My teenage years in the small town of Johnsonburg were safe and insulated. I yearned to escape but there was no easy way out. Life was lived on the sweet memories and moments of time away from the safe, insulated hell. I tried to run away--unsuccessfully--during my sophomore year in high school. I read. I watched television. I counted the days. Mom couldn't figure out where I was coming from. I think she tried--in her own way but in my teenage mind, she didn't try hard enough. Of course, I hadn't completely leveled with her about my sexuality. In fact, we didn't discuss any aspect of sexual development or any of those "icky" subjects. I was pretty sure that I was a full-fledged queer. I could only go on what I'd read and seen and that wasn't much. In 1981, the most one could hope for when watching TV was an occasional "Donahue" episode where the subject was usually treated as a sympathetic curiosity. Of course, every once in awhile, the "gay scene" made it onto the news. In the aftermath of the assassination of Harvey Milk, CBS covered the candlelight vigil in San Francisco which--to my recollection--showed thousands of men and women marching peacefully in full acceptance of who they were. Mom's reaction, indelibly recorded in my memory, was "those people are very sick." Well, I knew where I stood. Would it have been the right time to come out? Younger readers would probably say yes but those of us who stood in the crosshairs of a very fragile moment in history would agree with me. It wasn't the time.
Texas was reached by train thanks to dad's railroad discount. I was thrilled to be spending the summer with my Aunt Bernice in the Fort Worth suburb of Hurst. I would get a job and I would make some friends. Maybe I would meet someone who would offer to take me away. That was my ultimate dream. The reality of finding a job wasn't as simple. After a week of pavement pounding in characteristic 100 degree weather, my Aunt Kay offered to take me to Grand Prairie (a suburb of Dallas) to try my luck there. I got a job in a donut shop and thoroughly enjoyed my summer until I realized I must return. The dread of my senior year in Pennsylvania wasn't warranted as I had a fairly decent senior year of high school. But I spent the entire school year preparing to say goodbye to mom again...hoping this time would be a bit more permanent.
The summer of 1982 finally arrived and I had my ticket in hand as my father took a photo of me in the backyard of my childhood home. I was excited and a bit scared. I would hug mom and dad but I just didn't feel like I'd be missing either of them very much. After finally arriving back to Texas, and this time actually staying with my Aunt Bernice, I found that I was not as happy as I'd predicted. Maybe being away from mom wasn't the best thing in the world. But it was there--living with Aunt Bernice--that my mom found out I was gay. I didn't have to do it face to face. She learned of it through a letter I'd written to my brother, who at that time was living in their attic. The age of AIDS was dawning. I'm sure my goodbyes to mom took on new meaning each time I travelled back to the woods of Northwestern Pennsylvania. Each time, the goodbyes got a little more difficult for me. She was making an effort to understand me--granted in her own way and on her own time.
In the summer of 2013, I couldn't wait to get to Virginia fast enough. I'd packed my dog into my Jeep and left Texas for good. It wasn't Virginia I couldn't wait to see. It was mom--who I'd be seeing as soon as I unloaded my stuff at my sister's house and drove the six hours to Pennsylvania. The last several goodbyes had been really difficult--for both of us. Full circle had been achieved. I couldn't wait to say "hello." When we hugged again that summer, my mind raced back to the summer of 1981. It was a different time. She was a different person. So was I.
(photo credit: William J. Boylan. Summer, 1982. Johnsonburg, Pennsylvania)
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