Will Thought Out Twinkles

I can remember when I was sixteen, a pimply-faced chubby kid who no one would look twice at. I remember my foster mother telling me that I needed to, “Be a man! Toughen up. Quieres que la gente piense que eres un maricón?” She saw me stuck in my fantasy worlds; aliens, monsters, spaceships. My sister was always the more grounded one. She knew the world, and she fought it. And with that, our mother stuck us in a Christian boot camp, to give us a good, wholesome center. I could make this the length of a short story with all of the experiences I went through in that program, but really only one thing stuck out.
We were all crammed into the little white van they would use to transport us, heading somewhere on the highway, I can remember the big La Fogata sign that you can see while driving up 281 North. They had a sermon going, an important sounding man touting away about the evils of homosexuality. It hit me at that moment; people out there in the world really saw me as an abomination. That my life should be forfeit because of what I am.
What really scares me is that, looking back, I found myself agreeing with what these people said. I felt like I needed to kill whatever part of myself that was different, the part that wanted to break out and be as outlandish, as free as I would want to be. Whether I wanted that part to die or not, the small death was s
lowly taking place.

Funny, I just remembered all of this as I woke up from a small nap just now, a song playing in the background which probably triggered it all. The program is done with now, and I don’t keep in contact with any of the people who partook in the rites of passage, who underwent the same trials. I do know that it went on for a few years after my “graduation”. I can only wonder if any other boy felt the same way I did, who came out unscathed from the little death as I did. Here’s hoping.