This is my 300th Review, a modest benchmark that I reserved for this event, because we need more GLOBAL Advocacy and Equality for our brothers and sisters, whomever they may be or become; along with whomever they love.
I got to spend the weekend the only Asian Boy who ever broke my heart - the infamous P.N. aka Nick who I met in 6th grade. We used to talk for hours on the telephone and I'd listen to him giggle, despite being Nationally Ranked Track and Field record holder. It never occurred to me that this was odd, nor that I needed to reconcile the two facts, as they were but fractional facets of a young man who was brilliant (and still is) in every way. Glorious.
Our affection for each other was completely chaste; we never held hands, we never kissed... But we passed fastidiously folded notes to each other through three years of GATE and Honors classes. Mine, written in a hybrid print and cursive; his always in elegant award winning penmanship.
I became violently jealous when he chose to do that with the tallest, WASPiest girl in our class.
At a school dance, I had a conniption when he was werking My Prerogative with more rhythm than Bobby Brown, dancing, but not with me. I was huddled in the corner, taking in this "profanation of our love" and almost wept.
Aside: Dad is not a PhD, but has a collection of M.S. Degrees: Electrical Engineering, Mechanical Engineering and CIS. When you marinate in passionate soliloquies about the fields of Aerospace and Defense, a young lady with a hungry mind inherently develops a fondness for soldering bugs onto circuit boards...and the ability to wreak havoc in more creative ways than simply spreading gossip to get back at a 'tween rival.
Back at the 7th grade dance, I instantly and permanently developed a loathing of *her* springy, natural blond ringlets which bounced jubilantly off her shoulders with each song. I contemplated cutting the power and swiping a few components from the circuit breaker, to ensure maximum disruption. It was a McGyver of Mischief and Mayhem Moment, to be sure. I decided against it, as:
* I didn't have gloves with me, and I didn't want to leave prints or other trace DNA that would get me grounded or a stern talk from the Principal. Lesson learned: always have protection with you!
* The dance would be interrupted, exponentially diminishing my chances of Slow Dancing with Nick to the perennial fave of those daze, UB40's Red Red Wine.
* I had no transportation; the logistics to procure a bunny to leave boiling on his stove were also daunting.
This confluence of confusion gave me a horrible case of Will&Grace-itis, which cannot be cured with antibiotics, and stung painfully in the most deep and tender spot: my HEART.
That weekend, In a fit of rage and angst, I convinced my mother that I was over my trademark long, silky hair, which fell below my waist. This is how I damned myself into getting a Connie Chung Haircut. Mom's straight, white "stylist" in Tustin fretted and said, "Asian hair...looks good in a bob." I consented, jaw set resolutely, convinced that I would be able to reclaim MY guy from the flaxen-haired hussy.
I hated the cut, and my father wept when he saw me with short hair for the first time since I was an infant. Being a 7th grader with a finely tuned Gaydar and brass balls makes for complicated social interactions, especially with family.
Returning to the same salon for a poodle perm because your fussy, fledgling Inner Gay Man wants curls and volume is also a painful rite of passage.
Nick got a full scholarship to an East Coast Boarding School for Boys. We continued to talk on the phone. My father saw the long distance charges and wept. I wrote over the top love sonnets that would have made Donne's A Benediction Forbidding Mourning seem like a postcard in comparison.
There were a few visits over pho in Little Saigon through the years, where I guffawed and he giggled. After college, we lost track of each other. He legally changed his name when he became a U.S. Citizen; I have always used a nome de plume or a winking abbreviation of my tedious German name.
But just last week, FB reunited us after 15 years of radio silence. He already had plans to come up for Pride; I had no intentions of missing this serendipitous tesseract.
New York - THANK YOU for the gift of Love on Friday. SF - thank you for supporting this event and the Community.
Nick retroactively mourned my still short hair and confessed that he'd always wanted to brush it and run his fingers through it. I retroactively cursed myself for wanting to conform.
Nick, his friend Peter and I had a gorgeous time, celebrating, reveling and enjoying the festivities. I also got to really let loose and Dance with My Guy. Finally.
Truly, a full circle for ALL of us, where there is room to be included, just as you are and just as you love. read more