Tag: #gaykid

Master of the Universe

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He-Man

“Whoa, that’s awesome.”

Mom watched me put together the final pieces of Snake Mountain, my big gift for Christmas, together in the corner of the living room. There was wrapping paper scattered everywhere. The other kids all had some of their new Christmas gifts off in some corner of the house, where they were playing. It was weird to hear her say the word ‘awesome’, a word I associated with kids, not parents. At least she didn’t say rad, or tubular. (When she was a kid, she probably would have felt the same way if she’d heard her mother say ‘keen’, ‘neat-o’, ‘swell’, or ‘groovy, baby.’)

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited about it.” I could set Snake Mountain against the wall in my room, opposite from Castle Grayskull, the craggy space where He-Man lived with his allies in Eternia. Snake Mountain was for the villains, the ones working for Skeletor. I could already picture the epic adventures between the heroes and the villains that would take place. The two castles would line the different walls of my room, which I had divided into areas for the characters to play in. On the far wall were the tar pits and the mountains, in the center were thick forests. Outside the room, in different areas of the house, were other places for the characters to adventure. And outside each castle were some of the vehicles the heroes and villains used to fight each other, including a bizarre helicopter with a ghost face, and a huge spider with jagged red legs for the villains; the bad guys had the coolest looking vehicles anyway.

I toggled the different features of the new headquarters. There was a trapdoor that could be triggered, to send the heroes plunging downward. There was even a snake-headed microphone, battery-powered, that I could speak into as if I was Skeletor himself, one that would alter my voice to something deep and monstrous. I picked it up to practice.

“You’ll never get out alive, He-Man!” I tried the same phrase again, but this time in Skeletor’s high-pitched nasal sneer. “You’ll never get out alive, He-Man!”

My mother clapped her hands in enjoyment, hearing the cool sound effects. “You’re going to have so much fun with this!” She was right, I would.

I wouldn’t say it directly, but I knew there was no Santa Claus. After all, I was ten years old. So I knew she had personally sacrificed a lot to bring me such a nice gift for Christmas. After all, she had to buy gifts for seven children on a limited income. I would definitely make this castle a big part of my play. In fact, I already had an adventure lined up, when Skeletor could reveal to the heroes that he had constructed a massive headquarters to operate out of. They had been living in caves before this, and some of his henchmen were not happy.

Mom carried a list in her purse for whenever she took a trip or spent a day out shopping. I updated the list a few times a year, when they released new characters of the Masters of the Universe toy-line. On special days, maybe once a month or so, she would buy me one of the five dollar action figures, then cross the name off her list. I loved having new characters to add to my ongoing toy adventures. Each new face brought new rivalries, new alliances,  new points of drama to inject into the game. He-Man always won, of course, but it was the how he got there that made the game so much fun.

Lately, Evil-Lyn had been using magic to trick heroes to fighting each other in a giant arena, and forcing He-Man and Battle-Cat to watch in a cage, unable to help their allies. The villains lined the seats, watching and cheering. Fist-O, who had a giant metal fist, had just defeated Buzz-Off, the bee-man, and Moss-Man, the man made out of plant matter, had fallen to Man-At-Arms, the weapons expert. I already had it planned out, how He-Man’s most underestimated allies, Teela (a girl who was the captain of the guard, one who basically just reminded me of Princess Leia) and Orko (a clumsy magician that looked like a ghost and who always messed up his spells wit hilarious consequences) would end up saving the day by defeating Evil-Lyn, then the Sorceress, the magic woman who could turn into a screeching falcon, the one who lived in Castle Grayskull, could heal the heroes, who would then turn on the armies of Skeletor. I had been playing this storyline out for several days, keeping notes in a notebook, content to play it out and having a blast along the way. I could play before school, leave the characters laid out and pick up right where I left off when I got home.

The name Masters of the Universe for the He-Man cartoon and toys made me smile, from a sense of irony. I so often felt like everything in my life was out of my control, but I got to control the storylines here. In this one place, I felt like the master of my own universe. I couldn’t change much in the outside world, how my brother and sister picked on me a lot and were always arguing, how sometimes I remembered how I had been sexually abused a few years before, how my dad was constantly crying while laying on the floor or locked in his room, how mom always seemed so stretched thin trying to take care of a family with nine people in it, how I didn’t fit in with other kids at school, or how I was different than other boys and I knew it. I hated how awkward I felt around other boys. I couldn’t make a basket with the ball, hit a ball with coordination, or even ride a bike, and I got teased because I spent my time writing or drawing. I had a few friends, guys who also liked Saturday morning cartoons, but most of them weren’t Mormon (there weren’t many Mormons in the area of southwest Missouri), and I knew I was mostly only supposed to play with kids who shared my beliefs. But He-Man gave me a place to escape.

He-Man was cool, too. He didn’t fit in either. Well, at least not when he was Prince Adam. Adam was kind of girly, with thick blonde hair, and he acted scared of everything. He was royalty and always dressed fancy, even wearing a pink vest most of the time, but people were always confused by him and impatient. His only friend, well, his only true friend, seemed to be his cat, Cringor, a talking green tiger thing who was even more afraid than Adam. Cringe had a weak voice and he thought everything was either scary or inconvenient. Everyone saw both Adam and Cringer as helpless, silly, and incompetent, and grew frustrated with the fact that Adam was the heir to the throne. But Adam had a secret life. With just a flash of a sword and a few magic words, Adam transformed into the most powerful man in the universe, and Cringer into his mighty steed, Battle Cat. The pink vest came off and suddenly Adam was wearing a harness and a loin cloth with some fur-lined boots, and he had a sword that was bigger than any other man’s, the biggest sword in the universe. He was He-Man!

The plots in He-Man the cartoon often seemed a bit thin. How could Adam’s allies never recognize that he was He-Man… they had the same haircut! And exactly how many green-striped cats could there be in Eternia! But I always figured that maybe there was a magic spell that prevented people from figuring it out. A world full of magic. One where the guy who didn’t fit in could change into someone powerful and confident, with lots of friends and amazing adventures. One where the heroes were always sure to win, and where there was a happy ending after every conflict. Those were exactly the kinds of adventures that a kid like me needed.

The following year, in the fourth grade, I began bringing different He-Man characters to school, and my friends, mostly girls, would bring some of the toys from the line of He-Man’s twin sister, She-Ra. We would play together there. A few months after that, I switched my interest to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and my He-Man toys got placed in a box and later sold at a garage sale. The characters I had infused such love into for so long were suddenly gone.

When the first ideas for this blog sparked in my brain, I went back to research the old toys I used to place with, and it dawned on me how horribly stupid so many of these characters were. I mean, listen to these character names, each of them resulting in a toy being sold to the masses. Buzz-Off. Rio Blast. Slush Head. Clawful. Stonedar, who could turn from man into rock. Two-Bad. Man-E-Faces. Clamp Champ. Screeech, with three E’s, and Sssqueeze, with three S’s. Twistoid. Webstor. Rattlor. Grizzlor. Plundor. Spikor. (Oh my gosh, Autocorrect hates every one of these names so much).

And then I began to realize how gay so many of these toys were. Mek-A-Neck, whose neck grew longer when you twisted his waist. And then a character named Extendar, who had mastered the power of extension! Man-At-Arms, who had the best porn-stache ever. Evil-Lye, who simply had to be a drag queen in that costume. Whiplash. Tung Lasher. Snout Spout, an elephant man with a huge trunk who also used the name Hose Nose. Dragstor. Mantenna. Not just Hordak, but also the Creeping Horak. Mosquitor, whose long nose could suck the life right out of you. Stinkor, the Evil Master of Odors. Ram Man. Prince Adam in his pink vest, with his leather harness and giant sword! Skeletor with the gayest voice of all time! And Fist-O, you guys, Fist-O!

I thought I grew up lonely and isolated, but it turns out my mom was buying me maybe the gayest toys of all time.

 

 

 

 

Picked Last

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bullies.jpg

Like many, if not most, gay young men, I grew up very uncomfortable with competitive sports. I constantly felt on guard around other boys, worried that they would notice that I wasn’t quite like them. I felt this way from my very earliest days, long before I knew how to verbalize I was gay, I only knew I was different.

I grew up in a community and society that expects young men to be competitive, to show few feelings, to be great at sports, and to sexualize women. And so, even young groups of boys, four and five, learn to tease other boys for not being man enough or strong enough or masculine enough. I remember being in kindergarten when boys in my class started bragging about kissing girls in the class, when they began teasing kids for being different with words like ‘fag’ or ‘sissy’, and then school systems started expecting kids to compete in sports.

Early on, it was simple contact sports. Kickball competitions at recess. Boys who weren’t great at it were told they ‘played like a girl’ or were called names. In organized sports, all the kids would gather in a crowd and two popular kids would be elected leaders. They would take turns hand-picking people to be on their team. They would start with the most athletic and popular boys, then the less athletic boys, then the athletic or cutest girls, then the less athletic boys, the overweight kids, and the nerds would get picked last. While no one ever spoke of it, getting picked last was a public shaming incident, the one thing that no one wanted to happen. And many times in elementary school, I was the kid who was picked last. I grew up thinking that the most masculine boys, the ones picked first, were not only the best, but that they had more value than me and that I had less than them.

It didn’t take me long as a kid to realize that I didn’t enjoy contact sports, so I found ways to shy away from them. I would offer to be scorekeeper, find a reason to stay inside, or pick another activity to work on. There were a very few occasions in my adolescence when I would find a sport I was slightly good at, and when I was able to compete and do well, I would sometimes join in on the teasing of other less athletic kids, not because I didn’t like them but because I desperately wanted to fit in with the more masculine guys.

Honestly, I think most American gay kids have some of the same stories.

I was terrible at competitive sports as a kid. I didn’t like measuring myself up against others. I remember my best friend in fourth grade, the year before he became one of the popular kids and didn’t want to be friends with me anymore, I remember him standing me on the basketball court at the free throw line and telling me that I was going to stand there and shoot basketballs until I finally made a basket. And I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 12.

As an adult, I still tend to do things on my own terms. I enjoy competition and sports, but I don’t like competing in sports. I swim on a swim team, but I choose a lower, slower lane and never compete in the competitions. I will throw a Frisbee, work out in the gym, and play light and friendly sports so long as there is safety in the competition and camaraderie among the players.

This past weekend, I went camping by myself among a group of mostly partnered gay men. There was a lot of laughter, drinks, hikes, games, and meals, and it was a fantastic to sit back and feel like one of the guys.

As part of the weekend, we had a sports competition. We divided into teams and played a game whose name I can’t remember, throwing blocks of wood at other blocks of wood to knock them over. There were penalties and victory dances. There was teasing and cajoling on either side. There was laughter, patience, relaxed spirits, even mooning the other team to tease. I took my turns, laughed a lot, had fun, and didn’t make most of the shots. During the competition, I sat back and realized that I wasn’t feeling any fear or discomfort. I was just one of the guys. And it felt amazing.

We played two rounds of the game, which lasted about four hours in total. After reaching a certain point in the game, a winning shot had to be scored by knocking down a pin in the middle of the field. In the first game, I scored the winning shot. And in the second game, I scored the winning shot again. It was a powerful victory for young adolescent Chad within me.

I sat in my tent at the evening a strange mix of content and bored and restless and exhausted and wound up. I laid back on my sleeping bag in my blue tent, listening to hooting owls and ululating roosters outside, and I pondered on manhood and adolescence and being gay and finding ourselves. I missed my sons for a moment, like I always do when they aren’t with me, and I vowed once again to raise them as best I can to feel loved and confident and powerful. And as I closed my eyes, I found myself grateful that although it took me a few decades longer, I feel, with myself, loved and confident and powerful as well.

One Lonely Rainbow

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rainbow

Well, your friends know what’s right, and your friends know what’s wrong

and your friends all know sometimes it’s hard to choose

I stood in front of my high school Seminary class, my knees involuntarily knocking together as I sang. I was looking down at the floor instead of into their faces directly. Why was I so nervous?

But the friend who helps you see where the choices will lead

is the kind of friend you never want to lose.

My voice was a high baritone. I had been singing in church functions for years, in sacrament meetings and Relief Society lessons, but doing this here, in front of my peers, this was a new experience.

I was 16 and this was my second year in the Seminary program. One hour of school each day was reserved for Seminary in my predominantly Mormon high school. There was a church-dedicated building right across the street from the school where each faithful Mormon student took one hour away from regular classes to come over here and learn about the scriptures. I had chemistry just before this, and band just after. Seminary felt like a regular school class, except we started with a prayer and a hymn, and our text books were the Mormon scriptures: the Old and New Testament, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. We studied the words of God and the prophets, and then would head back across the street to high school when the bell rang.

It’s the friend that leads with love, doesn’t push, doesn’t shove

Just reminds you of the truth you’ve always known

Then does more than just talk, takes your hand and starts to walk

by your side along the road that leads back home. 

I put my full intent into Seminary classes each day. I read my scriptures nightly and offered heartfelt prayers. I played Mormon Tabernacle Choir music to fall asleep to every night and kept paintings of Jesus on my walls. I paid ten per cent of my earnings to the Church. I attended three hour services every Sunday, and went to youth activities every Tuesday night. I reached out to people who were struggling, offering them support and love. I offered to teach my friends who weren’t Mormon all about the Church. I was all in, one hundred per cent Mormon, true blue through and through.

And this friend seems to see all the great things you’ll be

Even when some things you do would prove him wrong.

Despite my efforts, though, I felt hidden. Shy. Quiet. I was afraid of letting anyone get to know me because I was afraid they would learn my terrible secret, that I was attracted to other boys. Same-sex attracted, I was told to call it, not gay. That word was dangerous. It was only a few months ago I went to my Mormon leader, our Mormon bishop, a close family friend, and I told him that I had sinned. I had stayed up late at night and watched a television show that had shirtless men in it, and I had had impure thoughts. I had never told anyone before. He had reacted with kindness and compassion, and he had reminded me that Heavenly Father loves me very. He had given me a Priesthood blessing, his hands on my head, reminding me what a stalwart son of God I was, and then he had given me a book to help me have a greater understanding of things. A book written by a prophet just a few decades ago, called the Miracle of Forgiveness.

But he always believes that the real you he sees

Is a champion he’s simply cheering on.

I had read the book front to back multiple times now, especially focusing on the parts on homosexuality. It let me know how dangerous associating with other people was, how it could destroy my spirit and lead me to the devil. It taught me that masturbation can cause homosexuality, and most importantly, that homosexuality, even though it was abominable and evil, could be cured with enough effort. I just had to try harder, be more faithful, press onward ever onward.

And the love that you feel from a friend that’s this real

Is as powerful as anything on Earth.

At this point, I finally looked up at my peers and saw them looking back. I could tell my voice sounded good, even though my leg was shaking. I was doing this, singing for my peers, in an effort to challenge myself spiritually, to show God that I loved him. I paid careful attention to not looking at any of the boys in the room, especially not the handsome ones. They could never know I found some of them attractive.

For it lifts and it grows and it strengthens and it flows

It’s what allows a soul to feel just what they’re worth.

Even as I sang about true friendship, I realized the irony. I didn’t have any friends. I was doing in my life just what the song requested, just what it asked. I was surrounding myself with peers who were good Mormons, who made good choices. But I didn’t let anyone of them know me, because if they knew me, they would know my secret, and that would be not only embarrassing, it would be sinning. No one could know, not even my family. They would be so ashamed.

So many lonely souls are calling, and our brightest stars would not be falling

if only they had a friend, a real friend.

I was singing the song “Be That Friend” by Michael McLean, a church singer who put out CDs for youth, catchy lyrics and tunes that brought the spirit, reminding Mormon youth that they weren’t alone, that their friendships would last into the eternities, that Christ understood and loved them, that they were special. I listened to McLean’s music all the time. I wouldn’t learn until many years later that around this time, he had a son coming out of the closet, coming forward as gay, and that his own family was being pushed to the limits as they tried to figure out this unsolvable problem in their own home.

Everyone hopes to find one true friend who’s the kind

They can count on for forever and a day.

I firmly believed that with enough effort, I could conquer this, I could will myself to be straight if I could prove myself to God. I knew it. And I knew my options for the future, even if I couldn’t find the cure: marry a girl and trust in God, or just be celibate my entire life and then I could get married to a girl in the next life, in Heaven. Those were my choices.

Be that friend, be that kind, that you prayed you might find

And you’ll always have a best friend, come what may.

I finished the song and sat down in the silent room. It was considered irreverent to clap in church functions, but many of my peers gave me nods and silent congratulations. After class, one of the popular girls in school told me I had a nice voice and invited me to audition for Show Choir next year, which I did. It felt good to be seen. I was so used to hiding in plain sight, I guessed it was okay to be seen, just a little, just so long as no one looked too closely.

 

**lyrics to Be That Friend by Michael McLean