his arrest, and came to live with us. For two months, he slept on our living room sofa. He wasn't friendly and voiced his opinion that kids were nuisances. The only upside was that he brought a stash of "smut" magazines and kept them in our garage, where I accidentally found them.
Obviously, I was only interested in the men. The X-rated pictures taught me how to do things and what things looked like: e.g. an ejaculation of semen. I was perplexed that my body didn't do it, but I had no one to ask. However, that helped me from being caught because there was no sticky evidence.
...and topless men on Baywatch or "beach scenes" on The Grind. Due to American censors, there weren’t gay TV shows or pro-gay magazines to relate to.
The Universe provided some "handy" education, soon after. My father's brother (my godfather), divorced his wife, abandoned her and their son, moved in with another woman, got thrown out, burglarized the woman's home but escaped his arrest, and came to live with us. For two months, he slept on our living room sofa. He wasn't friendly and voiced his opinion that kids were nuisances. The only upside was that he brought a stash of "smut" magazines and kept them in our garage, where I accidentally found them.
Obviously, I was only interested in the men. The X-rated pictures taught me how to do things and what things looked like: e.g. an ejaculation of semen. I was perplexed that my body didn't do it, but I had no one to ask. However, that helped me from being caught because there was no sticky evidence.
*That changed during the following year, at age 12, as my body matured hormonally.
;-)
Other boys had to bribe their older brothers for such magazines (or borrow them without asking), but I had a treasure-trove... for two months. Before my uncle departed, I took one... as well as my first pornographic video. After school, I routinely rushed home to use my father's VCR and the empty house, before my family convened. (My father forbid my sister and I to have televisions in our rooms). It was a shame that my father also forbid us to bring friends to our home without his permission... and he often said No. I was petrified to show my magazine or video to schoolmates, fearful of them accidentally telling anyone (as it happened with one boy, whose parents punished him). If my father found out, I would get a severe beating. So, I hoped that my school buddies would breach the topic at their homes. Alas, neither of them had such things. The best they could do was expect me to be aroused by looking at their fathers' Sports Illustrated Swimsuit magazines, which only featured women.
Twice, George excitedly displayed how his erection formed ("I'll show you mine, if you show me yours"). Rob joined in. Yet, I couldn't get aroused by only looking at females. I stared at my friends' boners and imagined things. Alas, my friends were never curious to undress, explore, or wank together. They only ogled the images and joked about their hardons. Years later, I learned that it was common to have "jerk off buddies"...
Twice, George excitedly displayed how his erection formed ("I'll show you mine, if you show me yours"). Rob joined in. Yet, I couldn't get aroused by only looking at females. I stared at my friends' boners and imagined things. Alas, my friends were never curious to undress, explore, or wank together. They only ogled the images and joked about their hardons. Years later, I learned that it was common to have "jerk off buddies"...
...but that didn't happen among my friends. In that era, in my society, it was abnormal to gawk at another guy's genitals. I felt ashamed and confused.
In 8th grade, I belonged to the Track Team, and some of my teammates were cute. But whenever I saw them with less clothes, I got erections in my running shorts! I couldn't stop it, so I chose to quit the team to avoid a scandal.
Desiring teamwork and achievement, I joined the Marching Band as a drummer... because the percussion section "keeps everything going". I enjoyed our music that supported school events, and I liked parading through the town for holidays.
I also joined a local Bowling League, amidst a team of four kids who were my age. Each week, our moms drove us to the bowling alley (in the neighboring town). I listened to the advice from coaches, and my skills improved. During my three years, my team progressed from achieving Third Place to winning First Place! (I am still a very good bowler).
Soon, the school's music teacher invited me to join her Jazz Band, and I thought that was cool. I followed that passion into high school. I still love jazz music and its possible spontaneity and "cerebral teamwork" for improvisation, and I appreciate the swingy artistry of big band ballads.
Alas, I never encountered a boy who was attracted to other boys. So, I relied on my stash of X-rated stuff, yet none of them featured gay activities. However, the back cover of one had ads to request sex catalogs through the mail; one was gay. Knowing when my elderly neighbors went to Florida to escape winter, I telephoned and requested a gay catalog to be sent to their address. Daily, I checked their mailbox until it came (in a discreet brown wrapper). It sold XXX calendars, posters, toys, videos, and magazines. There were plenty of nude images. Hardcore images were blurred (similar to this)...
...but it showed me how homosexuals got intimate. As an underage minor, I was unable to make purchases from that "adult only" catalog because I needed to prove that I was 18 or older. I didn't see a gay porn video until I was 18. (I bought Frisky Summer, which was rated as one of the Top Ten greatest gay movies. It was made in the Czech Republic by Bel Ami Studios—with young Czech, Romanian, and Slovakian actors—and was a "turning point" in gay porn. I adored the tenderness mixed with sexual exuberance. It was better than anything I saw before).
After 8th grade, most kids dreaded going to the local public high school, nicknamed the “Penitentiary” because of the crimes, drug abuse, and bullying that went on there. Two years later, its principal was arrested on drug charges. I listened to my neighbors discuss how recent graduates from that school were ill-prepared for college. All of my friends split up, as their families sent them to different private academies or parochial schools around Long Island. It was considered a custom, rather than try to fix the corrupt public school system (that their astronomical school taxes paid for). [My parents told me that they bought our house because their realtor lied to them, saying it was within the Island Trees School District]. Consequently, my clique of schoolmates/friends broke apart.
After 8th grade, most kids dreaded going to the local public high school, nicknamed the “Penitentiary” because of the crimes, drug abuse, and bullying that went on there. Two years later, its principal was arrested on drug charges. I listened to my neighbors discuss how recent graduates from that school were ill-prepared for college. All of my friends split up, as their families sent them to different private academies or parochial schools around Long Island. It was considered a custom, rather than try to fix the corrupt public school system (that their astronomical school taxes paid for). [My parents told me that they bought our house because their realtor lied to them, saying it was within the Island Trees School District]. Consequently, my clique of schoolmates/friends broke apart.
*In truth, the state always has plenty of money to invest in school systems, but it chooses to keep the money... and then claim to be poor. Read about it here:
My sister insisted on staying with her friends and attending the "Penitentiary" high school. Happy to save money, my parents acquiesced. Despite the lower standards and lower expectation of exam scores, my sister still got failing grades and needed Summer School.
Knowing that my father wouldn't help me financially, my maternal grandfather designated money to send me to a parochial prep (preparatory) school on the idyllic North Shore: Long Island Lutheran High School, nicknamed Lu-Hi. Tuition was expensive: $10,500 per year! (Now it's $13,500). My parents let me know that in addition to that tuition, they still paid annual Public School Taxes of $10,000! (whether we used the public schools or not). I felt compelled to do a good job in school. I also felt obligated to be a good pupil because of my endearing bond with my grandpa. At age 12—using Boy Scout First Aid skills—I saved his life by tying a tourniquet on his ruptured leg artery and telephoning "911" for emergency help.
Knowing that my father wouldn't help me financially, my maternal grandfather designated money to send me to a parochial prep (preparatory) school on the idyllic North Shore: Long Island Lutheran High School, nicknamed Lu-Hi. Tuition was expensive: $10,500 per year! (Now it's $13,500). My parents let me know that in addition to that tuition, they still paid annual Public School Taxes of $10,000! (whether we used the public schools or not). I felt compelled to do a good job in school. I also felt obligated to be a good pupil because of my endearing bond with my grandpa. At age 12—using Boy Scout First Aid skills—I saved his life by tying a tourniquet on his ruptured leg artery and telephoning "911" for emergency help.
A local radio station interviewed me for their Hometown Heroes Award. My church honored me during a Sunday service. The Boy Scouts awarded me a medal. (Alas, as you'll see, my lifesaving didn't matter to my parents, who disregarded my heroism when they tried to bankrupt me).
To learn more about my memories with him, click here:
https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2013/09/0-false-18-pt-18-pt-0-0-false-false.html
My grandfather was terminally sick in a hospital when I applied for acceptance ($100 non-refundable application fee), then took the entrance exams, and finally interviewed with Lu-Hi’s Admissions Counselor.
[Mom used the rest of her inheritance for a vacation with her friend to The Bahamas. (It's part of the Commonwealth of Nations that holds Queen Elizabeth as its monarch).
She also indulged in a cruise for herself.
She also built an extension on our house (against my father’s wishes—but in the end, he didn’t care), and bought new living room, dining room, TV room furniture—which she recruited me to help pick out and arrange at home. Instead of spending it, she should've invested that money!]
After 3 years of having to walk to/from this utilitarian Middle School...
You might think Long Island is full of tract houses, McMansions, malls, and expressways... but it was once home to sprawling estates—echoing Europe—that were unique in America. The TV show Downton Abbey is wildly popular now (it won Golden Globes, Emmys, BAFTAs, and SAG Awards), and people are amazed when I tell them that I lived near America's oldest/grandest mansions.
While my classmates discussed Madonna's outfits and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons, we also heard the old stories of Mrs. Alfred Vanderbilt putting leather in the wheel-wells of her limousines so not to hear the gravel along her driveway. During WWII, Prince Félix and his royal family fled the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg and resided in Brookville. In 1951, Albania's last king resided in the 60-room Knollwood Estate. J. P. Morgan lived on a remote "island-like" peninsula (below) to have clandestine meetings (some by sea) and privacy—but still had an assassination attempt.
In an uncaring society, the fates of many of those bygone estates was demolition. A mere handful were saved; some got converted to embassies, conference centers, private academies, or ministry homes. In 1951, a resident named Marjorie Merriweather Post (heiress to Post cereal empire and a famed etiquette dame) donated her 178-acre Hillwood estate as the campus for C.W. Post College of Long Island University. Seen below, Mill Neck Manor became a School for the Deaf. When I had a car, I drove there to participate in its Autumn Festivals.
*Enjoy the following Gold Coast pictures: triumphs of amazing—and sometimes whimsical—architecture!
Below is a Vanderbilt estate that now houses a planetarium, which my science class visited.
Seen below, we also took a "class trip" to Sands Point, built by Howard Gould and updated by Daniel Guggenheim in 1912. Featured in the films Scent of A Woman and Great Expectations it is a nature preserve and wedding facility.
Below is the Phipps Estate--now Old Westbury Gardens. College friends saw it in the film Cruel Intentions and visited me in the summer so we could take a Museum/Garden Tour.
Most of them are replaced by congested suburbs like Levittown and Manorville, highways, and shopping centers… all better-suited as a "tax base/commerce supply" to feed a corrupt county/state government, corrupt Power Authority, corrupt public education system, corrupt commuter railroad monopoly, and corrupt consumer marketplaces. Gone are the gardens and craftsmanship. Look at what was bulldozed and demolished:
You don't see interiors artfully created like these anymore. They weren't salvaged. They were dumped in landfills or the ocean.
These pictures are from one saved estate. However, acres of similar wood detailing, masonry, marquetry, and stonework were simply demolished and not "reclaimed" or "re-used".
They were castles on an island: architectural treasures along the Long Island Sound. (On old maps, the western end of the Gold Coast extended to Astoria, Queens). Built by the wealthiest of America, the culture stretched over the eras of Edith Wharton and "The Roaring Twenties". The 2013 film "The Great Gatsby" (in color below) was inspired by one of the estates called Beacon Towers (below)—built by Alva Vanderbilt in 1917, improved by William Randolph Hearst, and torn down in the 1940s. Folks "in the know" agree that F. Scott Fitzgerald based Gatsby's home on Beacon Towers.
The Astor family built an auto raceway (below), which was paved to make the Long Island Expressway.
Above is Coe Hall—now the Planting Fields Arboretum—where my Dutch-descended great-uncle was Garden/Tree Superintendent for its original owner, William Coe, an insurer of the Rockefeller-owned Standard Oil Conglomerate. My parents never had an interest in it, but when I got access to my own car, I went there and took its Museum Tour. Beautiful!
Oheka Castle, (below) is the second-largest home in America. (The Vanderbilt family "built more" when they built Biltmore, in North Carolina).
In the 1930s, Oheka was bequeathed to NYC, which used it as a summer retreat for City Sanitation workers. Now, it is a catering hall for suburban Sweet Sixteen parties.
The earliest Levitt homes resemble the green houses used in the Monopoly boardgame.
The greed of real estate profits and the desire of development still threatens gorgeous schools like St. Paul's (below) in the Incorporated Village of Garden City (itself an oasis in an overpopulated area). It's the same unchecked greed and disregard for historical landmarks that toppled NYC's iconic Pennsylvania Station.
You can drive past some leftover gatehouses, now sub-divided into studio apartments or used as entrances to "gated communities".
In the middle of overgrowth in Brookville, you may see a pair of crumbling cement pillars holding rusting gates that are swung open. See the Before & After pictures, below.
For some exploratory or mischievous people, those "fantastic ruins" hold an interest.
Consequently, the notions of preservation were impressed on me.
When you look at the picture below, you can imagine how greed absolutely captivated the merchants, politicians, service providers, utility companies, commuter services, and repairmen—because of all those captive "paying people", stuck ON AN ISLAND!
Those aforementioned entities still take advantage of them and overcharge/overtax them... like the citizenry is merely a "cash cow" power supply (like below).
Households "bleed" money: they buy tons of unnecessary "stuff" and easily get into debt, while tolerating an exorbitant cost of living, and they get very little "return on their investment".
Those little identical houses made too many inhabitants grow up into "cookie-cutter" life-choices of predictability, narrow-mindedness, and fears of leaving their boundaries.
That was the overburdened land that I grew up in—which got more overdeveloped, overpopulated, and congested... while also under-served, under-maintained, and under-improved. To make things worse, it was never planned properly for high population volumes.
Atop the highest hill, the mansion was built in 1926 and named Highpool because of its big swimming pool. It was a wedding gift from Richard Howe and Abby Deering for their son, William Deering Howe (heir to International Harvester Company--a farm/reaping machinery conglomerate funded by J.P. Morgan). He died in 1948, and his son frittered through his fortune. The private school was founded in 1960.
Thankfully, they didn't preach against homosexuality; they merely obscured the reality of it in passive-aggressive ways.
As if guarding the premises, the Chairman of the Board of Directors and his family lived in a white house on the school’s main driveway.
*There is also a decommissioned Nike Missile Site along the road. Active during 1955-1963, it wasn't designed to protect Long Island from Soviet attacks... only Manhattan. It's now a park.
From the brochures, I anticipated the ability to be myself!
Boys who did things like that won the admiration of underclassmen.
I disliked how they classified popularity based on physicality: it seemed to disqualify many people who had lots to offer.
I saw how the "popular tables" at lunch disrespected many others, and how people with different traits stayed "on the sidelines" of Student Life.
With my inner values, I was one of the few who quickly befriended foreign-exchange students. Other kids teased the Icelandic and Indian boys (named Owen and Sandeep) for things that made them different—causing outrage from both visitors. I welcomed them and treated them kindly. I sat with them at lunchtime, and I was interested in learning about their cultures and what made them unique. I loved the serene tales of Owen's island-nation, and Sandeep's colorful family customs. I was grateful for the "blast of fresh air" that their cultures brought.
With my inner values, I was one of the few who quickly befriended foreign-exchange students. Other kids teased the Icelandic and Indian boys (named Owen and Sandeep) for things that made them different—causing outrage from both visitors. I welcomed them and treated them kindly. I sat with them at lunchtime, and I was interested in learning about their cultures and what made them unique. I loved the serene tales of Owen's island-nation, and Sandeep's colorful family customs. I was grateful for the "blast of fresh air" that their cultures brought.
It was terrible when I saw them being taunted and made fun of... watching their faces redden and tears appear. They did nothing wrong to deserve it. Alas, that was (and is) America'a notorious intolerance... also aimed at disabled and gay people. One time, Owen got so frustrated that he trembled with anger and screamed at his antagonists. (I also recall students being so rowdy to a substitute teacher that she fled the room crying). I never understood why adults tolerated schoolchildren being so cruel—as if there was no way of stopping it. Sadly, American TV is also full of selfish/rude characters who are easily forgiven. Obnoxious kids = obnoxious society. Seeing such disgraces prompted me to remain tolerant of people who were different from me. Some people appreciated that, but many of my classmates thought I was weird because I didn't conform to their behavior. I endured their disapproval. The other thing that I couldn't conform to was heterosexuality.
Since a mere breeze gave me a teenage erection, I was too embarrassed/scared to use the weight room or join a sports team. (That's where the sexiest imagery occurred)!
Frightened and "closeted", I considered those places as fiery "danger zones" for a boy with my sexual preferences!
If guys saw me get aroused by looking at them...
...I feared a scandal at my religious high school that could invoke a horrific punishment from my parents. So, I exercised in the privacy of my home: sit-ups, push-ups, arm curls (with my dad's dumbbells), and leg squats.
My school was renown for its basketball and wrestling teams. While other spectators watched the cheerleaders and band...
...I eyed the athletes for moments when they were topless. I kept my hardon hidden as I sat in the bleachers.
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Wrestlers were fun to watch, from the "weigh in" to the climax. After all, how can a gay boy see teenage wrestling and NOT think of it as soft pornography?!
Overall, it was a
great school, and I excelled as a student. I studied and got very good grades and excellent test scores. In each quarter, I consistently earned my way onto the Honor Roll and then Star Honor Roll. The Headmaster (Principal) sent a handwritten note to my parents to praise me because he usually wrote to families about their child's demerits or detention hours. "For the entire year, you have not heard from me because it was never necessary. Your son is to be commended, and I want to be certain to underscore that by writing to you." Alas, my parents didn't care; it didn't matter to them.
WHEW!
Aside from physicality, students preferred to be friends with fashionable kids. Instead of saying "Hello" when they met someone, they appraised the person's clothing brands. If my shirt lacked a Lacoste alligator logo, Polo pony icon, or Members Only label, they did not want to be friends. Snooty kids mocked anyone with modest wardrobes. Instead of buying temporarily-trendy things (fads fade fast), I assimilated in another way. I invested in a varsity jacket from the school. (I did yard work for my neighbors to earn the money for it). My "letterman" jacket demonstrated School Spirit and looked snazzy. It exempted me from being a "slave to fashion" (new outfits every season), and I gained popularity and acceptance in an indisputable way.
I fondly recall the books that we read and discussed in class.
We took a field-trip to Liberty Island and climbed inside the Statue of Liberty to peer from its crown. The view is passable.
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I loved the Roman ruins, Venetian glassworks & gondoliers, Milanese risotto eaten at sidewalk cafes (where people discussed trips to Lake Como), and a Florentine glovemaker whose handmade leather gloves lasted 20 years for me! (Other boys were more interested in the legal prostitution in both countries). After crossing the international border from Rome into the Vatican City-State, I was amazed to enter the papal Apostolic Palace and view the Sistine Chapel with Michelangelo's astounding ceiling frescos from 1508! Rome's Renaissance paintings are masterpieces! Enamored with Florence, I bought a highly-detailed painting of its skyline... and I ogled all of the city's male statues with fantastically firm buttocks!
I was also enamored with the cuisine! A decade later, my headmaster wrote to me, fondly recalling that trip and how my enthusiasm made it wonderful for everyone. He especially admired how I found a wonderful restaurant in Tuscany that he and I ate in: fresh pasta, handmade cheese, house-cured sausage, and locally-made wine. (My instinct guided me to choose it, while the other students bypassed Italian recipes and ignorantly ate American junk-food at McDonald's).
*Read about McDonald's here: https://halfwindsorfullthrottle.blogspot.com/2015/07/mcds-and-wellfare.html
My friends "fed" their ignorance, but I was enamored with what I witnessed and experienced!
I also enjoyed our excursions to Manhattan. NYC paled in comparison to the "normal cleanliness/elegance" of Europe, but all of my teachers said that NYC was the place to go to advance our future careers. I got the impression that the city expected people to overlook its filth and outdated infrastructure and merely look at its tall buildings and bright lights... and pay heavily for that privilege.
By then, decades of graffiti had finally been removed from NYC subways...
and the second half of the fleet was finally air-conditioned in 1993... ten years after the first half got air-conditioned! The last route to get air-conditioning was the "7 Line" (used by immigrants and racial minorities)—which I would use later in life.
*Speaking of that class-trip to Italy, in addition to helping me enter Lu-Hi, my pastor generously entrusted me with his new Olympus camera with zoom lens. More than my parents, he emboldened me to explore "authentic European culture". I gifted him a handmade leather eyeglasses case from Florence. Compared to my parents—who ignorantly shelved their gifts—Pastor Corgee cherished his, as well as my maturation. I felt proud.
I also enjoyed our excursions to Manhattan. NYC paled in comparison to the "normal cleanliness/elegance" of Europe, but all of my teachers said that NYC was the place to go to advance our future careers. I got the impression that the city expected people to overlook its filth and outdated infrastructure and merely look at its tall buildings and bright lights... and pay heavily for that privilege.
By then, decades of graffiti had finally been removed from NYC subways...
and the second half of the fleet was finally air-conditioned in 1993... ten years after the first half got air-conditioned! The last route to get air-conditioning was the "7 Line" (used by immigrants and racial minorities)—which I would use later in life.
*Speaking of that class-trip to Italy, in addition to helping me enter Lu-Hi, my pastor generously entrusted me with his new Olympus camera with zoom lens. More than my parents, he emboldened me to explore "authentic European culture". I gifted him a handmade leather eyeglasses case from Florence. Compared to my parents—who ignorantly shelved their gifts—Pastor Corgee cherished his, as well as my maturation. I felt proud.
Experiencing freshly-made food was a life-saver!
It was certainly better than what my parents served: pasta with hot dogs in tomato sauce—all from the same can. (The other option was macaroni with powdered cheese from a packet).
I never returned to eating such things: I sourced/cooked foods that were better for me.
Lu-Hi instilled "school spirit" and enlightened me to "donate my time" for society's betterment.
Due to America's capitalistic priorities, it mandates that students take an aptitude test called the SAT. The score that each student gets deeply affects their ability to be accepted by colleges and universities. In America, the Test Preparation Industry is a lucrative scheme. My family paid $900 for my tutoring for the Pre-SAT exam, which is administered before the SAT. Then, it cost $2,000 for one month of tutoring, in preparation of the SAT exam, which cost $50 to take. Only 20 of the 50 states in the USA enforce the test, but--of course--NY is one of them. NY is also one of the few that compels students to take a standardized test named the Regents Examination. As you can imagine, profiteers make money on that, too. I excelled at mine... but nobody cares about it thereafter. Your scores don't play a role in anything else that you do for the rest of your life. But a lot of people get rich from the process.
The distance to school deterred (pre-Facebook/pre-cellular phone) friends from socializing after school. Kids from various neighborhoods were on separate bus routes. After school, we all went our separate ways. :-(
I shared a bus
with only 6 kids (1 girl and 5 boys), eventually adding a blonde who routinely/conveniently slept with 2 of the boys "in rotation" when her parents weren’t home. The boys boasted.
The distance to school deterred (pre-Facebook/pre-cellular phone) friends from socializing after school. Kids from various neighborhoods were on separate bus routes. After school, we all went our separate ways. :-(
Then, she did it with one boy’s younger brother who wanted to experience “the blonde with cupcake boobs” that his brother
bragged about. The kid was only in the seventh grade and still played with G.I. Joe toys—making them hump each other...
... yet he "saw action" with someone he was attracted to. I wasn't as lucky.
Another unfortunate circumstance was that they all lived 3.5 miles away from me, on the other side of Levittown. I was the first one on the bus, and the last one off of it. It made "hanging out" after school into a challenge. Also, my parents did not allow my sister or I to participate in sleepovers.
*[Did I mention that my father refused to let my sister or I have telephones in our bedrooms? Such a fun home].
Unlike other teenagers, I never expected my parents to help me pay for a car, and I knew they wouldn't. I didn't have my own car until I graduated from college, and I didn't mind. Kids who hadn't earned the money for their first cars (and got their parents to buy them) treated them recklessly and usually wrecked them.
When guys lost their virginity and bragged to me, I was scared to realize that I could only imagine them having sex...
*[Did I mention that my father refused to let my sister or I have telephones in our bedrooms? Such a fun home].
Unlike other teenagers, I never expected my parents to help me pay for a car, and I knew they wouldn't. I didn't have my own car until I graduated from college, and I didn't mind. Kids who hadn't earned the money for their first cars (and got their parents to buy them) treated them recklessly and usually wrecked them.
When guys lost their virginity and bragged to me, I was scared to realize that I could only imagine them having sex...
...more than visualizing the girl. Also, I knew nothing about touching a girl, or the sensations of one touching me. By all social indicators of that era, it meant that something was wrong with me! Guys didn't desire other guys. It was supposedly "immoral and sinful".
I didn't feel comfortable being myself, nor did I have resources to understand that being gay was normal. Each day, I looked in the mirror (that's me below), knew I was a good person, and hoped for enlightenment.
I left the innocence of my Middle School for a sexual kaleidoscope in High School. Adolescence was full of accessible sexual delights for "straight" kids. Within my first month, I saw a guy caress his girlfriend under her shirt, an 8th grade boy squeezed the breasts of a 10th grade girl, and a shirtless 15-year-old stood over a girl sitting on the floor and bucked his hips at her head to simulate oral sex. But I didn't have urges like them. As I moved "up" each year, it was depressing to watch boys who were younger or uglier than me get more romantic/sexual action than me... just because they were heterosexual.
It seemed as if all the boys were in a race to conquer girls and use their penises in as many ways as possible... except ways that were indisputably gay.
I never shied away from horny invitations. I can honestly say that I never turned down "an offer" from a guy "to play around" or "mutually explore"... because I never got one. I didn't even have what straight boys call “just curious” experiences with other boys. Maybe it was because of so few students. Perhaps it was because of how far away I lived from everyone. In the era before webcams and FaceTime, guys only experienced "circle jerks" and "feely-touchy bodily exploring" if they were in the right cliques.
Girls gossiped about how promiscuous boys groped them and lured them into bed, or an empty classroom...
… or their cars.
Some were thrilled with adolescent "group fun".
I tried to be happy for them. Condoms fell out of boys’ wallets in
the locker room. Boys passed porno magazines on the school bus and jeered about how the pages were stuck together with their sperm. They compared muscles. They
arm-wrestled. The flexed for each
other, and for girls. In the locker room, they discussed girls' breasts and vaginas, just like they compared cars and stereos.
Maybe the guys living in the same neighborhoods
swapped “techniques” together.
In our Religion Class, one boy regularly argued about the interpretation of “sin”, discussing how often he had sex with his girlfriend, declaring it the best feeling in the world. Taught by the girls Gym Teacher, our Health Class gave a mere overview of heterosexuality. In Social Studies, I learned that Civil War generals, such as Ulysses Grant (who became President), used national tax revenue to have prostitutes follow their troops because sex was important for health and morale. I was amazed that students and faculty discussed those graphic topics, but not same-sex attraction. None of my friends seemed “open enough” to talk to about my desires or teenage yearnings. I got aroused by “socially ridiculed” things. Nobody in my world was gay: they were all “normal”. I felt very alone.
In our Religion Class, one boy regularly argued about the interpretation of “sin”, discussing how often he had sex with his girlfriend, declaring it the best feeling in the world. Taught by the girls Gym Teacher, our Health Class gave a mere overview of heterosexuality. In Social Studies, I learned that Civil War generals, such as Ulysses Grant (who became President), used national tax revenue to have prostitutes follow their troops because sex was important for health and morale. I was amazed that students and faculty discussed those graphic topics, but not same-sex attraction. None of my friends seemed “open enough” to talk to about my desires or teenage yearnings. I got aroused by “socially ridiculed” things. Nobody in my world was gay: they were all “normal”. I felt very alone.
(As I write this, Lu-Hi—unlike so many others, including urban public schools—still has no gay clubs or LGBT awareness. The same Chairman of the Board has been in charge for the last 25 years.)
Two girls, Charisse and Lauren, waited for me by the homebound buses and flirted with me. Charisse was a cheerleader. She occasionally telephoned me at home (to my mother’s delight). She asked me on a date, and we went to the movies. Afterwards, she remained motionless and wanted me to kiss her, which I did. I kissed her a few more times, but I had no attraction/chemistry with her. I didn’t know what to do about it: I stayed warm and friendly… but not sexually interested.
Throughout high school, I certainly wasn't going to reveal my sexuality, because I knew that I must succeed there to enter a
great college!
I was also afraid that people might tell my parents. I assumed college
life would make up for the depressing lack of dating life in high school, and
college would propel me to a successful job that would get me out of home and allow
me to move away!
That also meant earning money (since I didn't get an allowance from my parents). I earned money from my neighbors to mow their lawns, trim their shrubs & hedges, and rake/aerate their flowerbeds. It was good exercise, and when I saw the neighbors' yards, I always felt pride at a good job. With my experience as a Boy Scout Junior Troop Leader, I got a job at Lu-Hi's Summer Camp.
I got the only job left, and it was isolated in the kitchen: slicing vegetables for meals, making sandwiches and soups, cutting open cartons to restock the vending machines, carrying items from the outdoor refrigerator, and standing behind the hot-lunch counter to serve meals to summer camp kids. They had fun outdoors with sailing, softball, volleyball, horsemanship, and swimming.
I worked in the hot kitchen.
Sadly, I didn't meet any gay or bi-curious guys during those summers, but I did admire the athletic basketball coaches and lifeguards, for sure! The way their lips idly worked those whistles! (faint)
The truth was, I had so little chance of having the kind of life that my classmates achieved that any other life I could shape for myself seemed interesting. So, I got "involved" amongst school activities. There was no way of me knowing that I should’ve left home and found gay roommates in NYC, gotten immense financial aid at a city college—since I would’ve been openly gay and on my own from my family—and worked at gay-friendly restaurants for considerable city-level gratiuities and networking. That was a LIFE LESSON in hindsight.
That also meant earning money (since I didn't get an allowance from my parents). I earned money from my neighbors to mow their lawns, trim their shrubs & hedges, and rake/aerate their flowerbeds. It was good exercise, and when I saw the neighbors' yards, I always felt pride at a good job. With my experience as a Boy Scout Junior Troop Leader, I got a job at Lu-Hi's Summer Camp.
I worked in the hot kitchen.
The truth was, I had so little chance of having the kind of life that my classmates achieved that any other life I could shape for myself seemed interesting. So, I got "involved" amongst school activities. There was no way of me knowing that I should’ve left home and found gay roommates in NYC, gotten immense financial aid at a city college—since I would’ve been openly gay and on my own from my family—and worked at gay-friendly restaurants for considerable city-level gratiuities and networking. That was a LIFE LESSON in hindsight.
*(As you will read, I eventually did have sex with a very sexy lifeguard, and our fling remains one of my Top 10).
Throughout high school, I had no "first date
nervousness", no holding hands, crushes, first kisses, Valentines, love notes, no fumbling of clothes at night,
or gentle caresses. Not for four
testosterone-full years! My situation was socially abnormal, as this contemporary video explains...
I went to
both proms alone (well, actually, my guidance counselor set me up with another
girl who had nobody to go with to Junior Prom. She was African American, and that nearly killed my parents until I explained that we weren't dating). Both times, I paid for my own tuxedo rentals and limousines.
Limos are a waste of money.
But we had fun voting for the Prom King and Prom Queen (the runners-up were part of the Royal Court). Considering that the USA legally forbids the creation of nobility, it's odd that its teenagers encounter Prom "monarchs" and Homecoming "monarchs".
[Across the park is Flushing, Queens—NYC's 2nd-largest Chinatown community. I had no idea that, in several years, I'd be living there, amongst filth and hundreds of unfortunate illegal immigrants].
Leaving the prom, I accepted an invitation from a busload of friends going to Manhattan's gothic Limelight Club in an abandoned church.
Prom = Promiscuous. So, as the coach-bus drove us, we saw a football player receiving oral sex from another boy's girlfriend. Suddenly, my prom night had voyeurism and exhibitionism! Without shame or embarrassment, the boy let 12 classmates (aged 16-18) watch his erection get sucked by a girl who knelt in front of him. Onlookers hooted and clapped. I was perturbed that their infidelity was applauded, but being gay was considered wrong!
Unconcerned, the boy zipped up his pants, exited the bus, entered the nightclub, and drank/danced more. There were no consequences; nobody's parents were notified.
*No, I didn't encounter any gay guys at the club in NYC.
Days later, a cute boy in my grade, Michael, “came out
of the closet”. It was a couple of
weeks before graduation. He revealed his gayness, and it was a shock to the other varsity lacrosse players.
Most boys avoided him, but not me. Understandably, he was reclusive, but I had three chats with him, each one slightly longer. He came from an affluent family with a supportive mom, and he liked jazz. Before summer began, I gave him my home's telephone number, but he did not give me his, nor did he call. He went south to attend college near a Florida beach, and I went north in New York (near Canada)... at opposite ends of the Eastern Seaboard. Despite the many alumni events that I attended, I never saw him again. (He now lives in Nantucket with his partner).
I wish that I somehow knew he was gay sooner!
The group marching band photo on the football field with the red uniforms was from my high school and I was part of the drumline at the time! I'm curious as to how you got that photo!
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