I’m house sitting at my primary home, wife and youngest gone to Europe. It’s just me and my oldest. Normally, I have this website blocked on our home network but in order to post, I had to open it up. Easy enough. Unfortunately, at 1 a.m. last night, he took it upon himself to start reading this blog, 1 hour and 15 minutes worth of about 200 postings. The irony in all this neither one of my sons has ever bothered to ask me a single question about my personal life or the screwball world of ‘gays gone wild’. I’m not sure that I’m all too interesting but obviously interesting enough to him. At 17, a brainiac, mainly plays computer games and girls, well, he doesn’t seem all that interested girls. The good news, he doesn’t seem all that interested in people either. I don’t consider myself, weird, strange habits. I have had to deal with some unusual stuff happening and happy to share it.
But kids dig into all kinds of things. Back when I was in high school, my good friend’s father was this epitome of a Southern Gentlemen. His father liked to hunt n’ fish, drink a can a beer on his ocean view deck, shoot the shit with all of us. Nothing at all strange or unusual about him at all. I hung out at their house a lot. One night my friend and I got toasted, a bottle of Crown Royal if I remember, I was pretty trashed. We were hanging in his bedroom, sitting on the bed, listening to music and doing what teenagers did in 1978.
My friend (he was a year younger than me) got all serious on me and explained that he had been rooting around in his father’s home office and discovered in a obscure area a pile of magazines with pictures of half naked men dressed in woman’s underwear, bras and various other female attire. I’m not sure why my friend told me this secret, I suspect it had been bothering him and he just wanted to get it off his chest. My wit subdued by the booze didn’t fire off a “wonder why size panties your dad wears”. I just stared at him, unsure what to say, afraid that whatever I said was likely to be wrong. What the hell did I know, I was 17, drinking Crown Royal and listening to Eric Clapton. My friend and I never discussed this topic ever again.
We all have something to hide, something we’ve done or would like to do that frankly we hope that no one will ever find out about. Sometimes it’s little things (taking a smoke out back), sometimes it’s kinda of major (I’m a serial killer). Part of the excitement is the prospect of getting caught, holding on to your secret, having that ‘bad’ side of you appear. But we all have some aspect of that. None of us is likely up for Sainthood.
My friend’s mother died recently, still married to the man interested in cross dressing, she likely knew, it was her secret too, but they stayed together and from the outside in, it looked like they’d worked it out.