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Two days ago — on the eve of my mom’s birthday — I had a very long conversation with her. I was only recently able to have my phone turned back on and wanted to call and talk since it had been so long. It was a weird conversation, but one that reminded me of just how like my parents I am. The things I say, the way I phrase things, those quirks that tend to throw other people off go unnoticed to them. They get me because I am a product of them. I need to be reminded of that from time to time.

We discussed relationships and how my parents’ is one I use as a model for how people should interact with each other. They have an effortless marriage, carrying on their own lives, having their own friends, but wanting to share those lives with one another at the end of the day. They are inspirational.

Somehow, the conversation turned to me. Mom has never verbalized her acceptance of me being gay. I suspected that she had moved on and was less upset about it, but didn’t have anything to base that on. I do now. She choked herself up, assuring me that she understands me and accepts me. She gave a few examples of how this had caused her some pain — not because she didn’t accept it, but because she does and realizes how others view gay people, specifically in her church group.

I certainly wouldn’t have wished for my mom to know that part of it, but I am comforted that she is more aware of what life can be like for me. She said she loves my life because it is real… and that is true. I can be very real sometimes. I’ve grown so numb to the snickers and looks of disgust that I hardly notice them anymore. Honestly, they aren’t even that common, but it doesn’t phase me when those things do happen.

Finally, she let me know that I can share that part of my life with her. I think I really needed permission for that. Not that I have a love life to share, but now that I know that I can tell my family and they will be supportive rather than dismissive, I think my search might get easier. I guess I have been scared of dating, but I haven’t really been willing to admit it. Now what? 28 is a tough year to get out there. It is hard to find someone when I am so clueless about how to talk to guys or how to date… or any of it. I need help!

Something is in the air this year. My life is morphing and I really like where it is going. I really hope that good things result. I know my financial life will catch up eventually, so I have decided to stop worrying so much about it. Life seems pretty good right now.Continue Reading

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These are two stories I wrote forever ago. The purpose of both is to introduce several characters I intend to use in various stories. These characters are a family in my head still and I will one day start recounting their lives. I hope you enjoy this, their Genesis.

American Dream [or Yesterday Hurts] (Revised Version)

I still can’t believe I am here. I just can’t stand this. I guess I can’t say I’m lucky, but I can’t say I don’t deserve it either. Rejection that is. It still hurts, and I think the worst part is that I can’t do anything about it. I started with good intentions; I am not a bad woman. I had the chance to have a family like I dreamed of doing, and I loved every moment of it. I married a seemingly wonderful man and had two beautiful boys, Chad and Ivan. I love them so much.

One day though, my husband left me. He ran off with a woman with perfect teeth and big breasts. I hated her then. Maybe I still do. But why shouldn’t I? I was a good wife and was still a damn good mother, but sometimes, you know, that thing inside you, that desperation, just needs something to make life easier, so I drank. I wasn’t a heavy drinker at first, not really. I just had a little in the evening. It made it better, the pain that is. I knew it was getting worse, but I tried not to think about it.

My drinking started getting worse. My children were suffering from my neglect, I realize that now, but I still had to have something. It seemed to be what I needed. I soon turned to abuse. Oh, I would never become physical with them, but sometimes it seems that words hurt worse. They do. I know that now.

Ivan was my baby, and he was only eleven at that time. The divorce and the pain of knowing what his father had done had gotten to him and I guess he was pretty depressed. I didn’t see it then, I do now. I feel so bad for not noticing he was hurting. As his mother I should have been there for him. But I was too busy being comforted by my bottle of whatever it was I was drinking. My other son, Chad was twelve. He ignored the situation. He would go spend time at his friend’s house and wander around the neighborhood.

I didn’t try. I only made things worse. I love Ivan; I really do. But he is different. I knew back when he was five and six that he might be gay. I started calling him “fag” and “fruit” and any other name I could think of. The names made me feel better at first, but would always make me feel worse in the end. He would cry and sit up in his room. I heard him. I didn’t care. I mean, I did care, but I didn’t do anything. I guess I’ve been a lousy mother. I know Ivan didn’t even know why I called him those names, not that there is an excuse. He understands now. He came out to his aunt about a year ago. They have been so supportive of him, and I think he might even have a boyfriend. I guess I am proud. Not that he is gay, but that he is happy. At least he is. He never told me he was gay. Chad told me. I felt terrible when I heard that and wondered if it was my fault. No wonder he hates me.

Anyway, my drinking somehow led to drugs. I didn’t really expect it to, but it did. In the back of my mind I told myself that it couldn’t happen. It seems that Chad knew it would. Ivan didn’t want to be around me enough to figure it out, so I don’t think he knew I went that far. He probably knows, but I hope not. I love those boys and never wanted to hurt them, but I knew when I started that they would be taken away when anyone found out. I regret my drug use now, but it is too late for that, I guess.

I sent my children to stay with their aunt, my ex-husband’s sister. She is a good woman, and treats my kids wonderfully. She is Ivan’s biggest support. I love her so much for treating my baby so well. I think sending them there was the best thing for my kids. A few days later I called to the rehab center. I was so nervous and embarrassed, but I knew I had to do that for my boys. Chad was fifteen then, and Ivan was fourteen. He hadn’t said two words to me in three months. I deserved it, I guess. I was in rehab for six months. I couldn’t believe I had to miss both of my kids’ birthdays. Chad turned sixteen on the first of March. Ivan turned fifteen on St. Patrick’s Day. He has always been proud of his birthday. It makes him feel special to have a holiday birthday.

I had given custody of the kids to their aunt . She would have given them back, but because of my rehab I had to go to court to prove myself. It was ruled that the boys would make the decision to come home with me or not. I think I wouldn’t have gotten them at all if they had been younger. Anyway, Ivan has never been a leader. I really expected him to do whatever Chad did. I knew Chad would come with me. We have always been close. The boys were given another week at their aunts to make a decision. In that time, I rented myself an apartment and applied for some jobs. They were small jobs, but I figured they would have to do.

A week later I showed up to pick up the kids. Chad was ready. His bags were stuffed haphazardly, like he couldn’t have had any less time to pack, though he had a week. No one said a word as Chad gave me a hug and ran out to put his stuff in the car. Eighteen and still a mama’s boy. Ivan was leaning on the wall, like he was hiding. He looked like he was mad, but he was about to cry. He didn’t even look at me. I think he wanted to, but he didn’t. A got one of those lumps in my throat. I wanted to cry. I didn’t though. I just went home with Chad. On our way home, I cried. Chad starting saying that Ivan was a jerk and couldn’t believe he didn’t come. That day Chad called Ivan a “fag” and it killed me. I started crying. Chad said he didn’t mean it, and almost started to cry, I think. Ivan and Chad loved each other. They had to. Without each other they had no one. Well, they had their aunt, but they still needed each other.

Being rejected by one of my children really hurts. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be a good feeling. But Chad was at home, and I still felt as bad as I did before. I guess I was ashamed of myself for everything I had ever done. But I still loved my baby, even if he did hate me.

I started my new job, waiting tables. It wasn’t much, but it helped and the apartment was small enough to make up for the difference. It felt empty without Ivan, Chad told me Ivan had never felt like he belonged in the family. I wish he knew how much I loved him.

About a month passed and I decided to go talk to Ivan. I wanted to let him know how much I loved him. I went to see him at his aunt’s. I called for him and he didn’t come. His cousin told me he had locked himself in the cedar closet. I went to the closet and tried to open it. It was locked. I knew it was a stupid idea to put a lock on a closet door. said that the first time I saw it there. He wouldn’t talk to me. I could hear familiar music. I had bought a tape for his tenth birthday. It was all he had wanted. He had wanted it for so long. He still had it. I started to walk leave when Ivan knocked on the door three short knocks. I knocked back twice. Those knocks were kinda our little thing at our old house. His room was next to the master bedroom. I would knock three times and he would always knock back twice. It was kinda like saying “I love you” I guess. As soon as I had finished, Ivan slipped one of his paintings he had done under the door. The background was black and gray, with a red heart. In the heart two people, one with long hair the other with short hair. I turned it over and on the back was a note: “I love you mom. Ivan” I didn’t thank. I just left. I didn’t know what to think. I had the painting framed. It is hanging in my living room now. Ivan has still never seen it, and he has still not spoken to me. I decided soon after to look for some support. Divorce is hard, but I took mine too far. It destroyed my family and we will never be the same, not that we were ever really happy. I am so happy to have found this group. I hope you can help me relieve some of the hurt. Thank you.

Brian Fuchs 5.23.1998Continue Reading

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3+17+1997=10 or “Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.” -Frank O’Hara

This might mean nothing to anyone but me, but it felt important to share it. Today, St Patrick’s Day, 2007, marks the 10th anniversary of me coming out to my friends as gay. It has been quite a journey, but this is an account of what happened before. To understand the full extent of where I am, it is important to first understand where I was. This poem by Frank O’Hara expresses it in ways I couldn’t.

February

The scene is the same,
and though I try to imagine
plinking starry guitars,

and while I spend my
time listening to a foreign
contralto sing the truth,

the earth is everywhere,
brown and aching. At first
it seemed that this life

would be different: born
again in someone else’s
arms, after seasons of childhood

and error and defense.
I thought freshly and tried
to change the color of my

habit. New metrics would be
mine in this excess of
love! but I was a braggart

to hope so. My old hurts
kept attacking me at odd
moments, after too many

songs, on public conveyances,
in the blue light of bars. Ah!
I cried, do not blame me,

save your temper for the
others! and at the same instant
in the same breath cried,

break me! I dare you, for
which of us am I? you will
break yourself! And this

became only too true, the
worst of all possible vistas,
my lone dark land.

–Frank O’Hara

That was me. It still is from time to time, wondering how my life is really different and hoping that I have really changed — grown. I was lost. I had desperately tried to force myself into someone I am not, agrily trying to “not be gay.”

The feeling that I was different started as early as 5 or 6. I didn’t know how, but I felt like there was something about me that wasn’t “normal.” What’s more, as a young child, I knew that there were things I needed to hide from my parents — things they wouldn’t understand. I don’t know how we come to these conclusions. My first crush on a boy happened in 4th grade, but I didn’t think much of it.

I remember a number of times during church activities, specifically Bible Bowl, when I would drift off into my own world of introspection, wondering how much love I would find in these people if they knew this awful truth about me. I pretended to have crushes, marking my papers with the most obvious name, hoping to be caught pining for one of my teammates. I quickly became outspoken over my disdain for the public education system’s willingness to teach homosexuality as acceptable. I was turning on myself and was only 14.

The one thing I took away from that part of my life was self-loathing. And I could have ended up with some great experiences and memories, but the pain of being something you don’t want to be was very difficult to deal with.

A couple years later, I found myself washing dishes daily at my first job. I had gotten in through a series of somewhat unusual events, but was enjoying it greatly. I had started to realize that I would have to face this part of myself. I couldn’t hide behind hatred any longer, but I was terrified at what that would mean.

The climate of the world for gays was very different in 1995 & 1996. From my teenaged perspective, it seemed like the dark ages. I didn’t want to indetify with them. There were no gay characters on television, no role models. If I were to accept being gay as who I actually am, I felt that I would be giving up; giving in to what I had been taught to believe is wrong. Furthermore, I was saying to the world that I accepted that I would have no place to fit in; no safe place to run to when life became too much.

Let me back up for just a second. I don’t actually remember my parents (or their parents) having ever spoken about the issue of homosexuality. I never had reason to believe they had thought about it at all. Neither do I recall any lessons in church concerning it. I remember lessons on love and compassion, but never about how wrong gays were. My lessons on this subject were from specific people, friends, who had “moral” objections to certain “lifestyle choices.” I didn’t want to be anything that would upset these people.

I was feeling rather exhausted about the whole issue and was no longer doing well in school. I spent my days worrying about turning into this pariah I didn’t want to be, all the while sitting in the car with my friends, or over at their house, a little removed from the group… from the situation. I was starting to feel like I was enormous, trapsing around people’s houses, hopind desperately to blend in and not be noticed, but failing. I started to discuss issues with my coworker and friend, hoping to find wisdom in her words. It turned out to not be so easy.

In June 1996, I made one of the weirdest mistakes of my life. I went on a class trip to France for 2 weeks. The teacher going with us was unable to attend at the last minute, due to a medical emergency, and I was left with a group of students, all a year older than me, who wouldn’t even talk to me or include me in their group… and the teacher wouldn’t be there. My 2 weeks in France would basically be on my own. And so they were. I befriended a few people from a group from Idaho, but basically did my own thing. As long as I was on the bus when I was supposed to be, nobody seemed to take much notice.

Everything was going great, until a rainy day in Paris. There wasn’t much we could go do that evening, but the guys I was sharing a room with went to hang out with the girls, so I was alone… with my thoughts… and having been in France for a few days, the newness having worn off, I was thinking about the same things that kept me sad and angry at home. That night I accepted it. I didn’t like it, but I realized that I couldn’t be anyone but who I am. The rest of the trip was very hard; I barely enjoyed myself. I would hang out with the bus driver, Kamal, or our tour guide, Arnaud, at almost every stop. I didn’t feel like I should be there anymore.

My biggest regret about that trip is not hiding my bitterness when I returned home. My family and friends were waiting at the gate to greet me; I was so happy to see them. But I was difficult and cranky and spoiled the mood for everyone.

I spent most of my senior year trying to convice people I was straight. But a huge weight had been lifted. The distraction that made the previous year so hard was gone, but I would eventually need to tell someone else.

Travis, one of my two best friends, had spent spring break in Mexico (I think), leaving myself and JD to spend a fun filled week of working more hours at our jobs. We did want to do something though, so we spent the week at my uncle’s cabin just outside of town. Travis returned that weekend and we all hung out on Sunday. I was a little down; Travis could tell. I drove home, talking to Travis on the CB (yes, it’s true) the entire way. He had followed me and pulled in behind me at my house. He and I talked about things. I wasn’t really ready to tell him everything, but I told him that I could never see myself marrying a woman and having kids with her. If felt like enough for that moment. He was very comforting, much more so than most friends. He told me that JD had asked if Travis thought I was gay. Travis laughed it off as a silly notion. I felt extremely exposed.

The next day was my favorite holiday of the year, St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t know why I love it, but I do. The first thing I did in my first class was to write a letter, expressing to both Travis & JD how I felt and about who I am. I told them of the many days, wanting to no longer live. I told them how painful it had been to let them down. And I told them that I am gay. I couldn’t face them, knowing that I was losing my two best friends.

I had an eye appointment and then work after school. I was almost finished at work when Travis & JD showed up. I tried to avoid them, but they seemed angry. I just walked out to the parking lot, letting them follow me. I intended to go home and forget the day had ever happened. But my car was missing. Defeated, I got into Travis’ car. We drove around a little; they told me they had gotten permission from my mom to keep me away all night. They told me that they didn’t care that I am gay, but they were angry that I had been so depressed and didn’t tell them.

Somehow, we ended up at Red Lobster, where they continued to assure me that they still loved me. It felt nice, but was painful at the same time. We drove around for a long time, talking (I was crying). I think I stayed at Travis’ that night. And that was it. It was done. I didn’t have to hide myself anymore. The last few months we lived in Stillwater were the happiest as a teenager that I can remember. Life had been so painful for me for so long.

A month later, Ellen Degeneres came out, bursting the doors wide open for gay men and women everywhere. It felt good to be a part of something from the begining. It still does.

I didn’t tell my family for a long time after this, but I will save that for another time. It deserves the same attention.

Today, I am very happy with who I am. It feels so good to be me and I am glad I came out when I did. I hope that there is a day when being gay doesn’t break children into secrecy. I hope that day comes soon.

St Patrick’s Moon

St Patrick’s moon shone
gently on us as we left
Texas, back to our lives.
The brief stays seem sad
and this was the last visit
with all of us single.

St Patrick’s moon shone
on the new baby — born
to make some forget
the tragedy its birthday
marked — the sadness of
this anniversary of death.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the just-cracked blinds
on Laurisa’s face — the new
life growing within her body.
More family, more joy,
more love to make us forget.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the rear window of
JD’s car onto my face as
I smiled. My life seems
to be getting closer to real.
I laughed a little because
life can be so wonderful.

Brian Fuchs (3.17.2003)

17 March 2007Continue Reading

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When Heather & I made plans to see this movie, I didn’t think I would like it. It looked like it was self-important silliness masquerading as serious clichéd arthouse cinema. I was wrong.

Shortbus is one of the most beautiful movies I have seen. I was so moved on a number of levels, but I would want to ruin anything by giving away even a small portion of the plot. I cannot think of a greater assemblage of fine actors in recent films; each one flawlessly executed his or her particular role. I cared about every character, even the minor ones.

I will own this one. I highly recommend that everyone see this film. I won’t lie, 87.2% of you will be offended. But for those who can let the film move you in the ways it should, I believe this one will be quite an experience for you. Bonus: Freakin’ great soundtrack!

Up To The Challenge?

Apparently, things aren’t going as swimmingly at work as I would’ve hoped they were. I have been pretty flaky, but I thought nobody had really noticed. Wrong. I was spoken to about getting my work done and was forced to step up and be efficient. I am more than capable. I love my job & really get irritated when I perform below my own standards. I guess I have just been in a funk.

One of these days, I am going to amaze bossman with my talents. Oh, I will.

Meanwhile, I feel oddly inspired by Shortbus, but the things I am inspired to do would actually make me happy. I’m not sure we can have that!

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Great Expectations:
I had been looking forward to dinner with my Tulsa friends since I made plans to be in Oklahoma. But when it came time for it to happen, there was nobody around to eat with. I am excluding Jess & Justin, who I love, but talk to fairly regularly. I couldn’t wait to see Meghan, Emily, Jeff, Jill, Molly, Marla… someone. But none responded tothe invite.

I had a great dinner with Justin & Jess. We went briefly to Target, where I got a shirt to wear so I didn’t have to drive home from the club smelling like an ashtray. Then we decided to eat at On The Border. I love that place and was not disappointed in last night’s fare. And I ordered my Sprite, no ice, with limes. Limes, being not expensive here, are generously given. I got an entire glass full. I love it.

I wanted to spend more time with Justin, but he had to wake early, so he had to go. I made plans to spend more time on Tuesday. I can’t wait to see him. He is so important to me. The three of us went to Barnes & Noble, where I had hoped to find a magazine. I did not. I did, however, get to see Bettina, Ray, Jill, & Matt. I really do miss that place, but I am glad I am making Borders my home now.

🦄 Of Unicorns & Men:
Jess & I went to The Majestic for some dancing fun. It was just as I remembered it, a loud, dark, sweaty place where shirts don’t stay on for long. Everyone was gyrating and having a great time. It was the Halloween celebration and costumes were out in full force. Many an angel graced the club — one in particular repeatedly poked his sharp wings into my back. I liked it more than I should.

Of course, all of these costumes led to a contest, hosted by a unicorn. The costumes were sad. The gays should be able to do better, but the evening was pretty fun. I love the darker music of Halloween clubbing. Jess remarked that it was a good thing I changed out of my “Unicorn Rodeo” shirt before getting there. I was thinking I wish I hadn’t. That attention would have been okay.

I love dancing and really need to go more often. Anchorage needs a good gay club.

The rest of this week should prove fun. I am very excited that I got to go to Tulsa. I really miss Tulsa. It still feels like home to me. I could easily move back today and not miss a beat. But now Anchorage is also feeling like home and would surely miss it just as much… or at least the people.Continue Reading

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Boys:
Blah. Where are the boys?

DVDs I can watch over and over:
•Boondock Saints
•Donnie Darko
•Office Space
•Moulin Rouge
•Friends (any season)
•Queer As Folk (any season)
•Will & Grace (any season)
•I’m The One That I Want – Margaret Cho
•Metrosexuality
•Futurama (any volume)
•Zoolander
•Dogma
•Adventures Of Priscilla Queen Of The Desert

These aren’t necessarily my favorite movies, just what I tend to pop in. Now, that’s a list that makes me look gay!

Work:
Our store manager is back from her vacation. Hopefully, she had a great time and will be a joy to work with. She usually is anyway. I think I have decided that I definately want to come into a large sum of money so I will never have to work again. It would be nice to be independantly wealthy, even if I continued to work. Blah. I guess that is the American dream though: to be filthy rich and sit around all day.

Mom:
I am reading Straight Parents, Gay Children to see if my mom would benefit from it, and I really think she would at this point.Continue Reading

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Mom:
I just received an e-mail from my mom about living with your sins. While the point will not be lost, I will not be applying it to being gay. I just can’t since I don’t believe that this is wrong. She is trying though and I sent a very lengthy e-mail explaining how I feel about several issues, including my position on gays and Christianity and how I feel less loved than my straight brothers. It was kinda crazy, but oh well.

pathetic.org
I posted quite a bit on my poetry site last night! I am excited to be a part of it again.

Self:
I am officially lonely again. I just want someone to share my life with…

Robby:
He had been busy and I am neurotic!

Family:
E-mail I sent to my mom. Her response follows.

From: fuchsboi@***.net
Subject: Mom… a few thingsContinue Reading