Driving a Stickshift

While I was at BYU, I became close friends with one of my professors, and their family.  I would hang out with the kids, take them to movies, watch movies at their house, I even took a couple of them to a state wrestling final one year.  They were my Provo family.  I loved them, and they me.  One of the boys would ask me every time I was there if I was going to spend the night.  I always came up with some excuse why I couldn’t. 

Acceptance

I was talking to one of my friends who is gay the other day.  I told him about this blog, and about why I needed to obfuscate my identity.  I mentioned my thoughts on being trapped in between two worlds, one that one is trying to escape, the other in which one longs to be.

I explained to him the difficulty of not wanting to let it be known that one has made the transition from gay to straight.  I compared it to the recovering alcoholic. (again, friends, its an analogy and should only be taken as far as intended.) Society is proud of those who have made the choice to stop an activity over which they feel they have no control.  At the same time however, we hang it over their heads for the rest of their lives.  They are always a “recovering alcoholic.”