You have far more bravery than I can muster at present. I was born in a large city, but my father wanted property and moved us to the country when I was in 3rd grade. We were 25 miles from the catholic high school. I commuted there by school bus daily for 4 years, but never dated because of the distance (to date me was 25 miles to pick me up, 25 miles to the action, 25 miles to take me home, then 25 miles for the guy to get home). I went off to college completely ignorant of any relationship information. My parents didn't discuss sex in any form. I met a guy I liked and we went on three dates. He was sweet and funny, but suddenly stopped calling, I went to his dorm and was informed by his roomie that "Chuck had attempted suicide and was hospitalized. Didn't I know he was gay and conflicted about his feelings for me?" I had no idea. I didn't even know what gay meant. I never saw or heard from him again. I met and fell in love with another college guy. He was smart, literate, funny and we hit it off and dated for a year. When he told me he was ending our relationship because he was gay, it practically ripped out my soul. In hindsight, it was a defining moment that altered the direction of my life in ways too numerous to list here. It also tainted every encounter I had with every guy I met for a very long time. They would ask me out, I would ask if they were gay. They would walk away. I don't know if that was because they were gay, or because I had insulted their fragile male ego and their masculinity by asking such a thing. I just didn't want to be hurt again. I have now been married to a wonderful man for 50 years. In that time I have met and befriended many gay men at work and in life. I just wish that our society could have accepted them for who they were back when they were young, so they could have led less painful lives, not dating and marrying women to fulfill parental expectations, and then eventually leaving heartbroken spouses and children in the aftermath. Everyone deserves to live the life they were meant to live. No one benefits when people feel forced into living in ways other than being their authentic selves and loving who they were meant to love.
It was much worse when I was under 25. Fortunately, with age comes wisdom. I was originally convinced that I was responsible for Chuck's suicide attempt, and that there was something seriously wrong with me if the only men who were attracted to me were gay. When I hit my mid twenties, I realized that Chuck's attempt was his own internal struggle and I was an unwitting participant. I also realized that, although my second love interest dumping me was the most excruciating emotional pain I had endured up to that point in my life, his wisdom far exceeded mine. It had to be hard for him too, but it was the best thing he could have done... for both of us. It was several more years before I had completely forgiven them for what I considered an emotional assault on a young woman completely unprepared for the realities of the outside world. It really wasn't their fault. It was the world we were living in at that time, and my complete lack of of any information that would have helped me navigate those relationships. This is why I am a proponent of sex education in the schools, starting at an early age and done in a graduated way, so that children can deal with any aspects that may affect them. Education is our greatest tool and our greatest gift we can give our kids. Who wants their kids to go out into the world clueless as to what they might face?
I'm sure that this beautifully written tribute to your one-time 'boyfriend', together with the complex mixture of emotions that almost everyone must have regarding their adolescent selves, will resonate with many a reader. I wonder what is in the air that both you and David went down the same rabbit hole. I, too, went out with quite a few unsuitable boys/men before I found the right one over sixty years ago.
Incidentally, decades later, I became very close to two very different gay men, both now dead but only one from AIDS and ended up writing a book about people with AIDS. Published in 1992, when it was absolutely a killer disease, it is very poignant (Ian McKellen wrote a Foreword and said it was "as powerful as any great classic of fiction") because it tells their stories in their own words and they were dealing with stigma, prejudice and the knowledge that they were facing an early death. Rarely bought these days because it is only of historical interest, if you're curious, see Wise Before their Time by me.
Yes, we forget that AIDS was a death sentence, not an illness people lived with and managed. Congratulations on your role in bringing that former harsh reality to light.
I'm not sure how much a role I played in that regard – although the book sold well at the time, it was not the Big sell I or the publisher was expecting. Years later, when I was taking it back from HarperCollins in order to publish it myself, the company person responsible for the book said "Oh, I think we didn't really give it the publicity we should have."!! Grrr.
I suspect I’ve been here more than once before… but guess what: the boys are now married to their beards and have children. I want to say more (about the most important relationship I had), but it’s too private. This essay moved me and dug into private life with penetration that only hindsight allows. It reads like subversive literature because it’s raw, but the narrator’s POV is just innocent. Oh, this is one I’ll save and read again and again! I already restacked it.
It took years for me to understand what happened between me and a high school boy who had become my best friend by junior year. First he had to figure out he was gay. He's lived with AIDS for more than 25 years and we reconnected as friends almost 10 years ago.
Living in Boys Town in Chicago in the early 1980s I remember those days before they understood what was causing gay men to get sick and die. I can count the survivors on one hand of the men who had been friends and colleagues. My high school honey is one of the few who lived to tell his story.
In a long-ago job as an editor at Maclean’s, I declined to pursue a story on the mysterious illness that was killing gay men. I didn’t think it mattered. Most blinkered editorial decision I ever made.
Your honesty is appreciated. Clearly, though, you weren't the only editor who declined to grasp the magnitude of the story. Recognizing those blinkers now is an acknowledgment of mistakes made and lessons learned. And might explain why those of who lived through it reacted to COVID the way we did. (I have to laugh at my own silliness of using chlorox wipes on whatever groceries I brought into the house after three weeks during initial lockdown.)
I'm familiar with your book and it was similar to another that a friend wrote in the late 80s based on his interviews with HIV patients. Similarly he found that while there was no cure, many found their experiences healing.
The first person I ever loved turned out to be gay. I was a very innocent sixteen at the time and didn't know it. We dated for a short while and went on to become very good friends.
I knew he didn't care for me the way I cared for him. Later on I realized it wasn't puppy love but the real thing. In those days I didn't have much self esteem and didn't question why I couldn't have him. I thought it was me. In my mind having him as a friend was better than nothing.
I was witness to his struggles in a family who couldn't support his talent as an artist. They must have suspected he was gay which I am sure also contributed but it was never spoken about.
Every time I was in their house his mother would ask me when I was going to marry him, in front of him. It was excruciating. I don't remember discussing it, we just shrugged it off.
When he received a scholarship to art college his father refused to help with living expenses and he couldn't earn enough part time to make it work. His father wanted to force him into full time employment and contribute at home. Forcing him into the mold of what he thought a son should be.
I think his mother was more sympathetic but felt she couldn't go against her husband. The scholarship, his dream, had to be let go.
By then he couldn't live with the pressure anymore. He hopped on a boat and left Ireland. I was devastated but not surprised.
It was several years later when I heard the full story of what happened to him when I visited him in London. How he had been abused by an uncle, how he entered his first relationship with a man due to extreme loneliness after he left home. He went through very hard times.
He found his people though, and eventually thrived.
He became a very successful artist and made a ton of money designing wallpaper for a very well known british company. At that point our lives diverged to such an extent we lost touch.
A few years ago I went down the Google rabbit hole in search of him. He became a famous artist with particular emphasis on the experiences of the gay community with Aids.
I am so glad his story didn't go the way of so many other gay men through death. Clearly he was deeply affected by it though as he made painting Aids his life's work.
I have no idea where he is now but I am so glad he was able to express his great talent.
I've had other gay friends but never loved any of them the way I loved him. I wonder if he ever knew? 💗
Siobhan, thank you for sharing this foundational memory of an irreplaceable friend. I’m glad he found his way despite the obstacles he faced. Have you thought of tracking him down? In my experience, people are touched to hear from long-lost friends who remember them warmly.
Yes, but I don't really know where to start. It would be lovely to meet again and you are so right, it probably touch his heart. Another old boyfriend tracked me down and we are still occasionally in touch.
This was such a bittersweet read, Rona, thank you. I am reminded of some of the young men I knew, growing up. I had two very good platonic boy friends in high school... my mother as well as the mother of one of them clearly hoped he would wind up with me or my sister. Sister & I knew he was not for us (even if we'd wanted him), although we didn't talk openly about such things back then (late 1970s, Prairies). I took the one guy to a mutual friend's wedding when we were both in university, and I likewise was his date on a couple of occasions, but we both knew we were just dear friends, and both of them came to my own wedding in 1985. Sadly, I lost touch with both of them a few years after that, but I think of them often, and I was terrified for them both during those awful years when AIDS was running rampant.
The first boy I slow danced with, kissed and made out with, turned out to be gay (although I didn't know that then). He went to another high school in another town, and he called and wrote me a few times after we met at a student conference one weekend when we were both 16, but the relationship (such as it was) gradually petered out. A few years later, one of my friends (who'd also been there that weekend and met him) told me she'd run into him at university -- and he'd been carrying an armload of books about gay liberation. We concluded he must be gay, because no straight young man from the Prairies in the early 1980s would ever have been seen with books like that in his possession. I've Googled him several times over the years. He's had a very successful career, is out and has a partner. I don't know if he ever thinks of me, but I think of him every time I hear "Make It With You" by Bread (the song we danced to).
Actually pretty much the entire “Best of Bread” album. On a whim listened to it recently for the first time in probably 30 years and it brought back so many memories and long-forgotten feelings, not to mention the shock that I still remembered the words to every song!
This piece brought back a teenage memory and the guilt associated with it. I dated Carl for a few months in high school. He worshipped me but I didn't feel the same way. He was a rebound boyfriend - one I agreed to date because all my friends were paired up and I didn't want to be alone. He was kind, generous and deserved better than what I had to offer. We stayed friends well into adulthood. He passed away suddenly at 53 and I still miss his quirky humour and his big, big heart.
Linda, I know the feeling. I too had a “deserved better” almost-boyfriend. In our teens we don’t have the emotional intelligence to deal kindly with these situations. Our best is not good enough. I am sometimes shocked at the memory of things I did or failed to do when young.
This theme of past loves was my post from yesterday about my first girlfriend Heidi in high school. Excavating those memories was powerfully emotional for me. And the same comes through with your compelling post here.
I'm not sure if Heidi will ever see my essay or if she does, if she will feel comfortable connecting. I've reached out indirectly.
My memories of her are very fond, and I'm so curious to know what her memories are.
David, when we’re young our feelings pierce us with a force they will never have again. We fall on our swords day after day and no one sees the wounds. These feelings are eternal, and a wellspring for writers. I sent this piece into the world hoping a student of Jerry’s would see it. He taught so many. It could happen. As for Heidi, that could happen too.
I thought so. Oh, I thought so! Jeremy Richard was in my graduate year at Harvard. He was a charming man, a gifted teacher, and a lot of fun. He was a good scholar and a fine friend. We both loved science fiction. I turned out to write it and have published 30 books to date. Did I know he was gay? Sure. He did a very good deed for one of my undergrads, who was anorexic and needed men to dance with when she came out. He made sure she had a wonderful time. I was sorrowful but unsurprised when I learned he died. The library at his university is named for him. The story I heard was that went he was ill, his parents took care of him. What a pretty picture of you and Jeremy. He always could wear a tux. Thank you.
Susan, how wonderful to hear from you. Yes, just like him to be so kind to your student. When I posted this story, my greatest hope was that I'd hear from friends and students of his. Thank you!
Is there such a thing as "normal?" There's a wonderful scene in Annie Hall at the dinner table of Annie's white-bread, outwardly normal family. Up close they are tormented nutbars.
Wonderful, Rona. For me, the power comes from the rawness that comes through in the piece and the way it is balanced by your artful telling. Thank you for writing this.
This is so beautifully written, and the rich comments add depth to your essay. I'm remembering how it was to be young when AIDS emerged, and how little I knew about so many things then--especially myself. My first serious relationship was fairly disastrous, and I was wary when that boyfriend reached out to me on Facebook more than a decade ago. I had turned him into something of a monster in my mind. One day he shared a photo of himself and friends from the time we'd been a couple, and all I could see was how young he'd been, which allowed me to see how young I'd been, too. Then I understood that I'd been seeing myself as monstrous, too, and that the person I really needed to forgive was myself. As it turned out, he was dying. We got a chance to say the things we needed to say to each other, and I became friends with his wife, a beautiful, generous person. It was such a tremendous gift, one I wish you and Jerry had had. These first relationships mark us, don't they? We like to dismiss them as puppy love, but the love is real and it endures. Thank you for sharing yours with us.
In the first, formative relationships, few of us have the emotional intelligence to take care of ourselves and the other person too. I’m glad you your first boyfriend were able to connect meaningfully before he died
What''s sad is that, for many gays and lesbians of older generations, the inability to have relationships in HS and college due to societal problems meant that we had to acquire that intelligence in our twenties and thirties, when it's a lot tougher to be an adult and a teenager at the same time. I hope all the governmental and school-based horror in same places isn't creating a whole new generation of kids who are stunted.
Oh, Rona -- I watched a few minutes of that video. Jeremy (or should I say Dr. Roberts?) was a beautiful man! So tragic to think that had he been 10 years younger he might still be alive. Love is what it is, and you show him such respect by naming that at the end. You taught each other well, even if awkwardly and painfully at the time.
May I also focus for a moment on that stunning dress your mother made?! And on her willingness to let you explore your lustfulness at that age. I realize it was with a very specific goal in mind, but I applaud her acknowledgement of the sexual nature of teens all the same. My own mother, much as I love and adore her still (she's been gone 3 years now), never mustered up the nerve to talk with me about any of that.
Fast forward to my own daughters, one in particular who experimented with same-sex relationships in college. When I asked her to enlighten me she said, matter of factly, "Mom, I'm not gay...I'm just having fun." She helped me understand that she is the sort of person who loves love, no matter what it looks like.
Elizabeth, I'm glad you looked up the video. A few minutes is enough to get the flavor. As for the dress, it was the most beautiful at the prom. My mother would have been more wary of my youthful desire had Jerry wanted to "go all the way," as we said then. I'm pretty sure she could tell he didn't. She had heard all the rumors about Jerry and observed his body language around me. My virginity would be safe with him.
I love your daughter's riposte about "just having fun." Good for her. You raised a confident young woman.
Thanks, Rona. Apologies for “evaporating.” Not that you necessarily expected a response, but I do try to acknowledge when someone has made time to write out their thoughts. Got caught up in an extra busy patch and am just now coming up for air. Cheers!
Oh Rona, I believe we would have been good friends in HS. This post is so tender and honest, it awakens memories of the awkwardness and the strong emotions banging through us without any generosity of spirit. Its honesty forgives you both with the warm heart of the woman you became. In HS, I pined for love, but felt so odd and awkward, I would discount a boy who liked me and treated me well. I cringe at those times. They were good guys, perhaps they saw my pilgrim soul long before me, fortunately a couple of them remained friends and forgave me my tendency to like the guys who didn't treat me as well.
It’s so painful to look back at the years when we yearned with such desperation for both love and belonging. Worse, it was an era when the societal norms were changing, but not to a point where gayness was accepted. I’m glad that you were able to bring Jerry and this poignant story to your readers. Thank you, Rona.
You have far more bravery than I can muster at present. I was born in a large city, but my father wanted property and moved us to the country when I was in 3rd grade. We were 25 miles from the catholic high school. I commuted there by school bus daily for 4 years, but never dated because of the distance (to date me was 25 miles to pick me up, 25 miles to the action, 25 miles to take me home, then 25 miles for the guy to get home). I went off to college completely ignorant of any relationship information. My parents didn't discuss sex in any form. I met a guy I liked and we went on three dates. He was sweet and funny, but suddenly stopped calling, I went to his dorm and was informed by his roomie that "Chuck had attempted suicide and was hospitalized. Didn't I know he was gay and conflicted about his feelings for me?" I had no idea. I didn't even know what gay meant. I never saw or heard from him again. I met and fell in love with another college guy. He was smart, literate, funny and we hit it off and dated for a year. When he told me he was ending our relationship because he was gay, it practically ripped out my soul. In hindsight, it was a defining moment that altered the direction of my life in ways too numerous to list here. It also tainted every encounter I had with every guy I met for a very long time. They would ask me out, I would ask if they were gay. They would walk away. I don't know if that was because they were gay, or because I had insulted their fragile male ego and their masculinity by asking such a thing. I just didn't want to be hurt again. I have now been married to a wonderful man for 50 years. In that time I have met and befriended many gay men at work and in life. I just wish that our society could have accepted them for who they were back when they were young, so they could have led less painful lives, not dating and marrying women to fulfill parental expectations, and then eventually leaving heartbroken spouses and children in the aftermath. Everyone deserves to live the life they were meant to live. No one benefits when people feel forced into living in ways other than being their authentic selves and loving who they were meant to love.
How achingly sad, Betsy. No wonder you felt the need to protect yourself. I can picture the horror when you asked dates if they were gay.
It was much worse when I was under 25. Fortunately, with age comes wisdom. I was originally convinced that I was responsible for Chuck's suicide attempt, and that there was something seriously wrong with me if the only men who were attracted to me were gay. When I hit my mid twenties, I realized that Chuck's attempt was his own internal struggle and I was an unwitting participant. I also realized that, although my second love interest dumping me was the most excruciating emotional pain I had endured up to that point in my life, his wisdom far exceeded mine. It had to be hard for him too, but it was the best thing he could have done... for both of us. It was several more years before I had completely forgiven them for what I considered an emotional assault on a young woman completely unprepared for the realities of the outside world. It really wasn't their fault. It was the world we were living in at that time, and my complete lack of of any information that would have helped me navigate those relationships. This is why I am a proponent of sex education in the schools, starting at an early age and done in a graduated way, so that children can deal with any aspects that may affect them. Education is our greatest tool and our greatest gift we can give our kids. Who wants their kids to go out into the world clueless as to what they might face?
I'm sure that this beautifully written tribute to your one-time 'boyfriend', together with the complex mixture of emotions that almost everyone must have regarding their adolescent selves, will resonate with many a reader. I wonder what is in the air that both you and David went down the same rabbit hole. I, too, went out with quite a few unsuitable boys/men before I found the right one over sixty years ago.
Incidentally, decades later, I became very close to two very different gay men, both now dead but only one from AIDS and ended up writing a book about people with AIDS. Published in 1992, when it was absolutely a killer disease, it is very poignant (Ian McKellen wrote a Foreword and said it was "as powerful as any great classic of fiction") because it tells their stories in their own words and they were dealing with stigma, prejudice and the knowledge that they were facing an early death. Rarely bought these days because it is only of historical interest, if you're curious, see Wise Before their Time by me.
Yes, we forget that AIDS was a death sentence, not an illness people lived with and managed. Congratulations on your role in bringing that former harsh reality to light.
I'm not sure how much a role I played in that regard – although the book sold well at the time, it was not the Big sell I or the publisher was expecting. Years later, when I was taking it back from HarperCollins in order to publish it myself, the company person responsible for the book said "Oh, I think we didn't really give it the publicity we should have."!! Grrr.
I suspect I’ve been here more than once before… but guess what: the boys are now married to their beards and have children. I want to say more (about the most important relationship I had), but it’s too private. This essay moved me and dug into private life with penetration that only hindsight allows. It reads like subversive literature because it’s raw, but the narrator’s POV is just innocent. Oh, this is one I’ll save and read again and again! I already restacked it.
Thank you, Michelle. Years of reflection had to pass before I could write this. Maybe one day you will tell that very private story.
It took years for me to understand what happened between me and a high school boy who had become my best friend by junior year. First he had to figure out he was gay. He's lived with AIDS for more than 25 years and we reconnected as friends almost 10 years ago.
These friendships become more precious over time. I so wish my friend could have lived with it as yours did. He contracted it too early.
Living in Boys Town in Chicago in the early 1980s I remember those days before they understood what was causing gay men to get sick and die. I can count the survivors on one hand of the men who had been friends and colleagues. My high school honey is one of the few who lived to tell his story.
In a long-ago job as an editor at Maclean’s, I declined to pursue a story on the mysterious illness that was killing gay men. I didn’t think it mattered. Most blinkered editorial decision I ever made.
Your honesty is appreciated. Clearly, though, you weren't the only editor who declined to grasp the magnitude of the story. Recognizing those blinkers now is an acknowledgment of mistakes made and lessons learned. And might explain why those of who lived through it reacted to COVID the way we did. (I have to laugh at my own silliness of using chlorox wipes on whatever groceries I brought into the house after three weeks during initial lockdown.)
If I may be so bold, do look at my comment here about a book I put together in the early 1990s telling the stories of people with HIV/AIDS.
I'm familiar with your book and it was similar to another that a friend wrote in the late 80s based on his interviews with HIV patients. Similarly he found that while there was no cure, many found their experiences healing.
And I'm sad your friend died but glad you have such good memories of him
What an exquisitely written piece.
The first person I ever loved turned out to be gay. I was a very innocent sixteen at the time and didn't know it. We dated for a short while and went on to become very good friends.
I knew he didn't care for me the way I cared for him. Later on I realized it wasn't puppy love but the real thing. In those days I didn't have much self esteem and didn't question why I couldn't have him. I thought it was me. In my mind having him as a friend was better than nothing.
I was witness to his struggles in a family who couldn't support his talent as an artist. They must have suspected he was gay which I am sure also contributed but it was never spoken about.
Every time I was in their house his mother would ask me when I was going to marry him, in front of him. It was excruciating. I don't remember discussing it, we just shrugged it off.
When he received a scholarship to art college his father refused to help with living expenses and he couldn't earn enough part time to make it work. His father wanted to force him into full time employment and contribute at home. Forcing him into the mold of what he thought a son should be.
I think his mother was more sympathetic but felt she couldn't go against her husband. The scholarship, his dream, had to be let go.
By then he couldn't live with the pressure anymore. He hopped on a boat and left Ireland. I was devastated but not surprised.
It was several years later when I heard the full story of what happened to him when I visited him in London. How he had been abused by an uncle, how he entered his first relationship with a man due to extreme loneliness after he left home. He went through very hard times.
He found his people though, and eventually thrived.
He became a very successful artist and made a ton of money designing wallpaper for a very well known british company. At that point our lives diverged to such an extent we lost touch.
A few years ago I went down the Google rabbit hole in search of him. He became a famous artist with particular emphasis on the experiences of the gay community with Aids.
I am so glad his story didn't go the way of so many other gay men through death. Clearly he was deeply affected by it though as he made painting Aids his life's work.
I have no idea where he is now but I am so glad he was able to express his great talent.
I've had other gay friends but never loved any of them the way I loved him. I wonder if he ever knew? 💗
Siobhan, thank you for sharing this foundational memory of an irreplaceable friend. I’m glad he found his way despite the obstacles he faced. Have you thought of tracking him down? In my experience, people are touched to hear from long-lost friends who remember them warmly.
Yes, but I don't really know where to start. It would be lovely to meet again and you are so right, it probably touch his heart. Another old boyfriend tracked me down and we are still occasionally in touch.
I'll give it a whirl, thanks for the nudge 😊
Given his reputation, I think you’ve got a shot.
This was such a bittersweet read, Rona, thank you. I am reminded of some of the young men I knew, growing up. I had two very good platonic boy friends in high school... my mother as well as the mother of one of them clearly hoped he would wind up with me or my sister. Sister & I knew he was not for us (even if we'd wanted him), although we didn't talk openly about such things back then (late 1970s, Prairies). I took the one guy to a mutual friend's wedding when we were both in university, and I likewise was his date on a couple of occasions, but we both knew we were just dear friends, and both of them came to my own wedding in 1985. Sadly, I lost touch with both of them a few years after that, but I think of them often, and I was terrified for them both during those awful years when AIDS was running rampant.
The first boy I slow danced with, kissed and made out with, turned out to be gay (although I didn't know that then). He went to another high school in another town, and he called and wrote me a few times after we met at a student conference one weekend when we were both 16, but the relationship (such as it was) gradually petered out. A few years later, one of my friends (who'd also been there that weekend and met him) told me she'd run into him at university -- and he'd been carrying an armload of books about gay liberation. We concluded he must be gay, because no straight young man from the Prairies in the early 1980s would ever have been seen with books like that in his possession. I've Googled him several times over the years. He's had a very successful career, is out and has a partner. I don't know if he ever thinks of me, but I think of him every time I hear "Make It With You" by Bread (the song we danced to).
Old friends have a hold on us, don’t they? I’m glad to know at least one of these friends is out, partnered and successful.
Oh, that song….❤️❤️❤️
Actually pretty much the entire “Best of Bread” album. On a whim listened to it recently for the first time in probably 30 years and it brought back so many memories and long-forgotten feelings, not to mention the shock that I still remembered the words to every song!
Old songs transport us to old selves.
Bingo
This piece brought back a teenage memory and the guilt associated with it. I dated Carl for a few months in high school. He worshipped me but I didn't feel the same way. He was a rebound boyfriend - one I agreed to date because all my friends were paired up and I didn't want to be alone. He was kind, generous and deserved better than what I had to offer. We stayed friends well into adulthood. He passed away suddenly at 53 and I still miss his quirky humour and his big, big heart.
Linda, I know the feeling. I too had a “deserved better” almost-boyfriend. In our teens we don’t have the emotional intelligence to deal kindly with these situations. Our best is not good enough. I am sometimes shocked at the memory of things I did or failed to do when young.
Hi Rona,
This theme of past loves was my post from yesterday about my first girlfriend Heidi in high school. Excavating those memories was powerfully emotional for me. And the same comes through with your compelling post here.
I'm not sure if Heidi will ever see my essay or if she does, if she will feel comfortable connecting. I've reached out indirectly.
My memories of her are very fond, and I'm so curious to know what her memories are.
David, when we’re young our feelings pierce us with a force they will never have again. We fall on our swords day after day and no one sees the wounds. These feelings are eternal, and a wellspring for writers. I sent this piece into the world hoping a student of Jerry’s would see it. He taught so many. It could happen. As for Heidi, that could happen too.
I thought so. Oh, I thought so! Jeremy Richard was in my graduate year at Harvard. He was a charming man, a gifted teacher, and a lot of fun. He was a good scholar and a fine friend. We both loved science fiction. I turned out to write it and have published 30 books to date. Did I know he was gay? Sure. He did a very good deed for one of my undergrads, who was anorexic and needed men to dance with when she came out. He made sure she had a wonderful time. I was sorrowful but unsurprised when I learned he died. The library at his university is named for him. The story I heard was that went he was ill, his parents took care of him. What a pretty picture of you and Jeremy. He always could wear a tux. Thank you.
Susan, how wonderful to hear from you. Yes, just like him to be so kind to your student. When I posted this story, my greatest hope was that I'd hear from friends and students of his. Thank you!
This was incredible. Perfect. Heartbreaking. Thanks for sharing something so vulnerable.
Thank you, Rebecca. Glad it resonated.
“Normal. How would either of us qualify?” How often the simple question is the root of pain.
This tribute to Jerry honors him beautifully. And it honors the depth of moving away from “ normal” as the only way to live a life worth honoring.
How sad that his life was cut short and more were not able to enjoy the gifts he clearly had to offer.
Is there such a thing as "normal?" There's a wonderful scene in Annie Hall at the dinner table of Annie's white-bread, outwardly normal family. Up close they are tormented nutbars.
No, I don’t think any such thing exists. Either that or we’re all normal—in its sundry, well countless, definitions. ;)
Wonderful, Rona. For me, the power comes from the rawness that comes through in the piece and the way it is balanced by your artful telling. Thank you for writing this.
Thank you, Jeffrey. That’s the balance I was aiming for.
This is so beautifully written, and the rich comments add depth to your essay. I'm remembering how it was to be young when AIDS emerged, and how little I knew about so many things then--especially myself. My first serious relationship was fairly disastrous, and I was wary when that boyfriend reached out to me on Facebook more than a decade ago. I had turned him into something of a monster in my mind. One day he shared a photo of himself and friends from the time we'd been a couple, and all I could see was how young he'd been, which allowed me to see how young I'd been, too. Then I understood that I'd been seeing myself as monstrous, too, and that the person I really needed to forgive was myself. As it turned out, he was dying. We got a chance to say the things we needed to say to each other, and I became friends with his wife, a beautiful, generous person. It was such a tremendous gift, one I wish you and Jerry had had. These first relationships mark us, don't they? We like to dismiss them as puppy love, but the love is real and it endures. Thank you for sharing yours with us.
In the first, formative relationships, few of us have the emotional intelligence to take care of ourselves and the other person too. I’m glad you your first boyfriend were able to connect meaningfully before he died
What''s sad is that, for many gays and lesbians of older generations, the inability to have relationships in HS and college due to societal problems meant that we had to acquire that intelligence in our twenties and thirties, when it's a lot tougher to be an adult and a teenager at the same time. I hope all the governmental and school-based horror in same places isn't creating a whole new generation of kids who are stunted.
Oh, Rona -- I watched a few minutes of that video. Jeremy (or should I say Dr. Roberts?) was a beautiful man! So tragic to think that had he been 10 years younger he might still be alive. Love is what it is, and you show him such respect by naming that at the end. You taught each other well, even if awkwardly and painfully at the time.
May I also focus for a moment on that stunning dress your mother made?! And on her willingness to let you explore your lustfulness at that age. I realize it was with a very specific goal in mind, but I applaud her acknowledgement of the sexual nature of teens all the same. My own mother, much as I love and adore her still (she's been gone 3 years now), never mustered up the nerve to talk with me about any of that.
Fast forward to my own daughters, one in particular who experimented with same-sex relationships in college. When I asked her to enlighten me she said, matter of factly, "Mom, I'm not gay...I'm just having fun." She helped me understand that she is the sort of person who loves love, no matter what it looks like.
Elizabeth, I'm glad you looked up the video. A few minutes is enough to get the flavor. As for the dress, it was the most beautiful at the prom. My mother would have been more wary of my youthful desire had Jerry wanted to "go all the way," as we said then. I'm pretty sure she could tell he didn't. She had heard all the rumors about Jerry and observed his body language around me. My virginity would be safe with him.
I love your daughter's riposte about "just having fun." Good for her. You raised a confident young woman.
Thanks, Rona. Apologies for “evaporating.” Not that you necessarily expected a response, but I do try to acknowledge when someone has made time to write out their thoughts. Got caught up in an extra busy patch and am just now coming up for air. Cheers!
Oh, I certainly wasn't expecting a response. One thoughtful comment is a delight in itself.
Oh Rona, I believe we would have been good friends in HS. This post is so tender and honest, it awakens memories of the awkwardness and the strong emotions banging through us without any generosity of spirit. Its honesty forgives you both with the warm heart of the woman you became. In HS, I pined for love, but felt so odd and awkward, I would discount a boy who liked me and treated me well. I cringe at those times. They were good guys, perhaps they saw my pilgrim soul long before me, fortunately a couple of them remained friends and forgave me my tendency to like the guys who didn't treat me as well.
Yes, I hd that tendency too. Here’s to sweet, sustaining friendships that could not be.
It’s so painful to look back at the years when we yearned with such desperation for both love and belonging. Worse, it was an era when the societal norms were changing, but not to a point where gayness was accepted. I’m glad that you were able to bring Jerry and this poignant story to your readers. Thank you, Rona.
Mary, I wouldn’t be young again for anything. Whatever befalls me at this stage of life, at least I don’t have to face it as a 16-year-old.