When I Was Young...

My childhood was really weird, if you ask me.

I feel like I should have paid more attention to everything that was happening around me, and what I was doing, 'cause maybe I would have figured out I was gay sooner?

Transferring schools 3 times sucked. I never really knew anybody besides Tom till I was in Framingham for a few years. Of course, being the new kid didn't come without hazing...

"You sound like a girl."
"Are you a girl?"

Strike 1.

(Side note: I still get that sometimes. One time, leaving the movie theater I work at, a little kid asked me, "Are you a boy or a girl?" And his mother turned pale with embarrassment. It was pretty entertaining.)

One morning in the late summer, early fall, probably late September, my mother bought me a treat on the way to school. A whole bottle of Gatorade just for me to drink during the day. My 7-year old self was overjoyed with this reward. I was always good, I deserved something out of the deal.

I entered my classroom, sat and my desk, and the first thing I put on my desk was the bottle of sweet, red Gatorade.

2 of the cool kids walked by and asked, "Gatorade?!"

"What's wrong with Gatorade?" I quivered. "It's really yummy."

The boys cackled, "You have AIDS!"

Strike 2.

That night, I went home and asked my mom, "Mumma, what's AIDS? The kids at school said I have it."

Little did I know that mentioning anything negative that happened in school would set a dangerous precedent: My mother called the school to seek corrective action. The worst case of her haughty, get-shit-done attitude was during my senior year of high school:

"Mr. Devlen -

Why isn't my child in the TV yearbook picture?! He's very upset. I expect an apology.

Thank you,
Lois Saunders"

I was always kind of an attention whore, too. In 4th grade, a girl in my class died of pneumonia. I wasn't close with her, but she was always nice to me and told off the mean kids, so I liked her. My mom broke the news to me in my bedroom. "Coah," she started, "Nikki's motha just called the house. I guess they have a phone chain and now I have to call Tom's motha and tell her."

Lois was never the type to get involved with the school or do any extra work that she didn't get anything out of.

"Anyway, some little girl from ya school died last night in the hospital from pneumonia," she said with as much tact as possible. Read: None at all.

I was somewhat upset, but I was more upset when I heard the door handle jiggling. For some reason, the brainiacs who built our house put my bedroom door on backwards, so the lock was on the outside.

My little brother, who was 6, had locked us in.

"Oh, God damn it!" cursed my father. "He locked us in again! Coah you got a coathangah?"

When "some little girl," also known as Ashley, died, the local TV stations swarmed my elementary school. Taking preemptive action, the Principal of the school came on the PA with this to say:

"Students -
There are several TV crews outside wanting to talk about the unfortunate passing of Ashley _____ this week. Do not speak with them without parental permission. That is all. Have a good afternoon."

I thought, "Wow, what if the TV crews interviewed me?" I quickly came down on myself, realizing that, of all people, they wouldn't want to talk to me. I left school with a posse of a requisite 2 nerds who would always follow me around. Throughout my life, I've always been called a leader. But for some reason, it was never my target demographic that would follow me around and fight for my attention. Sad.

Descending the front steps, I noticed a reporter and a cameraman hovering around my Dad's black Kia Sephia, a car I affectionately referred to as his "shitbox."

"I'm gonna talk to them," I decided.

Nerd #1 immediately stepped in, "Corey, the Principal said you couldn't!"

"Talk to the hand," I told him. This was the cool thing to say in 1999, apparently. "He said we could talk to the news if our parents said it was okay."

"You're gonna get in trouble!" Nerd #2 chimed in.

"I don't care," I snapped, concentrated on how I could use a 9-year old's death to advance my own fame. I bid the nerds adieu and nonchalantly strolled past the reporter and got into my dad's car, where the windows were conveniently rolled down on a cold, winter's day.

The blonde chick with huge tits approached me and said, "Did you know Ashley?"

I looked into the front seat at my dad and asked, "Daddy, is it okay if I talk to the reporter?"

"Yeah, Coah, whatevah."

"I knew Ashley. She was really nice. I remember when I found out, I was in my room and my mommy told me! I was sad," I said. It wasn't the most ground-breaking soundbyte, but I was 9-years old! What did you expect?

That night, I appeared on the local news. And the next morning, at my grandmother's house, she and I had a conversation.

"I saw you on TV!" She told me. "You know, Corey, we both have the same sign. We're cancers, so we're both very vain and love attention."

Strike 3.

I'm out.