Written on January 30th, 2013
When I was about 8 years old, my brother played on a little league ba
seball team. He would have been 12 at the time. I wasn't really interested in ba seball, but I would run around the ball park and play in the dirt behind the bleachers or beyond the outfield. One day, the most beautiful human being I had ever seen in my life appeared on the mound to pitch at the start of a game. (It could have just been the change between innings--I had no idea what was going on in the game). I looked at him and swooned. I was overwhelmed. He was so handsome, so perfectly well formed, I was filled with love, jealousy (envy?), attraction, adoration, lust, and confusion. I struggled to find words for how I felt just looking at, what for me at the time, was an older boy. Then I spoke aloud to my brother and father, declaring "He's really cute." You might be able to imagine the total shock and disgust I received from the other males in my family, who promptly proclaimed "boys aren't cute; don't ever say that." They made me feel despicable and dirty for having expressed what I honestly felt. I eventually learned not to tell others the truth of how I feel, but its left me with a deep hole in my heart. Whatever else other people may choose to call it, or however it may be judged, the sentiment I felt was love, plain and simple. I wish that weren't a four-letter word.