I'm From Driftwood
I'm From Driftwood
i'm from valley stream, ny.
By Scott T.
It happened when I was a boy – grade school or junior high – I don't remember. I was in bed trying to sleep and my father popped in to say goodnight, as was his custom. Sleep usually came easier after we chatted a bit.
Dad sensed my uneasiness and asked me if something was wrong. "I think I'm a homosexual," I whispered. He looked at me, then out the window toward the junior high school across the street. I felt awkward. He looked back at me and said "Oh, don't worry about that. Lots of young boys go through a phase like that." He shut the light and left. My tension did not leave. He must have known, and the light came on. He came back in the room and said, "You know, if that feeling doesn't go away, that's ok too." He shut the light again. Sleep came. I will always be grateful for that night.
I'm from clarksville, tn.
By Robin L.
We were just children on the playground. I was a tall and chunky girl, and you were even taller and so much more graceful. What grade were we in? I swear it was the third grade; it couldn't have been anything more.
I was on the swings as you pushed me, and as the bell was called and I dug my feet into the ground to walk inside with the rest of the class. I heard you walk up behind me, and you said my name. I turned. You asked me to come to your house for the weekend, to spend the night.
That Saturday, I went to your house. I remember all so clearly. I sat on the floor, and you brushed my hair. "Can I tell you a secret?" you asked, and I looked up, and nodded. It didn't take you long to kneel beside me on the ground and bend over, cupping your hand around my ear: "I think I like girls like I should like boys."
i'm from galveston, tx.
By Patrick Hanley
The bell rang, and my government teacher closed the door and walked along the front of the classroom.
"Mister Hanley," he said. His salutation was followed by an ellipsis, which was clearly audible in the pregnant pause that followed. He paced across the front of the class room giving me just enough time to wonder why he was beginning class by addressing me.
"You know, I like football."
Oh god. Football? Really, Mr. Robertson? Are you sure you want to talk to ME about this?
"And I was at the football game last Friday night, along with my wife. And I have to say, Mister Hanley, I was mighty surprised when I saw the halftime show."
Oh. That. The halftime show.
"My wife was surprised too. And you know what she said? She said, 'That boy got roots! I know that white boy got some roots!' So Mister Hanley, I promised her I would ask you: do you have any African American heritage?"
My lily-white face flushed red - an occupational hazard of being Irish which makes lying virtually impossible. I managed to stammer, "N-n-n-o. Can't say that I do."
Mr. Robertson continued, "My wife and I were mighty impressed with your dancing though, and I never would have suspected that someone as mild-mannered as yourself could get up there in front of everyone with that - what do you call it? - and move like that."
"M-My mace?" I asked.
"Yeah, your baton-thingy! I'm tellin' you, boy, you need to take a look at your family tree, cause you've got some kinda soul and WAY too much rhythm for a white boy."
And I guess he was right; it's just not my genetic family that I get my dance moves from.
i'm from painesville, oh.
by Robert P.
In the second grade ...
Chris, a new kid at school, didn't have many friends. Neither did I. We first met on the swings at recess. I don't know why he talked to me; most boys didn't. I don't remember what we talked about, but day after day, he kept hangin