Me by Me

My hopes of becoming a famous musician came closer to realization than those of my parents and Gram, but the thought of being labeled a leader in the gay community never entered my mind. Throughout my life society warned "queers" that they would spend the rest of their lives alone, without family or friends. The church instilled fears of homosexuals burning in Hell. Years later gay men were condemned to dying from AIDS. Nothing good was to become of us. We weren't suppose to be happy and lead productive lives. Well, I'm 70 and still here. I continue to remain HIV negative, and although I live alone I'm not lonely. I have a loving family and many friends and I continue to believe that Hell is a fictional place created to instill fear and maintain control over those who won't take the risk of getting in touch with their true-self. Like anyone I've had my ups and downs, but for the most part I remain extremely grateful.

I have vague memories of my life before the age of five: looking out the window as my mother pointed out distant stars over city lights, seeing the loving glow on my grandmother's face as she walked towards my crib, my older sister coming to my rescue (which she did often) when I got tangled in the playground monkey-bars, and eating lemon-ice with my Uncle Ed. I remember walking hand-in-hand with my father one Easter dressed in matching Army uniforms, and sitting next to him as he drove a truck up to the six-family red brick house I would call home until my senior year in high-school.

At age 5:
My mother brought me to the State Theater. The State Theater was to Hartford, Connecticut what the famed Apollo Theater was to New York's Harlem. I watched in awe as Louis Jordan made his electrifying stage entrance wearing baggy tangerine pants, a long lime-green jacket with accentuated shoulder pads, and a blinding white shirt with matching shoes. Cab Calloway would lead his orchestra in a Kelly green tuxedo, and Sugar 'Chile' Robinson would run out on stage to a waiting baby-grand piano and entertain the ecstatic audience with his singing and piano playing. I knew then I wanted to be a singer and play a baby-grand piano. I endured insults and teasing (always from adults) because of the brightly colored cloths I wore to look like my idols.

My most hurtful memories came from adults, mostly family friends and neighbors whom I thought were suppose to have known better. But it was from them that I learned the kind of person I didn't want to be. Their insults and teasing taught me the pain that can result from judging others for being different.

All by Myself

Long before the yellow school bus became a common sight, my adventurous, five year old spirit told me "I know the way home. I can walk home by myself." From my first day in kindergarten and throughout the winter I walked to and from school with my older sister Marilyn, but that was about to change.
As I had been taught, I waited for the green light at the corner of Main and Mather Streets and looked both ways before crossing. With the sun in my face I skipped merrily along the wrought iron fence that separated the sidewalk from the graveyard. At the corner of Mather and Center Streets, I stopped once again to look both ways before crossing. On one side of the street, the sun-beams spotlighted various houses surrounded by orange, pink and yellow flowers. On the other side, the Sym Street City Jail lurked in the shade like a tall tombstone behind a rusty brick wall. The excitement of seeing Porky, the policeman who stopped traffic on Albany Avenue, urged me to run towards his open arms. "Where's your sister," he asked as we danced in circles. I replied "I don't know, but I know my way home." At this point of my adventure Edward Street would have been a shorter walk, but today was special. I wanted the butchers at Bazzano's meat market, the candy store man Mr Polite, Jack the pizza man, and everyone else to see how grown-up I was. So, with a half-moon smile I proudly strutted down Albany Avenue to William Street. Suddenly neighbors began calling from their windows, "Your sister's looking for you." They seemed worried. Finally, Walnut Street, but as I skipped towards the six family house where I lived I saw my sister huddling our mother and crying. My adventurous spirit didn't tell me I was suppose to tell Marilyn I was going home by myself. Although I was sorry for upsetting my sister and Mom, I beamed with pride for the rest of the day. I knew my way home from school just like the big kids.

At age 6:
I learned that a friend was killed in a car accident. I knew that I'd never see her again, but I didn't feel sad, only numb.

I had to repeat the first grade primarily because the education system wasn't aware of the various ways children/people learn, and a couple of mean-ass, racist teachers. As a result, school was not one of my favorite places.

The Old Piano
The dark, ghostly, piano stood tall in the vacant room.
Instinctively my tiny fingers gently tickled its yellowed teeth.
It laughed like a tiny bird.
When I punched it with my left fist
It moaned as if in pain.
As the seasons passed we began to play familiar songs I'd heard in church and on the radio.
And one day we played Tchaikovsky.

My friends and I played games on the front porch. "My Car" was our favorite. If someone picked the number three, than every third car was their's. If the third car was a shiny new car, we would all scream "luckyyyyy", but if it was a junk we would roll around the porch laughing hysterically.

Laughter is as important as breathing. Whereas death has taken a lot of friends and family, it can not erase the memories of their laughter.


At age 7:
I loved going to Saturday matinees and watching cartoons and cowboy movies.

My favorite cake was yellow with lemon filling and pink frosting.

Mom tried to steer me towards playing with the neighborhood boys, but with exception of Byron and Luke I didn't feel comfortable around them. I didn't like their games. Instead of sports I preferred playing make-believe games with the girls.


At age 8:

Take Two Cookies

I was in the third grade when hospitalized for a week with pneumonia. Upon my release, the doctor recommended milk-shakes to help strengthen me. Though I didn't have any problems with the daily regime of milk-shakes, my grandmother, who lived upstairs, said she felt I needed something stronger. The following day she called for me to come up stairs. As always, the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the hallway leading to her apartment. Once inside, she sat me down at the kitchen table with a glass of cold milk and two chocolate chip cookies with raisins and walnuts. She promised that if I took two cookies a day with a glass of milk I would be feeling better in no time.
Sixty plus-years later, whenever I have some minor aches and pains, or if I'm just not feeling right, I take two chocolate chip cookies with a glass of cold milk. Works every time.

A playmate came over to see me while I was confined to bed and recovering from pneumonia. She pulled down her pants after I asked her. I was curious and thought that the human body was one of the most uniquely, beautiful things I'd ever seen until my mother took me into the women's dressing room at the beach. It was there where I saw red, wrinkled women with brown spots and lumps.

I wanted to be Superman when I grew up. For whatever reason I've always wanted to help the under-dog and those less fortunate than myself.


At age 9:
I started taking piano lessons at the Julius Hartt School of Music.

After a lot of begging I talked my grandmother into buying me a royal-blue and gold satin cowboy shirt.

Mom came home from work one day and told me that an older boy was caught in a garage pulling down some little boy's pants. She went on to say "If any child of mine did something like that I'd dis-own them." I remember wondering to myself "Why is she telling me?"

Mom must have known or suspected I was gay long before I knew what a gay person was. Decades later she was furious after learning a couple was denied an apartment because they were gay.

After seeing an article in Ebony magazine about a bachelor pad, I knew when I grew up I wanted to live in my own apartment. I wanted modern furniture, huge floor plants, walls covered with art, and a baby-grand piano. Upon sharing this with my grandmother, she seemed disappointed, questioning "Oh no baby! Don't you want to raise a family and have a little boy of your own like your daddy?" I felt maybe there was something wrong with wanting to live alone, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint Gram. So, I half-heartedly gave into her desire.

I've repeatedly made the mistake of trying to live my life based on how much it would please others. Whereas I am certainly guilty of "people pleasing" with the hope that others would like me, when it came to family and close friends it (people pleasing) was more about the love I had for them and not wanting to disappoint or hurt them.


At age 10:
One day while I was swimming in a public pool a girl told me I swam like the movie star Esther Williams.

I got a puppy and named him Tippy. Weeks later we (my family) were told he was a she.

I idolized Eartha Kitt. She was the first Black woman I'd ever seen who spoke several languages in addition to being exotic and sexy.

I expressed my desire to design cars or be a cartoonist, but was told "You'll have to work ten times harder cause you're "Colored." It was the first of many times I would come to realize I was encouraged to be me, but not supported whenever I tried to be.

I understand that my parents - like any parent - wanted the best for their children. The jobs I expressed interest in were not fields of employment that Blacks typically worked in, especially Black men. The unfortunate thing is that this lack of support resulted in a lack of self-confidence, not because I was Black, but because I believed my mother, along with my father, felt I wasn't capable. And if they didn't think I was capable, then maybe I wasn't. The only saving grace was my grandmother who told me I could be anything I wanted to be.


At age 11:
I joined the Boy Scouts after months of coaxing from my mother. Though I liked most of the guys in Troop 4, I disliked the Scout Master for his blatant disrespect towards women.

While swimming at a Boy Scout camp, guys in my troop whistled and jokingly referred to my legs as gorgeous.

I joined church to get my mother and family friends off my back about joining church. I had problems with religion from the time my parents gave me a children's Bible a few years earlier. I gave the Adam and Eve bit the benefit of the doubt, but the math didn't add up after the remaining son got married. My other problem was with the people (once again adults who I thought were suppose to know better) who were so quick to tell me what God liked and didn't like, but were constantly demonstrating disrespect towards others. I wondered what happen to "Do unto to others...?"

Quoting the Bible is one thing, applying its teachings to our daily lives is another.

On the last day of school, classmates talked me into singing a song by Eartha Kitt I had sung one day during recess. When the teacher inquired about the language, I told her it was a Turkish lullaby. I actually made the language up while singing.


At age 12:
I never knew devastation until Mom told me Tippy had to be put to sleep due to an incurable illness. Tippy was my best friend, the only one who accepted me for who I was.

Hollywood musicals and movies nourished my creativity and aided my escape from reality. I pinned magazine photos of movie stars on my bedroom walls. My inner world was filled with the fantasy of being famous and "living happily ever after."

I liked looking at the shining sterling silver candelabras and sparkling jewelry in store windows.

I tried on my sister's bracelets when no one was around. I liked the way the gold and various colored stones looked against my skin.


At age 13:
I got my first job working in tobacco. I spent three days shopping for the right outfit, blue overalls, a red handkerchief and a wide-brim, straw hat. I worked a day and a half.


I had my first sexual experience with my friend Byron, and then Luke. I continued to have sex with them (separately) throughout high school. We didn't consider ourselves "queers" or "fags". We were friends and the sex was just one of the many things we did together.

I was stunned when a schoolmate insinuated I was queer, fearing he knew the truth about me I was afraid to face.

Sometimes when I'd help my mother clean our apartment, my father occasionally joked "Mel you're gonna make somebody a fine wife." It never bothered me; I'd laugh with him, but it would really pissed-off Mom.


At age 14:
I went to my first "Rock n Roll" show. I wanted to wear my hair like Little Richard, but Mom was not having it. A mutual agreement resulted with her using a hot iron to put a curl in the middle of my head. For the rest of the week my hair looked like a steel-wool pad with a curl.

I came home from school sometimes for lunch and served myself canned ravioli on my grandmother's antique dishes, and drank grape juice from the matching wine glasses.

I liked wrapping my bathrobe around myself as tight as possible. I made believe I was Della Reese wearing the skin-tight gowns she wore on the Ed Sullivan show.

My mother asked me to kiss her the way I kissed girls. At that time I had only kissed one girl, so I kissed her hard on the lips.

Today some might label Mom's request as incest. Many years later I felt shame only because Oprah and other victims of incest were telling me I was suppose to feel shame. Fact is, it really didn't bother me.


At age 15:
I joined a band and met my new "best friend" Roy. The band broke-up and a few weeks later Roy urged me to join a newly formed band he was playing in. I was attracted to one of the guys in the new band, but never said anything. We were the first interracial Rock n Roll band in Connecticut.

I played hooky from school. A lot! I always felt that different classmates were laughing at me.

I played smoking a cigarette (didn't inhale) and sipped a small glass of my father's Old Crow as I fantasized being the girlfriend of a gang leader. I hated the feeling of tobacco on my tongue, and the whiskey was both bad tasting and slimy, but I liked the fantasy.


At age 16:
I recorded records with the band in New York City.

At school I found myself looking at guys in the shower after gym and at the dances the band played. For the first time I wondered if I was queer. At the same time I was also attracted to girls.

I met band leader Count Basie and singer Joe Williams.


At age 17:
I made numerous appearances on radio and local television dance shows, but was disillusioned by fame. I didn't like the band manager, Roy proved himself to be an egotistic, two-face liar, and the freedom from being under the watchful eyes of my parents slipped away when my father joined the group. Although he was a damn good sax man, I didn't see his style as a good fit. I wanted to quit the band several times, but was always persuaded by my parents to stay "for the money".

I had sex with the unofficial photographer of the band.

I learned that homosexuality exist among animals and insects, and concluded it was natural.

I express interest in designing women's cloths, but was told, as in the past, it's a hard field for "Negros" to get into and I'll have to work ten times harder. I ask myself "Why should I work ten times harder if I'm just as good as anyone else?"

I stopped sharing my hopes and dreams.

I realize today that if you genuinely love what you do you tend to work ten times harder because you want to.


At age 18:
I graduated high school, got a job working in a print shop, and was a semi-famous musician.

I concluded that I wasn't a "faggot" because I didn't fit the stereotypical image; I didn't hate women and I didn't want to be one.

With a dual objective I began shopping for a wife; to dismiss allegations of being queer, and to settle down and "live happily ever after".

The band performed at Middlebury College and Lionel Hampton sat in and played drums as I sang "What'd I Say."


At age 19:
I met my future wife, had my first sexual experience with a girl and smoked my first cigarette. For the first time I felt "normal", but it didn't feel right.


At age 20:
I was an egotist with an inferiority complex; I just didn't know it.

I fed the false rumors my "wife-to-be" had heard about me being a Playboy. I feared if she'd known of my past with guys, she would have never married me, and the speculation of my being gay would return.


At age 21:
I got married like society, family, the media and peers dictated I was suppose to do. It felt nice, but it was like playing make believe.

I dabbled in designing women's fashion and was elected President of the Hartford Chapter of NAFAD (National Association of Fashion and Accessories Design.)


At age 22:
After visiting my wife and new born son, I was on my way home from the hospital when sexually aroused by the sight of two very effeminate men on the bus.

I got drunk for the first time.

I stopped feeling.


At age 23:
I was a father of two.

Although I loved my family, I didn't want to be married. There wasn't anyone else in my life, I just didn't want to be married to anyone.


At age 24:
Regardless of the money and the fact that the band had backed-up the likes of Little Stevie Wonder, Chubby Checker and Chuck Berry, I felt my musical creativity was being stifled. In addition, I became dependent on it as a second income. Although I tried to put up a descent front, fact was I hated playing in the band. The only saving grace were the fans who came to see and hear us.

I was devastated after learning of my wife's past unfaithfulness.

My curiosity leads me to a gay bar for the first time.


At age 25:
I was a divorced, single father raising my oldest son, an emotional wreck and living with my parents. Despite the occasional sexual encounters with Luke, I wouldn't identify as gay, not even to myself.

A Second Life to Choose

If I had a second life to choose
A rich, fat, cat I'd be
And I would never give
Just take and live
In luxury.

Diamonds and emeralds would trim my dish
Constructed of solid gold
And my servant had better fill it with lobster
Piping hot
Not cold.

Red satin pillows and peacock feathers
Would be my place of rest
Where I
Would lie
And contemplate
Upon being a bigger pest.

But it would probably be discovered
That I'd rather take than give
But I really wouldn't worry
I'd still have eight more lives to live.

At age 26:
I increased my visits to the gay bars. Though I didn't have sex with anyone, I socialized with fans of the band and dated a few women in my ongoing search for "happily ever after".

My grandmother died.

Gramma Said

When I was a little boy my grandmother lived with us. Folks use to call her Mae Francis.
She had these sayings and riddles that never made any sense - well at least not then.
Whenever I started blaming people, places and things for my problems
She'd say "Whenever you point one finger there are three pointing back at you."
And if I was on one of my complaining sprees she'd remind me "Remember the man who complained of having no shoes until he met the man who had no feet."
She use to say "A hard head makes a soft bottom," and she proved it one day when I came home angry and tore down my school pictures she had pinned to the walls for everyone to see.
I tore down her pictures, she tore up my behind.
But the riddle that use to baffle me was when she'd ask, "How come night falls and it don't break, and how come day breaks and it don't fall? And a broken watch gives the right time twice a day."
I use to think to myself, "This woman has just lost her mind. How come night falls and it don't break, and how come day breaks and it don't fall, and a broken watch gives the right time twice a day?"
Oh well, that was my Gramma; that was Mae Francis.
Sometimes life would bring disappointment and heartaches my way, and in a voice that was both comforting and understanding she'd say, "When one door closes another one opens," and "This to will pass."
Anytime anyone tried to tell her she had to do anything
She'd fire right-back at them, "The only thing I've got to do is die."
And one day she did.
But it wasn't until some years had passed before I'd come to realize the wisdom of her sayings
And the lessons to be learned from her riddles.
The riddle of the broken watch being right twice a day tells me that no one is always wrong.
But the riddle of night-fall and day-break took a little longer.
Then it occurred to me one day that the riddle was a lesson in humility.
I may like to think I know all the answers
But I don't
Nor am I suppose to.
Sleep on Mae Francis, sleep on.

At age 27:
I worked part-time in the band and the print shop, went to college full-time and got my driver's license.

One of the guys in the band and I got drunk, parked, had sex and kissed on our way to picking up his girlfriend. It was my first guy-kiss. It was the first time I saw the fireworks like I had seen in the movies.


At age 28:
I walked away from my music. Although the band's popularity was primarily local I sampled enough fame to know that it wasn't something I wanted.

I also ran screaming from a brief second marriage, and came out to myself. I felt like I should have been celebrating the discovery of this new awareness, but knew society, friends and family would not be nearly as excited as I was. Only my bar associates understood the relief of breaking the hinges off the closet door.


At age 29:
I celebrated my new found self with increased drinking and sex.

After entering a poem into a contest, I was notified that "A Second Life to Choose" received the Poetry Guild's Editor's Choice Award.


At age 30:
I was a senior designer of an interior design unit. The "Space Unit", which we were referred to, was comprised of seven people of which four, including myself, loved to party. I had a crush on one of the guys, but never said anything.


At age 31:
I was the Insurance City Entertainment Representative, producing variety shows for the sick and shut-ins. I resigned after realizing the group's lack of sensitivity and unwillingness to coordinate culturally appropriate performers. Example: Among her performers, a representative included a magician for a show at a school for the blind.


At age 32:
I was very popular in the gay bars and received invitations to 11 News Years Eve parties. I went to five of them - I think. I was too drunk to remember if I had had a good time.


At age 33:
I got a taste of freedom when my son and I moved into an apartment of our own. As a result of my not knowing much about cooking, Hamburger Helper was a kitchen staple. We also ate out - a lot. Eventually the two of us gain reputations as above average cooks.


At age 34:
I was stoned one night and wrote a song about a cat with an attitude. The next day I changed a few words and submitted it into a contest. Months later I won "Honorable Mention" over thousands of entries.

Mrs. Jones' Cat

Two little dogs - take'n a short-cut through Mrs. Jones' yard one morn'n
Said one little dog to the other dog, "Ain't it a bright strawberry morn'n?
I see Mrs. Jones has a brand new cat, let's have some fun.
We'll sneak right-up behind him, yank'em by the tail, start ta bark'n then watch'em run."
"Hey man," said the other dog, "You haven't heard? That mangy ole cat of Mrs. Jones done killed four dogs and ate thirty-nine birds. He done run all the rats out of town, killed a big ole snake and flipped an alligator upside-down. So my advice to you little brother, ya better pack your bags like the others,
cause we leave'n town."

Two little birds - fly'n cross the sky one morn'n
Said one little bird to the other bird, "Ain't it a bright strawberry morn'n?
I see Mrs. Jones has a brand new cat let's have some fun,
We'll fly down on that fat cat's back, peck'em on the head, make'em holler then watch'em run."
"Hey man" said the other bird, "You haven't heard? That mangy ole cat of Mrs. Jones done killed four dogs and ate thirty-nine birds. He done run all the rats out of town, killed a big ole snake and flipped an alligator upside-down. So my advice to you little brother, ya better pack your bags like the others,
cause we leave'n town."

One little wise owl - sit'n in the tree top that morn'n
flew down and ask the dogs and the birds, "Where y'all go'n this bright strawberry morn'n?"
They told him how Mrs. Jones' cat killed four dogs and flipped an alligator upside-down.
Then the little dog told the little wide owl
"Ya better pack you bags like the others cause we leave'n town."

"Hey y'all" said the little wise owl, "Have you ever tried to understand? Have you ever shown a little love, extend a help'n hand? Have you ever shown a little respect or treat'em like one of your kin? So my advice to you little brothers, ya oughta pack away your bags and try be'n a friend."

Two little dogs - take'n a short-cut through Mrs. Jones' yard one morn'n
Said one little dog to the other dog, "Ain't it a bright strawberry morn'n?
I see Mrs. Jones' brand new cat - let's have some fun.
We'll ask him to join us at the fish'n hole, take a little dip, then rest in the noon day sun."

At age 35:
In my search for love (and happily ever after) I had more sex partners on some days than some people have in a life-time.

Amour Du Jour

(Love of the Day)

I really felt this time it was for real.
Our signs were compatible
We liked the same colors
Idolized Nina Simone
And set my red satin sheets on fire.
By sunrise he was gone
And so were my CDs of Nina Simone.

A security guard followed me to the bar one night when I got off from work. He claimed I looked like someone he chased out of the building trying to steal a computer. After an internal investigation proved me innocent he was terminated without the benefit of a two week notice.


At age 36:
I was in a constant state of depression. It was a time when there were very few laws protecting gay people; the state of Connecticut could have taken away my son and I could have lost my job - just for being gay. I was also addicted to alcohol, but didn't know it.

Fear
I feared bringing shame upon you
Even though I had no shame
And knew that somehow, someway
You'd feel you were to blame.

I feared you would laugh and ask
"Are you the woman or the man?"
And that neither my rage or pain
Would be something you'd understand.

I feared your indifference
And the thought of your rejection
Only nourished my fears
And encouraged my deception.

The one you say you love
Is the one I continue to be.
Now I fear your only love
Is for the person you want me to be.

At age 37:
I thought I had found a religion to help me stop drinking, but it condemned homosexuality. I detached myself from religion and its followers, and questioned the existence of God. I could no longer accept the notion that homosexuality was wrong. I had met too many gay men who where much more loving and giving than the so-called "Upright Christians" I had been exposed to.


At age 38:
I came out to my oldest son and my mother; they already knew.


At age 39:
I found love with another guy.

At age 40:
I had a lover, a great job and a fabulous apartment; it all sounded good, but I was not happy.

The sudden death of my sister's husband results in being a stepping stone towards me seeking help with my drinking problem.


At age 41:
I read an article in the newspaper about a "gay cancer" that was killing gay white men in San Francisco. In addition to being concerned I was skeptical about a cancer that only affected gay, white men. Soon after a Black man and an elderly, straight White man are diagnosed with this new cancer.

At risk of losing my job, I entered the Spofford Hall treatment center for alcoholism. It continues to be the best thing I've ever done for myself.

The anger, disappointments and heartaches totaled the resentments that led to my alcoholism. But, it took realizing my role in the same anger, disappointments and heartaches that led me to sobriety.


At age 42:
I walked away from a three year relationship and celebrated my first sober anniversary with a trip to San Francisco, but was painfully lonely.

I've always heard "You have to love yourself first before you can love another", and I really thought that I loved myself. But it wasn't until years later I came to realize I didn't even know myself. I was so busy impressing others that I lost track of my feelings and who I was. My focus was on satisfying the needs of others while ignoring my own. The emptiness I was feeling was caused by my not knowing and loving my true self.


At age 43:
I co-founded a 12 step meeting.

I was reunited with my youngest son after not seeing him for 17 years. I told him I was gay and it didn't seem to bother him at the time.


At age 44:
To give my gay social life a boost, I joined Men of All Colors Together - CT. As a result I received training to do Safer Sex work-shops.

A guy I'd been dating for over a month become the first personal friend to test positive for AIDS.


At age 45:
I drew cartoons for Connecticut's only gay, news magazine MetroLine.

My youngest son and his wife have their first child, making me a grandfather for the first time.


At age 46:
I appeared in a newspaper article addressing issues of gay Black men.

I smoked my last cigarette; getting off the booze was a piece of cake in comparison.

I started a support group for gay men of African heritage.


At age 47:
I was the Connecticut Representative for the National Task Force on HIV/AIDS Prevention.




At age 48:
A guy I had been dating died suddenly from a drug related heart-attack.

My youngest son and his wife present me with a second grandson.


At age 49:
I received the first of many awards for my work in HIV/AIDS prevention and education.

I become a grandfather for the third time with the birth of my youngest son's baby girl.


At age 50:
Although I loved my job with the design unit I felt it was time to move on, and accepted a "Golden Handshake", retiring after thirty years with the same company.

My youngest son informs me that he and his wife feel I shouldn't be around the grandchildren as much because my being gay conflicts with their religious beliefs.


At age 51:
I moved into a smaller apartment hoping to focus on writing music.


At age 52:
I moved back home to help my mother take care of my ailing father, and discovered she needed as much care as he did.


At age 53:
The stress of taking care of two parents was over-whelming, but I managed to do so without drinking or smoking a cigarette.

Two weeks after my father died, I joined Urban League of Greater Hartford as its first openly gay man providing HIV/AIDS prevention and education.


At age 54:
After several months of dealing with Mom, my sister agreed that it would be better for our mother to move in with her. A few months later Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

I lost a very special friend to AIDS complications.

Remembering Peter

At first, a minute rarely passed that I didn't think about you.
Slowly, the minutes turned to infrequent days and seasons.
You were the one who showed me the colors of Spring
Their various shades of red and green.
I still think of you at the sight of a purple sunset.
I see your laughing eyes clearly through your cola thick glasses.
A breeze gift-wrapping your face with your limp blond hair.
We never kissed eachother's lips
But we kissed eachother's heart.
You were the first man I ever loved.
You were my dearest friend.
I miss you.

At age 55:
I reunited with the band for a "one night only" reunion dance which resulted in an annual reunion dance for thirteen years.


At age 56:
I co-founded the Kwanzaa Project, providing workshops addressing homophobia, hetero-sexism and self respect.


At age 57:
I founded, published and edited the Kwanzaa Project newsletter.

Just Like You

I was at the train station too
Just like you.
Just like your man
My man was going off to war too.
I saw you giving your man long good-bye kisses
But because I'm a man who loves a man
I had to shake my man's hand.
You wouldn't let me kiss my man good-bye.

Just like your man
My man sent me love letters too.
He told me how much he loved me and missed me
Just like yours told you.
But because I'm a man who loves a man
You wouldn't let me share my joy with you.

I was at the train station too
Just like you.
Just like your man
They pulled my man's flag draped casket off the train too.
I saw you cry
And I cried too
I cried and screamed as loud as I could
YOU WOULDN'T LET ME KISS MY MAN GOOD-BYE.

I loose two more friends to AIDS complications and write a short story titled, "For Love of Eric and Charles."


At age 58:
I represented the Black gay community on the Connecticut HIV Prevention Team.


At age 59:
"For the Love of Eric and Charles" is published in an anthology of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transsexual writings.

I'm labeled a leader of the Black gay community.

I'm nominated to be one of two Grand Marshals for the Connecticut Gay Pride parade.


At age 60:
I trained future HIV/AIDS trainers for the American Red Cross.


At age 61:
I started my own consulting business, advising agencies of the issues of gay men of African descent, and providing input required for grant applications.

At age 62:
I introduced the celebration of Kwanzaa to the gay community.


At age 63:
I become a grandfather for the forth time after my oldest son and his wife present me with my 3rd grandson.


At age 64:
I retired from HIV/AIDS education and start a photography business.


At age 65:
I moved to New Haven and fulfilled my dream of purchasing a baby grand piano.


At age 66:
I celebrate my 25TH sober anniversary.


At age 67:
I discover a hidden love for writing, even though I had been doing it off and on throughout my life.


At age 68:
The band performed its last reunion dance.


At age 69:
I loose another special friend to AIDS complications.

Missing Billy

Now that you're gone
There are no more long-distance wake-up calls for coffee.
There's no one to share recipes or dreams, devilish secrets or hopes.
No warm melodic voice tells me how special I am.
No one gets excited about my excitement.
There's no one to sing love songs to.

At age 70:
I've come to realize: Though my mother and father's words were sometimes psychologically painful, the fact is that I was very fortunate to have fabulous parents who did their absolute best with the cards Life dealt them. Whereas she tried to alter my being gay, fact is no one could change who I already was, and she was only trying to mold me into what had been dictated to her by the church, society and her peers as "normal" and/or "acceptable." My father never made it to high school, but he was smart enough to realize that I had more to offer than the "normal life" I wanted. Unfortunately, the existence of racism limited the achievements of Blacks.

Whereas I've always felt love, I've rarely felt acceptance.

What I want to be doesn't matter nearly as much as who I want to be. I've had the good fortune of doing work I loved. Whereas I didn't like the band's manager, and felt my creativity was stifled, I loved creating, entertaining and watching people enjoying themselves as a result of my performing. I'm equally as happy when educating those who are trying to help themselves.

I've been blessed with two fantastic sons, two great daughter in-laws and four grandchildren. One of my older grandchildren and I have talked at length about my being gay, and the youngest has been exposed to so many gay people I doubt he'll ever see being gay as anything out of the norm.

I've lived a life that many people only dream about. I've worked with several well known performers including various Motown artist, traveled to most of the major cities in the country, and have been blessed with a variety of friends.

The most gorgeous men are seldom beautiful, and the most beautiful are rarely gorgeous.

My love life has had its ups and downs with occasional heart-throbs and equal shares of heart-breaks.

Being gay/lesbian/bi-sexual/transgender isn't any more of a big deal than being left-handed. My mother shared with me the fact that she was once left-handed, but when she entered school they made her use her right hand. Like homosexuality, being left-handed was frowned upon because of some quote from the Bible.

Not everyone is cut-out for marriage or long term relationships. This is evident throughout the animal kingdom; some animals mate for life, some don't. The labels of "marriage" and "committed relationship" can be confining and create unrealistic expectations. I believe that two people of the opposite sex or same sex can have a loving relationship with or without sex, and it can include or exclude others. The trick is being honest with themselves and each-other.

We all have our peculiarities and differences, but when we peel away the labels we're all the same.


Fear is: False Evidence Appearing Real. If allowed, Fear can cripple me mentally, physically and spiritually. Fear hindered me from knowing and loving my true self.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

I may never come to realize my purpose in life, but it was not created to live in secret.

To get respect I must exhibit respect, and to exhibit respect I must have respect.

Because I know, accept and respect who I am, I love who I am.

As far back as I can remember I've always questioned the origin of the quote "Life is not a dress rehearsal." My question is "Says who?" I've yet to meet any man or woman who came back from the dead and proved one way or the other what happens after death. My personnel belief is that heaven and hell exist here in this thing we call Life, and the choice of living in either (heaven or hell) is pretty much up to us. I've also learned that you can't appreciate one (heaven) without having experienced the other (hell). In short, you can't appreciate the fragrance of a flower unless you've smelled a rotten egg. I could not experience joy without knowing sorrow. Therefore it is up to me to decide if I want to wallow in hell or walk all over God's heaven. If I choose to wallow in hell I'll surround myself with negative people, laugh at those less fortunate than myself, and complain from sun-up to sun-down. But on the other hand if I choose to walk all over God's heaven, I'll smile and greet my neighbors, and visit the ocean. I'll watch sun-sets and listen to the joyful sounds of Christmas. It isn't always glowing; some days are dark and cloudy. Sometimes there's thunder, lightening and tornadoes, but it's not the norm, and in the end I'm a little more grateful for what I have. Whatever happens after this life is done I have no clue - AND - that's OK,

Death

Sometimes I wonder:
Will my death be slow and agonizing or quick and merciful?
Will I die after a long illness, suffer before succumbing to injuries from some terrible accident
Or be struck by a bolt of lightening, never knowing what hit me?
Will I die in my own bed, a hospice or on the side of some lonely road far away from home?
Will I be surrounded by loved ones, curious medical students
Or friends and family who have gone before me, sent to guide me through the process of dying?
Is there a protocol? Is there a Haven and Hell?
Will death come when the spirit of Christmas fills the air
Or on a summer's day as I'm walking along the shoreline
Listening the seagulls harmonizing with the ocean waves?
Will it come on a Spring morning as the trees displays their shades of pink and white blossoms
Or a beautiful afternoon when the leaves have turned red and orange, and ride upon the crisp autumn air?
Will I be reincarnated?
Will I come back as another human-being, a fish or an ocean?
Oh well, I can only assume that death must be the dessert of life
That's why it's saved for last.