A friend of the family needed this information for a college speech class. I had a little bit of fun with it along the way, and I thought you might appreciate reading it this weekend or whenever you get the chance. I tried to tell it from his perspective, so enjoy it in the spirit in which it was intended. I love my boy and I try hard to understand him and teach him things in a way that will make sense to him. Read More A Day in the Life of a Fourteen Year Old Boy with Autism
17 is an interesting age. It is nestled between driving age and adulthood, a prime number that is written using the numbers 1 and 7. You add 1 and 7 together you get 8. If you take the number eight and lay it on its side, you have the symbol of infinity. What does all this mean? Not a damn thing really. Seventeen connotes the last exhilarating steps toward the huge change into adulthood, the end of high school, when most of us have gotten laid for the first time. We need seventeen to be this little island in our minds that we can refer to when we want to reminisce about simpler times. Imposing sunkissed summer days on the number makes it even warmer and fuzzy to curl up in when the complexities of life as we know it turn our emotional skies gray. 17 is simply what we make it, regardless of the year. Read More The Summer I Was 17 (Or Any Other Year)
Subtitle: The lyrical journey of a hormone-crazed 17 year old
When I was offered the opportunity to submit something to do with the summer I was 17, only the topic of music would do as it defined me at the time. Coincidentally, it happened to be the first summer I found myself penning odes in a letter that would accompany the “mix cassette” I would painstakingly create for the objects of my desire . So I decided to review some of my favorite sonnets, and to my awe there was a common carnal thread flowing subtly and insidiously through them. Here are five that eptiomized my perverted chivalric bent. Read More 1987 – The Year Music First Expressed My Love
I sat there drinking cheap, weak coffee in one of our many 24-hour diners, surrounded by the rest of the usual suspects. My car was outside with a flat tire, and I really didn’t care. I’d probably be here until it was light out anyway, that was just how it went on Friday and Saturday night when you’re too young for bars, too uncoordinated for clubs and you’d rather hear your friends argue the Yankees roster and see who could connect Abe Vigoda to Dudley Moore in the least number of movies instead of doing the party scene. Read More Seventeen
I have had two major sexual experiences in my life.
1. I was 17, and a virgin. I met a guy at a party, while very, very drunk. He raped me after I passed out.
2. I was 21, and in love. We had been drinking (a lot). He kissed me, and we had sex. Then he sodomized me without asking if I was okay with it, and wouldn’t stop even as I yelled. He also secretly taped us, as I found out later. He swears to me to this day he remembers nothing of that night. Read More Why I Will Never Own My Sluthood
I used to have a friend I interacted with mainly by internet. The mode of discourse changed the way I engaged with the world. It started off with my usual social trickery, digging around for funny links and pulling out trivia to make myself seem well rounded and fun. Eventually, I developed a big fat internet crush on this friend-of-a-friend who primarily existed as lines of hilarious, engaging text. Meeting him in real life made it worse, and I cultivated some habits in that mess, some good, some bad. Read More What I Learned from My Crush