As a student in High school, I longed to be popular, and fit into the crowd. Instead of being a spectator, like the others, I was put on display—mocked, laughed at, intimidated by bullying. During my sophomore year, I was nominated for the winter homecoming court—among my fellow competitors, I was the only one who did not already hold a title of being “popular” in social standings. When I heard that I had been nominated, I felt a sudden rush of excitement mixed with fear and anxiety. What if they chose me? What if they didn’t? Would I be reliving the scene from the movie “Carrie” when they spill pig’s blood on Sissy Spacek, as an act of torment?
I received stares in the hallway from people shocked that I was nominated, while other close friends or those not moving in popular social circles were congratulatory of my nomination. The jocks in particular prodded and teased me about the nomination, asking if I was not accidentally assigned to the “prince” list instead of the “princess” list. They even demonstrated how I should accept the crown and scepter, by blowing kisses and doing the Miss America “wave” to my adoring “loser” fans.
PS. THIS IS JUST AN EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK: “The Open Closet: Letters From A Gay Man” (Available on AMAZON & KINDLE)
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