Oh no! I can't roast YOU. Sorry. I just can't have Decon lying about y'alls relationship any longer. He needs to come out, already.
There's no shame in being gay. But there's shame in pretending one isn't that's the issue.
No, papi is just normal. Here, I will tell you a story:
When I was a kid, I had normal friends -- I still remember their names. Four of them, Alex, Kenny, Scott, and Phil a little English boy who wore shorts, up through sixth grade, the kind of boys who probably play with legos and imagine things a little longer than most, that is all. But starting Junior High, they suddenly all pretended they didn't know me any more. I was wrecked. That's when the shoving and throwing and name-calling started, too.
A few years ago my brother dug out some old videos he took one Christmas about that time, and in one I am proudly showing off my hamster. Big, dramatic voice, good eye contact, charming -- I was a disgusting little queen. This was about the same time my dad stopped insisting I go to church, too. (For all the mouth-breathers out there, you can very well hatch a babygay in perfect innocence, shut off from pop culture, without a Jew in sight unless you count the ones in the Bible. Just look at Mormon families who hatch them by the dozens; your stricter sects are virtual homo factories.)
For the rest of school I was a total outcast, no friends at all except this one worldly-wise patchouli-smelling girl who was just being nice. But I was a good student and some of those teachers were very indulgent with me and I ate up history and literature instead of cartoons and movies, which is why I am such a retard. There were only a couple teachers who really hated me, especially (of course) the music teacher and choir director, total closet homo. But from the other kids I got nothing but abuse. I am a tough little faggot and was determined not to let them see me hurt or weak; it's only in the past few years I have noticed that I begin to flinch normally when startled. But you can still hear the toll to my confidence in my voice: low, careful, mostly monotone, not dramatic at all.
Those are very important years for developing self-image and while other kids preened in the mirror I avoided them, convinced I was an ugly wretch who needn't bother. Now of course I am a total peacock but it's different as a clumsy adult to try to build yourself up again. I will always be a little socially retarded, not unlike how you read about people with ass burgers.
A bunch of kids from my school went to the same college and I was in one class with a guy a year older than I was, a tall, tan basketball star with curly hair a little too long, absolutely gorgeous and fawned over, and you can imagine my utter shock when he came over and sat by me all friendly-like. Of course he had no reason to know I even existed back in school but now that we were thrown together in a strange place he was all like hey wassup and I barely knew how to speak his language.
I realized then that the persecution was all in my head, that there were really only four or five kids who bothered and a bunch of others who just looked away, and a social environment provided by adults where that sort of abuse was seen as a beneficial corrective, like albrecht's love for casual brutality, where I should be grateful they taught me toughness and resilience. Fuck all that. I don't remember any of those kids' names anyway.
But the tall, sweet basketball player who was so kind to me and didn't give a fuck what anyone else thought, though was hideous and stooping and could barely look people in the eye -- that was a papi. I still remember his name, Neil. God bless him. I will love him until I die.
