The Legend, The Myth, The Man: For My Father

On February 9th, 2015, my beloved father passed away unexpectedly. He was a deeply spiritual person whose awesome, incomparable influence is perhaps most responsible for my own spiritual convictions, as illustrated in my most recent post to this blog, over four months ago. I am not yet ready to put together and present the comprehensive tribute to my father that he so thoroughly deserves, nor to detail how this event has reshaped the rest of my life. And so instead I offer for all of your reading the Words of Remembrance that I spoke at his funeral on February 17th, 2015. I believe he helped me to write these words. I KNOW he helped me to speak them. 

And so I say to him, here and now, "I Thank You" and "I Love You".

To Jennifer and I, he was “Dad”. To all of you he was “Bob”, “Bobby”, “Uncle Bobby”, “Uncle Bob”, and “R.W.”. But despite all of the different hats he wore, we all knew the same man. Whether he had nothing or had it all, whether he was a child or an adult, whether before or after fatherhood changed his life. At every age and in every context, we all knew the same towering, iconic figure who had the strength of a legend, the integrity of a hero, and the heart of an angel.

Our Dad’s larger-than-life stature was genuine, but he was, like one of his heroes, John Wayne, truly a gentle giant. Underneath his powerful presence and brilliant wit was the precocious child who evolved without growing old. He never mellowed with age, and never lost the twinkle in his eyes that fueled a self-described “insatiable appetite for knowledge”. He devoured information from books, TV, and the internet, storing it in an extraordinary brain that never, ever lost its edge.

To everyone who knew him, our Dad was a living legend. But our Dad was also a profoundly sensitive human being. He always looked up with reverence to his sisters, Barbara and Diane, and viewed all of their children, and our Mother’s nieces and nephews, as his second children. He was a man of deep faith who neither doubted nor downplayed the role that angels played in guiding and protecting he and his loved ones. Chief among these guardian angels was my father’s father, Robert E. Jeffrey, whose name he gave me the honor of carrying. Jennifer and I were not fortunate enough to know our grandfather in life, but we grew up with his portrait watching over us everywhere we lived. And his presence was ever felt through our father’s love of him, and our father’s incurable sadness that his father passed away before his children were born. Jennifer and I now know that sadness, too. But we take our greatest comfort in knowing our Dad is now among the many angels who watched over him, including his Dad.

Dad provided counsel to countless family, friends, and colleagues, and was a natural mentor to the many, many people who looked up to him at every age and facet of life. He was the least judgmental man I have ever known, living by his own, defining motto: “I deal them in before I deal them out.” He believed in equality above all other principles, and my sister and I are blessed to have had a father who was truly and utterly devoid of prejudice. He loved nothing more than sharing happiness with others. He was an individual of boundless generosity who never felt more pride than when someone told him how comfortable they felt around him. Somehow our Dad was always surprised by how truly loved he was. But as with everything else in his life, he earned it. He earned people’s admiration. He earned people’s respect. And he earned his truly iconic reputation.

Our Dad was at his happiest when with Jennifer and I and our Mom, his soul mate and wife of 42 years. Our mother was his muse, the source of his strength, and the love of his life. Theirs is a love story that goes on eternally as he and our Mom continue to get us through this now. Our Dad raised Jennifer and I to only ever be ourselves, and provided unending support and encouragement to follow our dreams. We always felt loved and accepted, because we were.

Jennifer and our Mom and I have felt our Dad’s presence wrapped around us since the the day his journey here ended. And so on behalf of all four of us, I offer my condolences to all of you who loved him, for there are so very many people in this room for whom the loss is no less devastating than it is to us. I know our father is honored and amazed by not only the love and celebration of life, but by the wave of compassion and breathtaking generosity of so many people bringing comfort to our mother and Jennifer and I. We are overcome with gratitude to all of you, and so is our Dad.

I Honestly Know Me: An Evaluation Of An Evaluation

"You are very likely an Aspie."

This is a most unusual post. It does not deal with subject matter I normally talk about on this blog, or with anyone outside of my partner, my doctor, and my immediate family. This is my first post about my firm belief that I am an Aspergian (one with Asperger's Syndrome), and the devastating consequences that have resulted from my failing to realize this until well into my thirties. I can only imagine how many millions of people are struggling in their lives, in ways they can neither understand nor express, because they have no idea that they, too, are on the autistic spectrum. This first post is about the role that cultural stereotypes and my own constructed identity have played in making a diagnosis more difficult than I had expected. If not for the discovery of countless personal testimonials in books or online, I might still doubt myself about who I am and what it is that I am dealing with. Based on incredible feedback generated by past posts, I suspect many people out there are facing the same exact challenges that I am, and for the same exact reasons. And I hope that sharing my experiences may be beneficial to any of them who read this.

Part 1: August 29th, 2013

For the month leading up to the appointment, I was under the impression I would be undergoing a daylong series of neurological tests to determine if I, my family, and my referring physician were correct in the assumption that I have Asperger's Syndrome. I was so wrought with anxiety about what these tests would entail and how I would fare under them that I could not sleep for the two nights prior to what turned out to be a forty minute interview.

The appointment began at 8:30 AM. The neurologist came out to the waiting room to call me into an office where the evaluation began with a question along the lines of "so what brings you here today?". The neurologist was polite, but not especially friendly, with voice and body language suggesting to me that the neurologist felt I did not belong there and that this was a pointless exercise. Or, perhaps, that said neurologist was extremely tired. I told the neurologist about my family's encouragement in my being tested and my having many traits since childhood (as corroborated by relatives and many videotapes) up to the present. I told the neurologist that I have a family history of autism as well as bipolar disorder. I noted that while I had a cursory knowledge of Asperger's, I avoided researching too much so as not to impact my evaluation. I was asked a series of questions while the neurologist looked at a computer screen and typed.

I had begun the interview by stating that it was my sister who approached me about Asperger’s Syndrome after viewing Temple Grandin's TED Talk and being reminded the whole time of me. I indicated that growing up in a protective bubble with my parents and sister in a happy but insulated childhood allowed me to feel more comfortable expressing myself but meant that it took me much longer to pick up on how people in the world outside of my home would react to such expression. I even mentioned my “Vogue Boy” video because I felt that the performance people were seeing on video did not match who I really was off camera. What countless viewers interpreted as brave was in many ways blissful ignorance. (Something closer to my personality, if still meant for audience approval, was put on display in another video shot that same summer in a “1-2-3 Video” message booth.)

When asked about my early verbal communication, I referenced having been told over the years by my mother that I had uttered my first word at three months old when I greeted a housekeeper with a "Hi". The neurologist seemed skeptical. It may have been that this seemed out of character for a child with AS. But, that morning, I read the reaction as doubt that this event had even occurred. That at three months I had begun expertly mimicking sounds in response to specific stimuli seemed buried underneath overall suspicion, which fueled my subsequent insecurity about how my answers were being received.

I made it clear that I am a recluse living with my parents in my childhood home and that I had seen hardly any other people for the last year. I stressed that crippling social anxiety, not a lack of desire to be working, was the reason why I cannot get a job and turn my life around in spite of all the people who look at me and see nothing more than a typical “loser” stereotype. When asked about my sleeping schedule, I revealed with my trademark New England/Catholic guilt/shame that I am most inclined to go to sleep around 5 AM and wake up around 2 PM. This counters society's expectations of "normal", and I've spent two decades trying to conform, but it has been my natural tendency since puberty kicked into high gear at the age of thirteen. I didn't get a verbal response. But the neurologist's non-verbal response seemed to me, once again, critical and vaguely judgmental.

The most surprising interaction came about when the neurologist asked me if I dated or had girlfriends in high school. I told the neurologist that I’m gay, and that I knew this back then but was not out at the time. I told the neurologist that I did not cover this up by dating females, and emphasized that I was adamant about not leading girls on after a close female friend had had feelings for me which I could not reciprocate at a time when I could not be honest as to why. While typing, the neurologist stated, in regards to my being gay: “it was pretty obvious, but I have to ask”. At the time, I laughed, as I did not interpret it as hate speech. In hindsight, I feel this was part of an overall sense of dismissiveness that permeated the reactions to my answers.

Asked about my ability to read other people being angry or upset, I noted that my tendency was the extreme opposite: I always fear having just hurt people and I always think people are left upset. I begin to question every move I've made and everything I've said and in what way I could have hurt someone enough with what I've said or done to potentially destroy them. Someone telling me they love me one minute doesn't mean I won't be convinced I have not earned their hate the next minute, hence a perennial need for assurance. I don't know how much of this I conveyed in the office because what was on my mind and how it came out seems to have been somewhat disconnected. But I'd like to think I made it clear that my empathy, while abundant rather than lacking, is still extremely abnormal.

After giving my answers, I looked at my hands or looked at the wall or at the floor while the doctor looked at the screen and typed in silence. All of the neurologist's questions were met with honest answers. Most of these honest answers would indicate AS. But these were ultimately dismissed on the basis that: a.) I get along well with my immediate family, b.) I care intensely and obsessively about not hurting other people's feelings, and c.) "you seem amiable to me". According to the neurologist, my concern for the feelings of others indicated I did not have Asperger’s Syndrome, as “people with Asperger’s don’t really care if other people are happy”. The neurologist felt that my being close to my sister indicated I did not have Asperger’s Syndrome since the difficulty that people with AS have interacting with other people begins at home, and thus it would be unlikely someone with Asperger's would get along with family members.

The neurologist felt that simple therapy would treat what the neurologist perceived as severe social anxiety disorder, which had not only impacted my ability to pursue a job but also my ability to keep one for more than a matter of weeks or months. The neurologist felt that my experiences being a gay teenager at an all boys’ Catholic school in the 1990s could be largely responsible. The neurologist suggested that I was likely still dealing with unresolved anxiety from my semi-closeted high school years.

I reiterated something that I brought up early on in the evaluation, which is that I had been rapidly flapping my hands in states of intense thought or heightened excitement ever since childhood, when I did it openly, and that this is something I constantly still do in private as an adult. In the most alarming statement of the evaluation, the neurologist offered that this, too, was directly related to my homosexuality. “Most of my gay friends use their hands a lot” was the specific response. Once again, I laughed this off. 

The neurologist followed up this summation by noting that if I wanted to I could still make an appointment to undergo four hours of neurological testing to know for sure whether or not I had Asperger’s. At that point, I was anxiety-ridden, discouraged, and in doubt of my ability to understand anything about myself. I could not wait to get out of there, so I turned down the opportunity. I accepted the diagnosis despite my misgivings, I referenced my "Vogue Boy" video (no doubt a an unconscious suggestion to reconsider the diagnosis), and cheerily said goodbye with a big smile because I was so happy to be leaving. 

Part 2: March 29th, 2014

Over six months after my evaluation, I discovered that a number of challenges faced by my partner and I are commonplace in relationships in one which one (or both) partners have AS.  I proceeded to read books and testimonials from Aspergians writing in defense of their unique emotional make-up. Learning that perhaps intense over-empathy is being mistaken as a lack of empathy in a number of Aspies seemed to hit the nail on the head: this was EXACTLY what I was trying to communicate in the office that day about my skewed emotional make-up, but sadly to no avail. Maybe some Aspies, if not most, don't care if other people are happy. But many Aspergians assert that this oversimplification does not accurately describe all people with Asperger’s, and empathetic Aspies like activist/artist Alex Plank are clearly frustrated with not being heard--or, like myself and many Aspergian females, are not being diagnosed at all. 

My going in for the evaluation in the first place was based not only on my own feelings, but also based on the opinions of my parents, my sister, and my life partner. (Subsequent research has lead me to believe that my aforementioned loved ones are themselves undiagnosed Aspergians, hence the surprising closeness with my family.) One month before the evaluation, I had been referred to the neurologist by my physician, who “would not be surprised” if I was found to have Asperger’s Syndrome  based on knowing me through a handful of appointments over seven months. My physician also suspected that if I had AS, it would likely be a “mild” case. Subsequently, my fear about being evaluated was that my desire to please and my aptitude for unconsciously performing would suggest an outgoing personality and belie the fact that said “personality” is, in fact, a lifelong front. Sadly, my fear was realized. 

For seven months now, that morning of August 29th, 2013 has been a frequent source of pain and regret. I spent the preceding weeks anticipating a definitive neurological confirmation that would allow me to approach my life in a positive new way. I was given a diagnosis based on an interview, leading me to believe that I had apparently misunderstood myself for my entire life. I wore a Michael Jackson t-shirt into the office that day, because it was his birthday, or “Michael Jackson Day”, as I call it. Michael has been a guiding influence on me since my birth, and only more so since his death, and going in I assumed he was on the autistic spectrum, too. When I was told Aspies don't care about the happiness of others, I realized he couldn’t be one either. He, too, was obsessed with other peoples' happiness, and like myself, his isolated and intensely creative life was fueled by this aim to please, from his early success as an ultra-precocious child through his troubled adulthood.

I emphasized where I was at in my life, and not without a great deal of shame. I was thirty one, living with my parents, and had become a recluse. I was too anxious to drive a car or see people, and thus incapable of interviewing for a job or shopping around for a suitable therapist. I was spending my days writing by myself and my nights watching movies by myself. It is an endless cycle of solitude that is usually only broken by extended video chats with my partner, whom I feel is a fellow "Aspie" and who is also presently living with his family in a nearly identical situation. I have since learned that my present life, as described to the neurologist, is sadly not an unfamiliar manifestation of undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome. I am, like so many other undiagnosed adults, suffering the inevitable state of disconnection and uncertainty that comes with not knowing "what's wrong with me" in relation to the rest of the human race. If I had realized just how NOT alone I was, and just how RIGHT I was to be there that day, I would never have turned down the opportunity to undergo the very testing I thought I was showing up for in the first place. I went in for an evaluation based on traits that I saw in myself for years prior to the low point that my life had sunk to. I had no idea that day that said low point is further indication that I am not only correct in my assumption, but would have benefited immeasurably from having been diagnosed years earlier. And I would give anything to have known all of this last August. 

Prior to the evaluation, I was shocked and relieved to learn that rapidly flapping my hands while in a state of excitement brought about by intense inwardness--something which consistently attracted amusement throughout childhood before becoming a hidden, embarrassing trait ever since--is a defining trait of individuals on the autistic spectrum. But I did not know the word for this, “stimming”, until after my evaluation. I suspect that my use of grandiose hand gestures while explaining myself, rather than the stimming that I was attempting to explain, is what the neurologist reacted to. Several days later, my sister sent me a YouTube video of a young boy with Asperger’s whose mother asked him to demonstrate and explain his stimming. His behavior, his demeanor, and his description of his internal experience while stimming illustrated everything I had been attempting to communicate in the office and apparently could not. I saw myself in this child, as did my sister. Subsequently, the mortified reaction of everyone with whom I shared the doctor's "most of my gay friends use their hands a lot" statement preempted my own shock in being given such a stereotype-based response to such an incredibly common behavior of individuals on the autistic spectrum.

I would like to stress that I do not believe that the neurologist I spoke with was motivated by any homophobic inclination. With that said, I feel that my being gay was way too prominent an issue in this evaluation. Addressing my sexuality as “pretty obvious” early on and later writing off my stimming as behavior not unlike “most of my gay friends” was troubling, to me and to many of my loved ones. I have always struggled with social relationships, in predominantly gay as well as predominantly straight environments. Thus I do not agree with the theory that my problems today are directly rooted in my Catholic high school years, particularly not after fifteen subsequent years of being relentlessly open about my sexuality and in a decade-long relationship with another man. Two of my oldest friends, neither of whom I see very often but both of whom have been in my life since our youth, both separately joked that I had gone in for Asperger’s testing and been diagnosed as gay.

Based on the neurologist’s facial expressions and body language, I interpreted skepticism, condescension, and general irritation. I took the neurologist's "so what brings you here today?" as an implication that this was an audition as much as an evaluation. I proceeded accordingly, answering the questions and reading the signs sent by someone who struck me as going down a checklist rather than exhibiting concern for what I was saying and where it was coming from. Throughout the evaluation, I felt that the neurologist was looking at me as though I was looking at Asperger's as a scapegoat for my neurosis. I may very well have been correct in this assumption. Or I may very well have entirely misread the non-verbal cues before me. If indeed I completely misread the neurologist, then I feel all the more convinced that I have Asperger's. But regardless of the accuracy of my interpretation, by the time the forty minutes was up, I felt browbeaten and stripped of any sense of self beyond being gay and seemingly “amiable”. I also felt like such a neurotic stereotype that I turned down the tests I had wanted to have done so as to avoid further embarrassing myself in the eyes of the neurologist. 

I know that I have Asperger’s Syndrome. This is based not only on the overwhelming extent to which I can personally identify with the experiences of diagnosed individuals, but also based on the observations and memories of people close to me whom I have knowingly or unknowingly revealed my true self to in the years between my being an ahead-of-his-years child and a what-went-wrong-with-him adult. I also know that my evaluation had a catastrophic effect on my self-esteem. I feel that a big part of my reaction in this regard was based on the fact that the evaluation seemed bound to end in dismissal from the get-go. That such focus would be placed on my sexuality suggests that perhaps my feigned demeanor had a bigger influence on my diagnosis than did my honest answers to the questions I was asked. Since that day, I have struggled to feel like myself again. But thanks to incredible blogs like SeventhVoice, communities like Alex Plank's WrongPlanet, and activists/authors like Temple Grandin, Maxine Aston, and John Elder Robison, the voices of people whose life experiences I most relate to are leading me out of the dark.

Up to now, this blog has primarily been a platform for me to worship my favorite stars, rave about my favorite movies, celebrate my favorite pop culture anniversaries, and generally indulge in my perceived narcissism--all indicators of Asperger's, I might add! Thus, you may rightfully be asking why I would suddenly feel the need to discuss extremely personal details about my mental health. And that brings me to the questions I’ve been asking myself in the days leading up to writing this post. Is it not possible that cultural stereotypes of gay men as high-strung and idol-obsessed has permeated science and medicine, and to such an extent that autism is being confused with homosexuality? Is it not possible that in the seven months since I accepted my diagnosis that numerous other LGBTQ people have accepted similar diagnoses, putting aside their self-understanding in favor of an expert opinion? And, more importantly, is it possible that doing so has lead to the same depression, anxiety, and overwhelming self-doubt that has swallowed up the last seven months of my own life? 

I have only myself to blame for letting anxiety and self-doubt hold me back from giving a “Yes” answer when offered the testing I so wanted. And so I blamed only myself for the last seven months. Now, I anxiously await the opportunity to finally undergo neurocognitive testing in July. I could not be more excited about Summer 2014, and I pray it provides the assurance and optimism I sought out in Summer 2013. In the meantime, I will fight to believe in MY understanding of myself, even if it means fighting against the real or perceived skepticism of others. I stand alongside everyone waging a war against such doubt, and will keep my comrades up to date through future posts.

Confessions '13: It Came From Religion Class

Wow, the stars truly aligned.

I was planning to finally end the five month hiatus from my blog by once again posting for "Confessions Day", the anniversary of the U.S. release of Madonna’s Confessions On A Dancefloor. Then I figured I’d give that a rest since, well, I’ve already confessed enough. Besides, I’m working on a little something for another upcoming Madonna anniversary that I thought would make a more impactful comeback post.

Alas, The Universe had something else in mind: an entry that feels like déjà vu.

Once again, I discovered a piece of thought-lost writing from my Catholic high school years: in this case, a short assignment written in a notebook for religion class. And, wouldn’t you know, it was written just a few desks away from “James”, the straight classmate whose lone year at my alma mater came to define my adolescence. So I thought I’d precede the formal relaunch of my blog by posting my irrepressibly honest fifteen year old self’s every handwritten word. Try to keep in mind, this was written by a 9th grader in love. But, also, that nearly all of it of it still applies to me today.

That, for better or for worse, is my Confession ‘13.

Bob Jeffrey

1/22/97

1.        Learning
2.        Family/personality
3.        Where You Are In Faith Experience
4.        How Is Freshman Year Going For You?

1

1.   I’m not really a smart person. I get distracted a lot while doing my homework, and I usually take a long time because of this. I often “drift off” in class, and will sometimes start falling asleep while taking notes or listening to a lecture.
2. I am kind of a bizarre person. I always try to reach out and help people, but I keep a lot of things “bottled up”, so it can result in a short-temper. I think I might be manic-depressive. I had a horrible experience in junior high, and I believe this brought about manic-depression. I am very sensitive and I am always worried about what other people think of me. I often make myself think that they think bad things about me, and I make myself believe I am a horrible person. I try to be as outgoing as possible, but in reality I am very shy and self-conscious. I am very close to my family.
3. I used to go to church just about every week, but I haven’t gone in a long time. Still, I believe in God and Jesus Christ and I pray all the time about various things. Though I attend CCD, I find that I miss it often. Still, I consider myself a very religious person. 
4. So far, freshman year is a blast! I hated junior high, and so far high school is fantastic. After my Jr. High experience, I became really shy and a loner, but I am gradually getting back to the way I used to be. I want so bad to be popular, though. I think that right now I am average. I’m not popular, but not unpopular. I have a lot of people who I consider my friends, and no one here is mean to me, that I can recall. Fortunately here there isn’t as much of a rat race. People all seem to be on the same level, like everybody here is friends with everyone else. Hope that won’t change now that I said it.

Suffice to say, the high I was on when I wrote this certainly did not last for the rest of high school, and I would never again take such an unnecessarily revealing approach to in-class assignments. Or, if I did, I blocked it out of my memory. So allow me to close by dedicating this performance of one of my favorite "Confessions" tracks to the inner fifteen year old in us all.

Rob Loves Paula @ 24 fps

 
To honor the 50th birthday of one of my favorite singers of all time, Paula Abdul, I look forward to sharing with all of you my "blue-screen finale". I've coined it "Vogue Boy Returns" because it will be unveiled on June 19th, 2012, the 20th anniversary of Tim Burton's "Batman Returns", and because I've become detached from that "Vogue Boy" since he became a viral figure. (Trippy, huh?) Speaking of 'detached', I must warn you all that the Paula Abdul song I thought I would be lip-synching to turned out to be a re-recording by a karaoke cassette artist. As such, the video lacks the spark of my tribute to Madonna's immortal "Vogue", but I hope these photos attest to its continued effectiveness as a source of amusement.

Psst! It's now online: http://vimeo.com/robertjeffrey/coldhearted ! ;)

 

 

08/08/12 ADDENDUM: Thank you all for making this my most popular post on RobWorld!! :) My tribute to "Cold Hearted" was featured on Boy Culture and PerezHilton.com as well as being shared on Facebook and Twitter by The Born This Way Blog and the makers of the upcoming film I Am Divine. All of these amazing people helped make my "Vogue Boy" video a viral success, and thanks to their championing of "Vogue Boy Returns", the video went on to be viewed 10,000 times in its first week! Better yet, it was seen by the single most AWESOME possible viewer: Paula Abdul!! On June 26th she answered a Tweet from Perez Hilton asking if she had seen my home movie...and my inner nine year old is still flying high from her reply.

Confessions of a Teenager In Love

I recently unearthed a love letter that I wrote to a straight classmate in June 1998. I never sent it, and for years the letter has been a hidden chapter in my body of work. It is just as pure, and every bit as Madonna-influenced, as the “Vogue” video of myself as a nine year old. But this moment-made-public, unlike the “Vogue” video, was a work of pop art only ever intended for an audience of one. It is the ultimate proof of how madly in love I was at the age of sixteen. 

The object of my unrequited affection was briefly my classmate at an all boys’ Catholic high school. He left after our first year, and I spent the next three being hopelessly in love. I’ll call this person “James” because James Marsden looked so much like him back then that I formed a massive, “Vertigo”-esque crush on the actor. I wrote “my James” a heavily coded letter after he left, telling him what a great friend he was. But the letter below, written one year later, was meant to completely, and shamelessly, express the depth of my devotion. It’s sweet, hilarious, painful, and cringe-inducing in its lack of cynicism—a perfect time capsule of my summer as a sixteen year old. 

I changed the names of people, but not locations, and omitted only a few sentences that referenced a mutual friend. I’ve left it otherwise intact, including grammatical errors and internalized homophobia.

Hey James! This is Rob Jeffrey—again!! I know how weird this must be for me to be sending you another letter, but the reason I am writing again is because there was something I tried to get across in the last letter, but was a little too afraid to do. I realize that while we got along in school and talked to each other and all that, we never really hung around together very often. But what you may not know is that you actually played a much, much bigger role in my life while you were at SJP and after you left than you might have expected. Since you play such a huge role in my life, I think that you deserve to know a LOT more about me. So I decided to confess everything to you in this letter. The reason that I am using this paragraph as a “cover page” is to warn you about the content of this letter. The letter is very bold and upfront, and while I have tried not to make it too threatening, there is the potential that you will be offended by what I have to say. I just hope that you won’t see me as an enemy once you’ve read my letter. What I am going to tell you could shock the hell out of you, but no matter what your reaction is, my only request is that you please keep an open mind, try not to be too intimidated by what I have to say, and also that you read the whole letter through to the end.

              Okay, here’s the first bombshell: I’m gay. I don’t like to use those words, because I don’t really think of myself as “being gay” since it differentiates me from so many people, and because frankly it doesn’t play THAT big a role in my life. I have never come out in person to the people close to me, I just try to let them know without actually saying the words. I wasn’t planning on telling you all that, but I suppose it’s necessary that you know up front before you read what I have to say to you.

                Now, here’s the REAL bombshell: I Love You James. I have loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you in Miss Hill’s class on the 2nd day of school, and I have loved you more and more with each passing day since. Ever since I first spoke with you I have wanted so bad to tell you the way I feel, but rather than confess, I went the other direction and did everything in my power to keep you from knowing my Secret.

      I think that in the back of my mind I thought that one way or another you would know by the time that high school was over that I loved you, but when I found out you were transferring to a different school, I figured that I would never have the chance. That’s why I sent you the letter last summer. I hoped that you would somehow realize after reading the letter that I was in love with you, and that sending the letter would somehow bring about a fairy tale ending. All summer long I waited for that fateful phone call from you, hoping and praying that you would call and tell me that you loved me too, and that we’d live happily ever after. Believe me, I KNOW how fairy-ish that sounds, but as I found out, I guess I’m just a sucker when it comes to love.

                By the time school started, I’d pretty much given up hope on that phone call. Then, four days before my 16th, birthday, you called. I can still remember so vividly the sound of your voice that day, and how overjoyed I was to hear it. I couldn’t even think of anything even remotely intelligent to say, because I was so nervous and obsessed with sounding cool on the phone so that I’d impress you. Yet coming off of that phone call, I felt so happy and relieved and unbelievably optimistic. That day still remains one of the greatest days of my life, and definitely the happiest day of Sophomore year. Unfortunately, the days that would follow would not be so happy.

                The 10th grade was a long year for me James, not just because it was so academically difficult, but because I was living my life without my one true love. It was bad enough to be alone in that situation, but what made it all worse was that I felt like I could and should tell that person that I loved him, and yet I was too chicken to go through with it. James I have loved you since the beginning of Freshman year, and for the past 18 months I have devoted my life to keeping those feelings a secret from you. But this secret is literally eating me alive. During the year I spent most of my time after school just working on my homework, and on weekends I stopped going out. I would just sit up in my room watching TV and listening to Madonna, hoping and praying that our paths would cross. I had the power to change all of that, and yet I didn’t. For some off the wall reason I had and still have myself convinced that suffering the way I did and the way I am now is better than being rejected by you.

                By now I am sure you have heard the song “Frozen”, and that song is the best way to describe not only my feelings for you, but also my own emotional state since you left SJP. When Madonna is singing that song to her “lover”, it sounds as if I was singing to you. It perfectly embodies my feelings of “terminal yearning” for you, my burning desire for you to “open your heart to me”. Yet at the same time it also describes my own state of being “emotionally frozen”, which has resulted from the absence of love in my life, the absence of your love in my life.

                So many nights I have wondered what point there even was to living. I have been so unhappy, all because of my own fear and insecurity, and I just had no motivation to go on if this was what my life was going to be like. My only real mission which had yet to be accomplished was that I still hadn’t  told you I loved you. I don’t know if you ever saw Dick Tracy, but there is a scene in that movie which is without a doubt one of the most significant pieces of cinema I have ever had the opportunity to see. At the end of the movie, Madonna’s character, Breathless Mahoney, has just been shot, and as she is dying Dick Tracy holds her in his arms. She looks up at him and says “Tell me the truth, could it ever have happened between us?” He didn’t answer, and then Madonna leaned up and kissed him, before closing her eyes and dying. I know how insane this is going to sound, but oftentimes I would think that being in this situation would be the only chance I might have to tell you how I really felt. If I was minutes away from death, and I told you I loved you, then I wouldn’t really have to worry about your potential anger, I wouldn’t have to worry about the taunting and discrimination which could arise from my confession, because I wouldn’t live to suffer it. There were times when I even hoped that I would end up in that situation, of being near death, because I thought that that was the only situation where I would be forced to tell you I loved you, since I would no longer have the “luxury” of hiding it from you for any longer. I realize how mental that sounds, and the fact that I’m telling you must seem even more bizarre, but my reason for telling you is to demonstrate just how much I wanted you to know that I loved you, and also how hard it was for me to actually say those words.

                Every time I see a movie that is even remotely romantic, it immediately makes me think of you. It doesn’t just make me think of you because of the romance in the movie, but because I feel like these are the movies which I should be watching WITH you. There are so many movies which I wish I’d watched with you, so many songs I Wish I could have listened to with you. It truly terrifies me to think there are people who I go to school with now, who I barely even talked to last year, who know more about me than you did. I want you to know everything. I want to give you everything. I just want to open my heart to you and tell you everything that’s on my mind, because I think that you should know me better than anyone else in the world. I feel that I owe that to you. I know that all this must sound TOTALLY psychotic and now I am worried about you being scared more than anything else. I am not trying to put all of this crazy shit on your shoulders. I’m just trying to fully express myself to you, because I do feel that you deserve to know what an important role you’ve always played in my life, and just how much I truly love you.

                I can still remember, way back in December, sitting in a movie theater and watching Titanic. Throughout the whole film, I could see parallels between what was happening onscreen with what had happened off screen in my own life. During the movie, I found myself being able to relate to the character of Rose, some one who essentially performed throughout her whole life, playing a role she didn’t want to be playing. Yet then Rose was saved by Jack, who brought her liveliness and joy, and who basically brought Rose back to life. That’s what you did for me James. I went into SJP determined not to bet eh same person I was at Masco, bur rather to be an altar ego who I had created. Everyone used me and treated me like I was worthless when I went to Masconomet Junior High. I decided to just give up being The Nice Kid and do my best to be the most popular and powerful person in the grade. I was so consumed by self-loathing that I no longer wanted to be Robert, which is part of the reason tha I changed my name to Bob, and the whole reason that every step I took, every word I uttered, was completely calculated. I was obsessed with impressing every single student and becoming the person who I thought I wanted to be, as opposed to being myself. I also think that I had unconsciously given up on love, because ultimately I wanted for popularity to be my own substitute for love. It all could have worked out, but as Madonna said in Dick Tracy, “You were my only mistake.” The one obstacle I had never counted on was falling in love. For some reason, it never came into my mind, until I found you.

                No one ever treated me the way you did James. I had seen so many movies with characters that had traces of you, and I always wanted to find some one like that as a friend or even a lover, but after years of friends who either never quite understood me or just used me for various reasons, I had pretty much given up on finding that person. Yet after only a few weeks of knowing you, my whole life was filled with romance and passion. I know how strange that is considering I wasn’t even ‘with” anyone, but whereas my goals in the past had all been based upon fame and fortune and success, after you walked into my world, I realized that all I could ever need was your love.

                While I am certainly not accusing you of anything, I would be lying to say that there were not times during Freshman year when I thought that you might share the same feelings for me that I had for you. Part of my reason for thinking that you might love me too was that you were the only person I have EVER met who could see through all the bullshit, who looked past my many masks and performances and actually saw The Real Me. It seems that in my life, particularly at St. John’s, I was always performing, always trying to make myself into everyone’s individual fantasy. It got so bad that when people would say to Be Yourself, I would panic, because I didn’t know who that was anymore. Yet not only did you ignore the walls I put up and show me what it meant to “be myself”, but you actually respected and cared for who I really am. You touched me in a way that no one else ever could, and that no one else ever will. At the same time, I also felt like I was seeing through you in a way that few people probably have. I got the impression that maybe not too many people told you what a wonderful human bein you are James. I know that you have a certain “image” which is sort of a cross between a 1950s “bad boy” and a mischievous, affable, class clown type. Yet after the conversations I had with you, and after seeing the way you treated your friends and listening to the questions you asked in religion class, I could see beneath your image that you were a much more complex person than I might have originally thought you were. I saw a person who was innocent, vulnerable, deep, kind, caring, and just the type of decent guy who’d give you the shirt off his back. When you were with me, that was the way you acted, and that’s the person who I fell in love with.

                I am not going to lie to you James. I want so bad for you to love me back the way that I love you, but if you don’t I’ll understand completely. I think that at this point what I need is closure. I just have to know whether or not I have a chance with you, whether or not I should keep waiting for you to tell me you love me. I know how strong that may sound, but I have to stop apologizing for being in love with you, and just bare my soul to you. Like I said before, I think you deserve that. If you don’t want that relationship, though, I hope that we can be better friends than we are now James. You have played such a significant role in my life, and I hope that we can at least maintain a friendship. I promise that I would never let my romantic feelings come between us. I was in love with you for the entire Freshman year, and I think I did a pretty good job of hiding it from you back then. If necessary, I’m sure I can do it all over again.

                I thought you deserved to know how I really felt about you all along, and now you do. Even if this letter were to completely destroy any trace of a friendship that we had already, at least I got the chance to tell you what an extraordinary human being you are. Something tells me that not many people have told you that you’ve changed their lives and that they think you are an incredible person. I’ll be a whole lot of people have felt this way about you, but even if they haven’t, I sure as hell did, and I still do. Corny as it may sound, the world would be a much better place if there were more people like you. When I first went into St. John’s, I was so shy and gawky and had “Unpopular” written all over me. Yet you still treated me like I was your friend, and for that alone I am eternally grateful. You didn’t boost my confidence. You GAVE me confidence, something that I had never, ever had before. And that is only one, early example of the many great things you did for me. You are so kind and admirable, James, and you deserve to know it, even if it’s in an otherwise potentially offensive letter.

                If you find, after reading this letter, that you absolutely hate me and want nothing to do with me, I would ask that you not tell anyone my “secret”. I have yet to come out to my close friends, family, and even my parents, and no one at SJP knows that I’m gay. My point is, if you are really angry about this letter, I’d ask that you not tell anyone about it. I realize just how self-absorbed that is, but I’m pretty terrified about what would happen if my secret got out. Still, if you did tell everyone, I would have to accept that, because by sending out this letter to you I am taking that risk. I don’t think, knowing the type of person you are, that you would do that, but nonetheless, I must be prepared for the worst.

                James, I cannot begin to describe just how frightened I am about sending out this letter to you. I can barely even type it, because my hands are trembling at the keyboard. As much as I have wanted to tell you all of this, I’ve also wanted to play it safe for the rest of my life and keep all of this information hidden from you. That’s why I wanted for you to call me and tell me that YOU felt this way about ME, because I didn’t have the guts to tell you my feelings. Frankly, I still don’t. But I figured that somewhere down the line I would not be able to keep it a secret any longer and would just have to tell you. Rather than wait for years until I had that courage, I figured that for eth first time in my life I would take a risk and just act on impulse. I have been working on this letter for months, but I was never really all that serious about sending it, because I never thought I’d have the bravery to go through with it. Then, at 1 AM this morning, when I was tired and didn’t think quite as “objectively” as I do when I’m more awake, I decided that I would just say “What the hell” and send it to you.

                As much as I would love for you to call me and tell me, after reading this letter, that you feel the same way, I am not expecting for that to happen. As a matter of fact, I am expecting quite the opposite. I once heard a quote which state, “If you love some one, so much that you can hardly breathe, then that person just has to love you back.” Since I was so very, very much in love with you at St. John’s, I would often interpret certain things which you said or did as a sign that this quote was, in fact, the truth. I know that that may sound stupid, but I guess I’m just a pretty gullible person, because although my wish might come true, in all honesty I doubt that it will. Despite the fact that I sometimes thought you might “like” me, you never gave me any reason to think that you were gay. I just hope that you won’t hate me after reading this letter, and that you won’t see me as some kind of a threat to you because I’m gay. The reason, as I stated before, that I am so nonchalant about being in love with someone who happens to be male is because I hardly ever consider myself “gay”. I don’t like to be categorized, and therefore I don’t often categorize myself. My point is that I hope my candidness is not too intimidating about being in love with you is not too intimidating, and that you won’t think I’m some kind of a weirdo for telling you all of this.

                I know all of this must be pretty heavy for you James, and if you are reading this sentence, I think you deserve to be thanked for reading through to the end. In my original draft of this letter, I wrote in the last paragraph that no matter how you felt after reading this, that I’d really like for you to call me to tell me what your reaction was. Although I still would like for you to let me know how you reacted, the fact of the matter is that now that I am actually preparing to send out this letter, I’m rapidly becoming 100% chicken shit, and therefore I’m pretty damn scared about your reaction. What I’m trying to say is that if you are upset about this or really don’t want to talk about it, please don’t fell that you have to contact me right away. In fact, if you don’t ever want to talk to me again, it probably would be better if you didn’t call at all. But if you aren’t that upset, and don’t completely hate my guts, then I would really like to hear from you. Even if you are calling to say that you aren’t gay or just “don’t like me that way”, which I assume will be the case, or if by some chance you really DO feel the same way about me, then I really do need to hear from you. During the past year, my thoughts have almost always been concerning “what could have been” and “what might still be”, so at this point what I need more than anything else in my life is closure. I want to start my life again, and while it’s a LOT to ask for, I need to know whether or not you are going to be a part of it. Even if we just became good friends, that would be enough for me. You are a great person James, and anyone who has you in their life is truly blessed.

                If you would like to get in touch with you after reading this, my telephone number is (978) XXX-XXXX, and my beeper # is (781) XXX-XXXX. My e-mail address is XXXXX@aol.com, and my postal address is on the back of this envelope. If you would like to talk to me, please get in touch via whatever is the easiest and most convenient form of communication for you. Please don’t feel that you have to do it very soon, or that you even have to do it at all. What is important to me is that you know all of this, and now that you do, my mission in life is accomplished. I guess all I have left to do now is meet Madonna J Thanks again for everything James, and no matter what happens in our futures and regardless of whether or not we’ll ever talk or see each other again, I wish you the very best in life.

                                                                                                 

Sincerely,

                                                                                                                Bob Jeffrey

I spent hours writing this epic letter at the family computer before I was prevented from sending it by my parents, who figured out I was off to send a love letter to a straight male. I saw myself as the Juliet to James’s Romeo, initially, but was soon quite relieved: I came out to my parents that night, and the response of warmth and unconditional love was truly as ideal as any gay son could ever hope to receive. Far from forbidding me to be in love with another man, they were keeping me from giving my emotions to the wrong kind of man, and potentially paying a bigger price than I could ever have foreseen. At nearly twice the age I was when I wrote this, I shudder to think of the consequences such a confessional could have had in 1998 outside of my enlightened universe of Massachusetts. This was, after all, mere months before the murder of Matthew Shepard.

Of course, James never read this. In fact, for over thirteen years, no one has. Now I think it’s time it was sent out to the world. It’s hard to fathom that I thought a straight sixteen year old male would fall in love with the writer of this letter, but I admire my younger self for believing that. For all its shamelessness and self-absorption, the vulnerability on display is painfully familiar to anyone who has ever been in love with a person whose sexual orientation was not compatible with their own.