The Perks of Being a 17 Year Old Gay Boy

I want to tell you a story about a brave young man. This story is actually one of the few times where he felt utterly defeated. I want to tell you about this time in his life, because it was a time when he never felt more afraid or more scared, he had ever felt more like giving up.  Despite every obstacle that sprung up, he didn't, despite the fact that many would have.  

I will warn you though that what follows could be triggering for anyone who has ever been physically assaulted. So brace yourself, because this isn't a pretty tale.

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Once again he’s come home drunk. That’s not really a surprise, it is his default state after all. You’re just glad that he didn’t kill anyone on his drive home.

But you notice he’s more aggressive this time, more angry. He’s making fun of you because you tell people you’re a vegetarian and he’s throwing fried bologna at you. You’re getting irritated and you just tell him you want to go to sleep.

Well the couch is where you sleep on the weekends you visit him, because he hasn’t provided a room for you since you lived there when you were a child, when your parents were still together.  A time in your life that you don't even remember.

"You’ll go to bed when I want to go to bed, and I’m not tired yet." He yells at you from his seat at the bar that separates the kitchen and the living room.

You get up and you turn off the game you were playing, and put on your slippers. Because it’s a farm house and it gets really cold at night in December. You go for the door that separates the two halves of the house, one being your father’s and the other being your grandparent’s.

”Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He gets up and blocks your exit. You say that you’re just going to go over to grandma’s and pick out a movie to watch. You’re starting to feel really scared, your father is an aggressive drunk, but he’s never been this aggressive and angry with you before.

"Like hell you are, you’re gonna fucking sit right there until I’m ready to go to bed." He yells out at you and pushes you on to the couch.

Your heart starts pumping adrenaline through you’re entire system, you’re getting ready for fight or flight, and given your circumstances your body and mind agree with one thing, flight is the only thing that will save you.

”Dad, please, I’m really tired, you just want to veg out and watch a movie. Grandma’s not even home right now she’s at Bingo, she’ll be gone until two.” You look at the clock, it’s midnight now.

"She doesn’t want you over there, neither does your grandfather. They’re ashamed of you." He spits out at you, getting right in your face.

You say something you regret even before it comes out of your mouth. "Go have another drink Dad and leave me alone."

He grabs you by the collar of the shirt you’re wearing and picks you up. He then slams you back down on the couch, his hands are around your neck and you’re flailing trying to get away.

"What makes you think you can talk to me that way you dirty little faggot. I know you don’t want to be here this weekend, but your mother doesn’t know what to do with you anymore, she’s so ashamed of you and your perverted gay ways." He lets up for a second and you’re able to squirm away. You try and grab your pants and your shoes so you can make a run for it. It’s the middle of the night, you’re in the middle of the no where, but if you can just get dressed, you can get to your best friend’s, she only lives about 2km away.

"DID I SAY I WAS FUCKING DONE WITH YOU FAGGOT!?" He screams at you, and grabs you again, this time throwing you to the floor. This time he has you backed into a corner and his knee is at your throat.

He’s yelling and screaming obscenities at you, telling you how you’ve brought shame to your entire family. They’re all ashamed of you and you’re better off dead. You start to believe him.

You start begging and pleading for him to let you go, and that’ll he’ll never have to see you again. Just let you get your stuff, and you’ll leave. You beg and plead for what seems like hours while he keeps pushing you back down to the ground and strangling you. You’re coughing, sputtering and the tears will not stop coming down your face.

Finally he relents, he’s going to let you leave. So he starts to push you out the door. Keep in mind that you’re wearing a t-shit, boxers and you’re barefoot. He tries to push you out, but you’re able to stop him from throwing you out into the snow. Literally.

"Just let me get my stuff," you beg. "Just let me put on my clothes and shoes on and I’ll be out of your life forever."

You both fall to the ground, your both exhausted from the two hours of relentless physical activity. You hear the front door open on the porch. Your grandmother is home. You make a run for it, and you’re too quick for your father. You burst out of your father’s side of the apartment, and your father is not too far on your trail. One look from her though and he stops, she tells him to go to bed that she’ll take it from here.

You however, cannot be calmed down. You’re still scared for your life and all you want to do is call your mom and you want her to come pick you up. Your grandmother tries to convince you that you have nothing to worry about it, your father was just drunk and he’ll be fine in the morning. But you don’t want to hear it, you want out now.

You call your mother, you have to call four times until someone picks up. It is 2 am after all. Your step father picks up the phone, you demand to talk to your mother and he hangs up the phone on you. You call back and he tells you to leave them the fuck alone.

You feel defeated. You have no escape now. Your grandmother makes you a cup of hot chocolate, like that’s going to make you forget everything that just happened. She tries to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, it’s not a big deal, he was just drunk. She takes you into the living room and settles you down on the love seat while she gets on the couch.

Soon she is asleep, and you’re wide awake still. The TV still on radiating it’s bluish light across the room. It’s now 4:00 am, and everyone is now asleep. You get up from your seat and sneak back over to your dad’s. You gather up all of your stuff and you bundle yourself up and you walk out the door to walk the 2km to your best friend’s place.

You get there, but don’t really remember walking. Suddenly you’re at their door, it’s 5 or 5:30 now. You see lights on, and you know people are awake. You remember that your best friend’s little sisters are probably working the early shift at the Tim Horton’s in Aberfoyle. You knock on the door. But it’s not loud enough. You’re afraid that they’re going to be mad at you for showing up at so early in the morning.

You sit down on their front stoop and wait. You’re cold, but you’re safe now. You start to nod off. What seems like seconds later the door opens and your best friend’s mom finds you huddled up on the step. She gets you up and she gets you inside, she asks you what’s wrong and you start to tell her but you start crying and the words can’t make it to your tongue.

She wraps her arms around you, and hushes you, gets you out of your shoes and your jacket. Chides you like any good mom would for not wearing a touque. She sets you down on the couch in the play room with a huge duvet and just tells you to sleep until your best friend gets up.

Finally you can fall to sleep. You wake with your best friend sitting on the couch you’re laying on, just watching you sleep. When she sees your eyes open she just gives you a look that tells you how sorry she is, she doesn’t know what happened yet, but she doesn’t need to. She knows that it must have been really bad to get you to come here like you did.

You go up to her room, and between sobs you’re able to tell her what happened. She just holds you in her bed for the rest of the morning until people start to notice that you’re missing. Your mother calls, she’s angry. She wouldn’t even listen to what you had to say, your step father and father clearly were able to give her a believable story first, and what you have to say didn’t matter. She tells you that your grandmother is coming to pick you up, and that she is not impressed.

The ride back into Guelph is a silent one. You’re worn out. You have no more fight in you. You get back to your mother and step father’s home to find them seated at the kitchen table. You’re told to take off your coat and sit down, where your step father precede to yell and scream at you, and he tells you what you got was nothing because his father used to put his head through a wall.

You can’t get a word in edgewise, until finally he asks you a question. "Give me one good reason why I should let you live in my home?"

You look at him, you have no answer, you can’t believe you’re even being asked it. But you’re tired, and you’re defeated, and you have nothing left to fight with. He asks you again, this time louder.

"I guess… I have no reason why I should stay." You say quietly, the tears start to come again. Your mother sits there in stony silence doesn’t even look at you.

"Then get a bag and get out."

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I wanted to tell you this story, because I think it's time that I actually tell it. I think it's time that I get it into the open so I begin to let it go. I am telling you this story because this young man was me.

The story of course did not end here. After that happened I made some phone calls and went down do a youth centre in downtown Guelph called Change Now that ran a Queer Youth group on Saturday. I called ahead and luckily they were still there. When I showed up there with a gym bag in hand with some clothes, I was exhausted. S., the facilitator for the group had made calls ahead of me and found me an emergency bed in a shelter.

To be honest, I was scared to go to a boys' shelter. I was a young gay boy and I had this preconceived notion that it would have been dangerous for me to go there. I made a couple of calls and found a friend who lived near downtown Guelph, she came and met me and we sat for a couple of hours in the safeness of the centre and we talked. S. tried to convince me to call the police, there were bruises on my neck and all up and down my back. In hindsight, I probably should have, but I was defeated, all those nasty things that my father was yelling at me I felt were true, and that no one would actually do anything to help me. Despite what S. was doing and my friend.

So my friend took me home that day and I slept over at her place, we rented a wonderful movie about young gay boys and love, and fell asleep cuddling on the couch.

There's a lot more to this story, from what happened from my friend's house that night until mid January when I ended up on staying with some Queer University Students that took me in under their wing. Maybe one day I'll tell all of that too, but not today, but I will leave you with an image of this young man 6 months after this happened. He's smiling, but I can tell you on good authority that this young man was never too sure what happiness actually was.

I wish for nothing more then to be able to go back and tell him.  Arm him for the years ahead of him.  I don't want to tell him that it will get better, but I want to give him the tools so he can start to make it better for himself then.  I want to remind him that he has so many beautiful souls looking out for him and that he deserves everything he wants and that all needs to do is reach for the stars in order to touch him.  But only when he's ready to get the treatment that he needs, the counselling to remind him that it's not his fault.  And yes, the pills that he need to talk to his doctor about and get the one's that are right for him, to help lift the fog from his life.

Just as a note here, this is my story.  A reaction I just got on this scared the hell out of me, and I want to make sure that there's something else included here.

This time of my life was awful, but this time, the late 90's to the early 00's wasn't just awful for me.  There was a lot of other things going on. for other family members of mine.  There's only one I want to protect here.  Because many people might want to paint my mother with a brush that makes her look and sound awful.

I will admit, that in this story, she comes off as being awful.  But this is my story, and there's much of her's that correlates with this, that isn't mine to tell.  So if you're going to respond, I ask that you not wish any ill will towards my mother, for she is now on the other side of this and is standing strong with me.  I love her dearly, and right now she's more of gay activist then I am.

She does work, support and education  for PFLAG because she wants to make sure that my story isn't repeated to anyone.  So please know that she's an amazing woman, and her and I have made our peace and our relationship is stronger for it.

I think part of it, is that she felt trapped in that situation with Bryan, she couldn't get out of it.  I really think that part of her wanted me out, she knew I had been building up a support network in the GLBT community, and she wanted to get me out of there for my safety.  If that makes any sense.

I know I'm rambling here, and maybe trying so hard to justify, but my mother is very much an inspiration to me, and I love her with all of my heart.