My own private homophobia
http://www.pamshouseblend.com/showDiary.do;jsessionid=907471EAEEED69E60035F01AD9F14C6B?diaryId=8776Tue Dec 23, 2008 at 15:00:09 PM EST
( - promoted by Pam Spaulding)
"Personal writing" isn't at all my usual thing, but for some reason I feel compelled to write about this. Maybe the holidays are softening me up; I don't know. And I don't know where I'd post this but on the Blend, the web community where I feel most at home. But there is more to this than mere nostalgia; I hope you'll hang on through the first few paragraphs. Anyway, here goes:
When I was five years old I had a boyfriend. Yes, that's right, five. He was the kid across the street, and his name was Davy. He was just about exactly my age, and he had flame red hair and the bluest eyes you can imagine. (The red hair got imprinted on me. To this day I'm a sucker for a guy who's a redhead.)
We were "best friends," the way kids that age often are. Inseparable. Constantly together. On alternate nights, we'd sleep over at each other's houses, in each other's beds. In each other's arms. I'm sure it was terribly naive of me, but Davy seemed the only one I'd ever want to share my life with. To the extent two kids that age can be in love, we were.
