My friend Dawn told me I was gay.
This announcement was immediately followed by a moment of stunned silence and general disinterest from her kids and absolutely no interests from her cats. Only moments before I whipped out a 500 page Excel® spreadsheet listing every woman who could vouch for my chronic heterosexuality, my, at this point, so-called "friend" clarified herself.
"You're not homosexual, just gay."
Needless to say, that did nothing salve my fragile male ego but it was far less offensive. What she was meaning was that I was more in touch with my feminine side than most guys. To which I responded succinctly: Duh! I'm so in touch with my feminine side, it took out a restraining order. It just happens to be the natural aftereffect of being the only male child in a household with two older sisters. I guess I could have spend more time with dear old dad, except he was either working, tired from working, asleep from being too tired from working or fishing. My apologies to any of you who enjoy fishing. While it may be a great excuse to blow off a day and drink beer, to an eight year old it's sitting in a boat and doing nothing while baking to a golden brown (serves three). With my options limited, I had to tag along with my sisters most everywhere. That included going with them to Girl Scout meetings. And you thought it was all bad. Those were the days of wine and roses,
especially for a flirty little kid like I was.
Am.
Really, how can you not enjoy the attentions of thirty girls just on the peeking edge of puberty when you're skirt-hem high. Though, while all my friends were learning the finer points of the curve ball, I was learning what kind of hair style most flattered an oval face. After I was old enough to choose my own activities, I got out to the football field more often. But every now and again, I just had to go to the mall, just to window shop.
Yet for all the accusations of faggottry I've heard over the years, I wouldn't trade those experiences. It's made me a better man I think. I can talk to a woman and look her in the eyes and not her cleavage. I never have to pray for a planet-killing asteroid when the very significant other wants to talk about her feelings. And I can actually discuss my feelings instead of going, "Uuuuuhhhhh . . ." It's also made me more comfortable in other female dominated areas. I was the only male in my college dance class. O.K., I was the only male in the class who could appreciate being in an all-girl class.
It's also lent itself to a very unique answer to the question, "Where were you when the 1980 US Men's hockey team won the gold?"
Girl Scout camp.
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