“The problem is that I work too much,” I vented to FishEater2013 while playing PS3 online.
“Yeah that’s some bullshit,” the 12 year-old responded. “I know what you mean.
My mom always wants me to take out the trash.” I didn’t really think taking out
the trash was comparable to having 5 jobs but the kid was making an effort to
connect. It was progress. “If you had to quit one of my jobs, which one would
you let go…..” it dawned on me I still didn’t know this kid’s name. I asked,
“What’s your real name?” “Ben,” He replied. “Well, Ben…I’m Trey. Now, which job
would you get rid of?” I asked again. “The disaster relief job sounds the
worse…but teaching does too. Can you quit two?” I could hear him chewing gum in
a way that normally would annoy me. But we bonded so I could tolerate him doing
it. Some time passed and it was getting close to my bedtime but not Ben’s
because I don’t think his parents paid him much attention. “I’m getting tired,
buddy,” I yawned. “Hey Trey?” there was a certain tone of vulnerability in Ben’s
voice I had never heard before. “Yeah?” I was curious. “We’re supposed to
invite a parent to school for parent appreciation. I figured since we were
friends you could go. I don’t want to ask my Dad. He won’t go anyway.” I was
completely taken back by the fact this boy wanted me to go to his school for
parents’ day. “Uh, Ben, we’ve only know each other for a month or so playing online video games and I’ve
never met you and it’d probably be against the law if I did.” There was a long
silence. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just figured I’d asked.” I could tell Ben was a
lonely boy. I could tell his feelings were hurt. “Alright, bud, be ready for
another round of games tomorrow, okay?” It was the best I could do to calm the
awkwardness. “Okay,” Ben replied and then we were disconnected from game play.
I thought about this for a long time restless in bed as I finished some yogurt I
brought home from YoguLand.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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