I may be the only person in America, but I love Vista. It is so far and away better than XP. I have none of the irritating crashes and lock ups I used to have. Of course, I understood going into it that many of the applications that filled my hard drive on my old machine would not work and I judiciously chose the programs I wanted to replace when the change was made. I went into it with my eyes open -- so I didn't feel blindsided like many of the early adopters.
One of my favorite Vista features is the Gadget Sidebar that can occupy the right side of your screen and on which you can display any number of gizmos, from clocks to performance monitors to headlines and so on. The only Gadget I display -- and I display 2 of them -- is the slide show. I have both instances of slide-show pointed at my large photo file, the one with thousands of images from the nearly 60 years I've been alive. I set them to shuffle through the images at random, allowing each to be on the screen for just 5 seconds before fading on to the next image. It has given me a wonderful memory rush as each time I end up back on my desktop, I see a picture from my past.
What's really intrigued me are the photos of me as a kid . . . up until about my 20th birthday. There is a freakish consistency in those photos. They all seem to be pictures of the same thing: a gay kid trying desperately at times to conceal that fact. Let me show you what I mean.
First from my early years: 
And from a few years later:
I'm sure my mother must have dolled me up in the first photo . . . but I'm also sure she did it only after I begged her. It reminds me of a possibly fabricated memory I have of my father telling me they were expecting me to be a girl and had planned to name me Karen. The second picture was taken at a Cub Scout play. All the roles were boys except for one (thank goodness!) and I rushed to be the odd man out.
This photo was taken on a family vacation in West Virginia. Though I don't remember it at all, I'm sure the purpose was to visit some of my mother's family. I included this one, not because I look so gay (well, I don't know about that . . . check out the hands) but because I'm just so damn pretty!
A little later on, I'm on a catwalk, I think through the Everglades. It's a wild guess, really; my dad's family lived in South Florida and we did go down for visits, so the Everglades seems right, but it could have been anywhere. Again, cute kid; but if that little wiggle in the hips and tilt in the knee doesn't tell you something . . .
Here I am with my father. We were both enjoying this picture taking event so much! By the time I'd gotten to this age and had distinguished myself only 
in areas usually reserved for girls, my dad was essentially done with me. I embarrassed him. He despised the person I was and prayed that I could be different. That expression on his face was there every time we were together. You can almost see the steel wall I was erecting between us in self-defense. Having said all that, when I step back and take myself out of it, I look at this photo and see a gay kid.
Now, here's a fun picture: Another family vacation . . . or another photo from one of the ones already mentioned. This was taken somewhere 
along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Here, my dad and brother are leaning slightly toward each other, wearing matching clam-diggers . . . and then there's me: odd, slouched, not cooperating, clowning to mask the discomfort of the whole situation. Just compare me to my brother. He is a swaggering, tough kid; a boy's boy, and the apple of my father's eye. Me? I'm a Nancy-boy.
Have you noticed a pattern here? Oh, not just in the photos, in my descriptions as well. I'm guessing about all of this because I remember none of it. I have a moment here and an instant there filed away in my accessible brain, but by and large, everything prior to my tenth birthday (that was the year I started having sex with other boys) is gone. I don't think I lost it all because it was so awful. Once it was clear that my father despised me and my mother would protect me as long as I kept myself tucked in as much as possible, it was ok. We were able to appear to be the happy Cleaver family down the street, which was all she wanted. But the strain and energy drain of having to keep your guard up against your father and against yourself (so that nobody would see who you really are), made hanging on to memories impossible.
Finally, we have one in Living Color! My brother and I (and a bit of our dog, Big Jock) in the back yard all uni-ed out. Guess which one is me! Yup, I'm the one on the left. My bro is all butch and poised to leap into manly action on the gridiron. I'm posed to fall down on my side as soon as the ball is snapped. The helmet and pads (I think we're wearing pads) were a complete waste of money in my case. I only wore them twice: once for this photo and then on the day my father literally fought me into them and marched me down the street to the elementary school where Pop Warner football tryouts were in session. I spent the afternoon sitting on the sidelines watching the other boys rather than doing anything. So my poor old dad, who thought that once and for all he'd force me into being a real boy, was thwarted once again. He could drag me to the field but he couldn't't make me play. It was after this event that our little battle turned into a cold and silent war of subterfuge, sabotage and manipulation.
Here's the funny thing about the whole football incident: I really liked the game and was quite good at it. But I had no interest in doing it seriously, like with pads and helmets on a real field with adults and other kids looking on and evaluating the play. I'd play with a gaggle of kids from the neighborhood in shorts and bare feet in the vacant lot next door. I couldn't't throw the ball and rarely caught it, but when it was given to me I was nearly impossible to bring down. I remember dragging three boys with me as I chugged step by step across the field.
Now let's fast forward about ten years. My father is nearing retirement. He worked for 30 years for the gummint, mostly for the IRS, in a job that he hated and where he was neither liked nor appreciated. My 
mom, queen that she was, rules the roost through treats and manipulation. She keeps her men orbiting around her like planets around the sun. Nothing matters more to any of us than the happiness and approval of my mother. Well . . . that's not entirely true. My brother was too into himself to ever play that game. In fact, his relationship with her was not unlike my relationship with our father. So it was Dad and me, not father and son, but rival suiters, competing for the a
pproval of the empress of our universe. It was a role she loved. This photo is another attempt to capture the perfect family we were always to portray, at Christmas time. It seems to come off too . . . until you look at me. Still flopped out and different, a little tilt of the head and dip of the sholder . . . and the gayest gleam and smile! I am truly a Fairy! And I knew this in my heart at the time. Unfortunately, it was 20 more years before I would allow that truth to manifest in my life. Afterall, there was no way I could withstand the constant assaults of my father if I admitted this essential fact to the world. I'd lose the support (and protection) of my mother. And then it would be all over.
So, how do you tell if your son is gay? Get out the family photos and look at them, not as a loving parent, but as a detached, dispassionate neighbor. Does this kid make you wonder? How does he hold himself? How does he move? I believe that most times the camera finds clues we often don't want to admit seeing on our own.
What To Do If You Think Your Son May Be Gay
So, you do this little experiment and conclude that, yes, he may be gay. Now What?
My advice would be to NOT force the issue. Chances are this is a demon he's wrestling and your early, unexpected intervention may drive him into fear, denial and shame. Just leave it alone. But DO work hard to make a safe place for your kid. Let him know regularly that you think a lot of him, that you love him for who he is and though he may stumble or make mistakes from time to time, it would be impossible for him to disappoint you as a person. Let him know that he is perfect and special just the way he is, that you will always love him and support him and cheer him on every step of the way.
Understand that this is something that is out of your control. He's going to be whomever he's going to be. You don't get a say in that. What you do have a say in is whether he's going to be healthy and happy no matter who he is. You'll teach him the values that will guide his decision making. You'll teach him to respect and honor himself. You'll teach him to know his heart and to follow it. You'll teach these things through demonstration, by doing them yourself.
Probably the worst thing you can do is try to change him. You won't. What you will do in the process is to teach him to be ashamed of who he is and to hide. The best result you'll ever get is to send his true self into exile, replaced by a shamed, angry man incapable of loving anyone because he has learned to hate himself.
Whether he tells you or not, if he is gay, you're probably going to come face to face with it some day. You'll come across the magazine or the website or the photograph or maybe even the other boy (I can't tell you how many of my friends were 'walked in on' by their Mom or Dad). I would tell you to do your best to control your surprise, put the offending item back where you found it (or close the door -- and don't forget to say 'excuse me'), and go about the important business of making a safe and healthy home for your family. He's going to know you found or saw whatever it was, and seeing you unruffled will do wonders in letting him know he is in a safe place, that he is loved and respected, and that he can share anything with you.
All of this loving support is essential, but it doesn't mean to quit being a parent. It doesn't matter if your kid is gay, straight, or even Canadian: If he or she is out partying in to the wee hours, cursing you, disrupting classes, or just being a pain in the ass, you have to deal with it. Don't use his gayness as an excuse: 'Oh, my son is gay and that just means he's going to be a little wild and do some dangerous things.' Uh-uh. Bad behavior does not go with the territory. Again, if you've raised a strong kid this won't be an issue, but if he does slip into anti-social or dangerous behavior, you have to reach in, drag him out and start building the values, self-respect and self-esteem that will enable him to be a happy and effective Fairy.
And how do you do that? Well, I used to teach "emotionally disturbed" adolescents. 'Emotionally disturbed' was a label that usually meant their parents were so inept at parenting that the kids developed self-destructive behaviors in reaction. My approach was always the same. It always took a little while to chip through the crust, to let the kid know he was fine just as he was, that I wasn't going to make him be a different person; we were just going to explore a more effective way to live. Then, through conversation, I'd find something the kid was interested in: skateboarding, dogs, drag racing, body art, a particular style of music. Then I'd create a task involving that interest. It could be as simple as reading a particular book or as complex as doing in-depth research and writing a theme, citing references. The task had to have small, well defined chunks or steps so that the student could experience success regularly and in small doses, thus developing a succeeding 'I can' attitude. I'd coach the kid through the task; coach, not teach, lecture, push, coerce or cajole. Coaching is collaborative, an entirely diffent approach than 'teaching,' . . . and it's too big a topic for this post.
My point is, rather than punish your kid for behaving badly, why not create a task around something he's interested in and see to it that he finishes it. For example, your gay son comes home late and drunk and you learn that he and his buds stole into a gay bar where some older guys bought them drinks. A little grounding is ok, but add something to it. Maybe your kid is a guitar player. Go get the lead guitar tablature for some huge rock hit (I'd say Quicksilver Messenger Service's 'Who Do You Love', or Eric Clapton's 'Crossroads', but these may not be contemporary enough for your kid). Set an attainable but ambitious goal: in ten days, you will play this for me from beginning to end without stopping. By day after tomorrow I want to hear the first 16 bars. Then, 2 days later I want to hear 32 bars and so on. His 'punishment' is something that he's going to be proud of, that's going to give him small doses of success over a period of time, and that nurtures his interest.
Now here's a nuance: what if your son is a flamer? What if he's effeminate to a fault? If he's irritating the other members of the household with his flamboyance, you can bet he's creating bigger problems for himself everywhere else. He's probably not being treated nicely by his contemporaries.
I'll never forget James Duryea. That's his real name. He was in my Senior High School Classes. James was tall and thin and, well, gay, gay, gay. I mean, he just oozed it. And you could tell he was trying hard to tuck it in, but there was just too much of it! He was literally terrorized until he graduated. I remember sitting at my desk in English class one day before the teacher arrived. James came in and took his seat across from me. Meanwhile, I noticed Tom, the boy sitting behind him, untying his shoe. He took the shoe off, and gripping it by the toe, pummeled James about the head and shoulders. Nobody did anything to intervene, not even me. This kind of humiliation was a daily event for that boy.
Don't let that happen to your kid. Help him understand that one of the keys to living well is to know which person one needs to be before going out the door. It's like dressing appropriately for the situation. Here at home, the 'safe house,' everyone can wear (and be) whatever he likes. For example, to you (the parent) that might be tee shirts, gym shorts, old jeans. But when you head out the door to go to work, you have to put on your armor: Your suit and tie, your shined shoes, your carefully groomed face. You don't wear that stuff because you like it (although you do look hot in a suit) but because it enables you to navigate your life with maximum effectiveness and minimum hassle. He has to do the same thing. Here at home, he can be just as fabulous as he wants because everyone loves him no matter what. But when he heads out the door to school, he must suit up -- which means to put on a new face, assume a new way of being. He can't give the other kids a club to beat him with. For him that means to tone it down just a bit.
Finally, if your son actually does come out to you, please be prepared to put your arms around him, hug him close and kiss him . . . and then say this one magical word:
'So?'
Because that's what being gay is in the overall scheme of things: it's a 'So?' It's irrelevant to who you are in your soul and how well you live your life. Some people never really come out and live cramped in the closet; sad. Others come out with a vengeance, screaming from the tops of buildings and covering their universe with rainbow flag stickers. Being gay becomes the biggest, most important aspect of their lives, of who they are; and that's almost as sad as being stuffed in a closet. You don't want either of those. You want a happy, well adjusted person who has marvelous talents and interests and who, oh by the way, just happens to be gay. If you make the right environment and react in the right ways, that's what you'll get.
