-Instance 1-
When I was younger, probably about thirteen or fourteen, I began looking at pornography on the computer. I had already been lingering in the underwear department, pretending to be a serious shopper of men’s undergarments when I was really just oogling at the little pictures on the packs. This “step up” to technological gratification, however, was a whole new leap for me. Had I known that it would become so addictive, I probably wouldn’t have done it at all. But I was young, naïve, and as you’re about to find out, easily distracted.
So there I was, looking at… well, stuff that I shouldn’t have on the computer. It being the summer, my parents were both at work. Naturally, I felt safe in my solitude. At some point in time, I think that someone came to the door. I left the computer room, looked to see who it was. One thing led to another and I got distracted.
Later in the day, my mom came home from work and a short while after that, she began yelling my name. Now, as a child, you become a pretty good judge of determining the level of trouble you’re in, simply by the way in which your name is shouted. From the sound of it, I was in some deep crap, but I couldn't figure out what I had done until I found which room my mom was in. The images were still on the screen, haunting images which weren’t supposed to have been there. I had forgotten to exit out of those sites.
But my mom was in no mood to talk. She had the phone to her ear. And just guess who she was calling… my dad! I left the room, taking refuge in my bedroom until my mom found me in there. “It’s your father,” she said, handing me the phone.
I didn’t want to take it, but I knew that the longer I made him wait, the worse this was going to be. So I said hello. His voice was soft, due to the fact that he was at work, but there was a force to his words that defied the low volume. “When I get home,” he said, “I’m going to get the paddle-”
Yes, we had a paddle. They spanked us children, and even though I hated it at the time, it was probably the only thing that really frightened me. But I was about to gain a new fear associated with that wooden board.
“-and I’m going to shove it up your butt.” (I’m actually not sure if my memory censored him, because “butt” just doesn’t sound like a word my dad would use when he’s enraged.) He continued, “I’ll take the paddle and put it up your butt because that’s how gay people like it. Do you want to be gay? I have the paddle waiting if you do.”
I didn’t. I hadn’t. I never wanted to be gay, but how could I explain that to this man? My father and I had never really gotten along with each other but I think that this was a major defining moment in our relationship. About a year ago, I recalled this story to him, hoping to get an apology or at least an explanation, but he only said, “Yeah? And?”
He might as well have said, “And I’d do it now if I thought it would turn you straight.” Oh, daddy dearest. I do love that man. But I have no sense of relationship with him. I don’t trust him. When I obviously needed him the most, he didn’t simply turned his back, he attacked me.
Later down the road, I had told him that I was unsure if I was gay or not. In my head, I knew exactly where I stood, but I had wanted him to be able to grow on the idea that his son might be gay before I just threw the startling truth at him. He told me that, so long as I don’t 1) bring anyone home, 2) tell any of our friends or family, or 3) get some incurable disease, we’re okay. Oh, and don’t ever talk about it in his presence. Ever! This just didn’t set well with me. So, I got upset and told him that I had already told most of our friends and family and that the only reason he was the last to know is because he’s the only person who could possibly make me feel bad for opening up to them.
Like I said, we had a crappy relationship.
I’m not sure how it is in most families, but when I felt as though I couldn’t talk to my dad about something which seemed like the most pressing matter in my life, it really started to eat at me. I got depressed. I got angry. I began writing as my only means of expressing myself, since I didn’t trust my parents with my feelings. My dad made it clear how he didn’t want to hear it, and my mom was the one who turned me over to him, so even though she was undeniably kind and caring, she would have just handed over any I told her to my father as "evidence." I’m sure that this wasn’t exactly how it was, but that’s how I saw things.
Despite my father’s aggressive solution to homosexuality, I still struggled with online pornography. I think that the reason why it is such a bad thing is that it is addictive. For me, it took one time. I saw it and immediately wanted to see more. It didn’t matter what I had to do, I was hooked. In fact, this was about the time when I began sleeping around a lot. And for a small town, we had an abnormally high percentage of gay folk. I won’t get into detail, but I once tried to make a list of people I had messed around with and at number forty-something, I finally gave up. I could write chapters about how destructive pornography has been in my life, but I’ll just needlessly say that I was addicted to sex.
The reason why I include you in this chapter of my life is that I began to seriously distrust my parents. I had good reason to question their motives to each other, seeing as they each had a long history of infidelity. But until this moment, I had never gained distrust by any action directed my way. It was the beginning of a long road of bumpy relationships and really horrible people in my life...
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