greg
So, to continue and expand upon that rant, a bit :-), I thought I might profile a few important figures and moments from my life.
I first got to know Greg when we were both students in a church membership class: the equivalent, in our offshoot of the German Reformed Church, of confirmation classes. Greg had an absolutely wonderful way of querying the pastor on nearly everything, but especially matters of theological detail. Greg didn't take any answers for granted. And I -- though I could never have framed it that way to myself at the time -- fell pretty quickly and helplessly in love. I was 11. Greg was 13. Up to that point in my life, I'd done my best to be a dogmatic born-again Christian. Greg woke me to the possibilities I was missing: maybe one didn't need to belong to our church to be saved. Maybe one didn't even need to be a Christian (or traditionally religious) at all.
Greg got me involved, too, in a game with the pastor (a friendly but very traditional sort) that carried on right through to the end of the dozen or however many sessions we had. The pastor went strictly by his middle name, though he always signed correspondence with his first initial followed by his middle name. So, naturally, Greg and I tried to guess what the initial ("A.") stood for. Only many years later, as an adult, did I ask the pastor again and learn the answer (which, anymore, I forget, though I think I have it recorded somewhere :-p).
Greg loved to write. I loved to write. He showed me a story of his he'd written, though I can't remember anything about it any more. We were both obsessive readers. He had freckles back then (I think) and kind of curly hair and a laughing manner about him. I couldn't wait till I was a little older and would be in the same class in Sunday School. (Junior and senior high were both grouped together three grades at a time.) Sadly for me, he stopped going to church (at least to our church) by the time I got there.
We were/are both queer. I don't think he knew at the time; I certainly didn't. I just knew the wonderful way he made me feel -- still makes me feel, when I meet him, as I do every now and again, every few years, on my way back through my home town. I'll mention my feelings for him; he'll laugh scornfully and say "I was waiting for you to bring that up!"; and then he'll say again why it would never work (because I'd never want to move back, because I'd be bored -- all the things I actually wouldn't be; but then, in hindsight, I suppose that, even when we were children, I was perhaps more into him than he into me).
All this wouldn't bother me so much except that -- again, when I meet up with him -- he complains about his "dead-end" job (unless that's changed by now?) and sounds quite dissatisfied with his life. He's lived with his parents most of his adult life, taking care of his mother through her extended illness. (I'm guessing she's passed away now; for all I know, his father may have, too.) He's never had a steady boyfriend, so far as I can tell, never mind lived with one (not that I've done that more than once). He talks as though it's not even a possibility. He seems lonely, those occasions when we meet; but that scornful laugh is very much like stepping into a cold shower: nothing dampens enthusiasm quite so quickly!
I'm past due for getting back. It would be really great to find out that he has found somebody. In the meantime, I will always carry my love for him.
I first got to know Greg when we were both students in a church membership class: the equivalent, in our offshoot of the German Reformed Church, of confirmation classes. Greg had an absolutely wonderful way of querying the pastor on nearly everything, but especially matters of theological detail. Greg didn't take any answers for granted. And I -- though I could never have framed it that way to myself at the time -- fell pretty quickly and helplessly in love. I was 11. Greg was 13. Up to that point in my life, I'd done my best to be a dogmatic born-again Christian. Greg woke me to the possibilities I was missing: maybe one didn't need to belong to our church to be saved. Maybe one didn't even need to be a Christian (or traditionally religious) at all.
Greg got me involved, too, in a game with the pastor (a friendly but very traditional sort) that carried on right through to the end of the dozen or however many sessions we had. The pastor went strictly by his middle name, though he always signed correspondence with his first initial followed by his middle name. So, naturally, Greg and I tried to guess what the initial ("A.") stood for. Only many years later, as an adult, did I ask the pastor again and learn the answer (which, anymore, I forget, though I think I have it recorded somewhere :-p).
Greg loved to write. I loved to write. He showed me a story of his he'd written, though I can't remember anything about it any more. We were both obsessive readers. He had freckles back then (I think) and kind of curly hair and a laughing manner about him. I couldn't wait till I was a little older and would be in the same class in Sunday School. (Junior and senior high were both grouped together three grades at a time.) Sadly for me, he stopped going to church (at least to our church) by the time I got there.
We were/are both queer. I don't think he knew at the time; I certainly didn't. I just knew the wonderful way he made me feel -- still makes me feel, when I meet him, as I do every now and again, every few years, on my way back through my home town. I'll mention my feelings for him; he'll laugh scornfully and say "I was waiting for you to bring that up!"; and then he'll say again why it would never work (because I'd never want to move back, because I'd be bored -- all the things I actually wouldn't be; but then, in hindsight, I suppose that, even when we were children, I was perhaps more into him than he into me).
All this wouldn't bother me so much except that -- again, when I meet up with him -- he complains about his "dead-end" job (unless that's changed by now?) and sounds quite dissatisfied with his life. He's lived with his parents most of his adult life, taking care of his mother through her extended illness. (I'm guessing she's passed away now; for all I know, his father may have, too.) He's never had a steady boyfriend, so far as I can tell, never mind lived with one (not that I've done that more than once). He talks as though it's not even a possibility. He seems lonely, those occasions when we meet; but that scornful laugh is very much like stepping into a cold shower: nothing dampens enthusiasm quite so quickly!
I'm past due for getting back. It would be really great to find out that he has found somebody. In the meantime, I will always carry my love for him.