Although I didn't have a lot of say in the matter, going to an all-male Catholic high school as a closeted gay in the 1980's was a really bad idea!
By my estimation, I was in love with about half of my graduating class and a handful of the teachers as well. Considering all that I was going through—a stranger in my own family and no one to talk to about the confusing and complex feelings I was experiencing—I'm amazed I didn't just snap one day and climb to the top of my school's bell tower, gibbering like a monkey and screaming at my classmates to love me.
I still don't know if my fellow students had clocked me as gay or not. I didn't play the game of fake girlfriends, but I tried to hide my "secret" all the same. I do know that one d-bag at the school asked my best (and straight) friend Marty, "Are you still hanging out with that faggot Michael St. John?" Marty just shot back, "Yeah, we get it on every weekend," which is, of course, just one of the reasons why I love him so.
I still don't know if my fellow students had clocked me as gay or not. I didn't play the game of fake girlfriends, but I tried to hide my "secret" all the same. I do know that one d-bag at the school asked my best (and straight) friend Marty, "Are you still hanging out with that faggot Michael St. John?" Marty just shot back, "Yeah, we get it on every weekend," which is, of course, just one of the reasons why I love him so.
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