During my high school years I struggled with my true identity.  I was raised in a religious family and, as you can no doubt guess, homosexuality was viewed with the same disdain as murder (I think it was strongly believed that homosexuality was the 11th commandment that had somehow been dropped from the English translation of the bible).  Since I couldn't very well change who I was, it was much easier to hide myself behind an aesthetic representation of what I thought others wanted to see.  This was true of many of my friends as well as my family.

Once I became convinced that I wasn't insane, possessed, evil or cursed, I began — little by little — to share my secret with some of my closest friends.  Having not learned to be as good a judge of character as I am now, this unfortunately resulted in the loss of some of my so-called friends.

I've gained enough experience in life now to realize that being gay only interferes with those relationships which didn't matter to begin with.  In high school, on the other hand, it was traumatic and a difficult lesson to learn.

This is a letter I wrote to one such friend who, after I told him I thought I was gay, immediately turned against me.  He was undoubtedly my best friend at the time, so you can imagine how much pain that caused.  I tried desperately to salvage the friendship to no avail.  I couldn't change who I was and he couldn't change who he was — and the two were mutually exclusive as I learned.

You see, he was a devout Christian — a Pentecostal holy-roller you might say.  Although I believed tolerance and love for all mankind was the mantra of most major Christian faiths, I did not realize until it was too late that loving the sin and hating the sinner is a concept which is applied only when convenient.

I look back now and realize that this friendship wouldn't have mattered in the scheme of things given the fundamental differences between us, but this was a friend from whom I learned a great deal and with whom I felt I shared a special bond.  Apparently I was wrong.

But that doesn't negate the pain and didn't make it any easier to lose someone I held so dear and in such high regard.

So this is the first letter I wrote to him in the hopes of, if nothing else, spurring a dialog between us.  The attempt was a complete failure.  So I ultimately tried again with a second letter which I will post later in the week.  Yes, it too failed.

I have not seen or spoken to him since then — now almost 16 years ago (I know I'm dating myself with that statement).

For now, feel free to take a look at my first attempt at damage repair.

You cannot realize the absolute caution and trepidation with which I entered this friendship.  I feared the many mistakes I would make, the many embarrassments I might bring down upon you.

But you helped me.  You taught me that to make a mistake is to say "I'm human."

I thank you for the time and effort you have spent on me.  There are no words to express my gratitude.

I could write a poem, but what are words but letters.  I could since a song, but what is music but notes.  I could paint a picture, but what is art but color.

The greatest gift of gratitude is simply to say "thank you."

There are so many things in this world that impress us, but none so much as a true friend — someone we truly love.  And I know that this is what I feel for you.

For the opportunity to know you and love you in such a way, I say thank you.

Perhaps next time, however, we will not allow our differences to play such a major role in determining how long such a friendship lasts.

Perhaps…

[circa 1989]