My first real friend.

I had a great childhood. We moved to Louisiana when I was around 8 years old. My parents bought a home out in the country about a mile from Lake Bistineau. Our neighbors across the street opened their heart and home to us immediately. Aunt Florence and Uncle Fred is what we called them even though we weren’t related.

Aunt Florence and Uncle Fred were farmers. They were more self sufficient than anyone I had ever met. Uncle Fred had a huge garden every year and he would recruit the kids in the neighborhood to help him plant the seeds and even drive the tractor at times. My favorite part was harvest time. I loved when it was time to hunt for ‘taters.’ Uncle Fred would plow up the mounds and make it easy for us to dig out the potatoes. The heat and the sun never bothered me when we were out in the field. I guess it was our youth but it felt great.

Aunt Florence was a great cook. She would fix a huge breakfast every morning for her family. Biscuits, gravy, bacon and eggs. I use to try to go over in time for breakfast but I was always too late. They got up before the chickens. I would get there just as Aunt Florence had cleared the table and was throwing the scraps out for the chickens in the back. I could still smell the bacon and the sight of her biscuits made my mouth water. There were so many days I thought about getting on all fours and eating those scraps with the chickens. I think if no one had been watching, I would have probably done that.

I had a great childhood friend. We played Barbie dolls together. My friend was great at sewing and made all my Barbie doll clothes. His name was Joe. We were the best of friends. We did everything together. We fished together. We played games together. We went to church together. Joe was exceptionally talented. He could play the piano by ear. He could hear a song one time and then knock it out on the piano. I loved it when he would play some ragtime for us. Aunt Florence didn’t like it much. She preferred it when he would play some of her favorite church hymns.

Joe and I remained friends until we left when I was ten. My dad received orders to do a tour of duty in Paris, France. We left that wonderful life in the country. We would spend the next three years in Paris, France.

When we returned to the States, my dad was nearing retirement and he loved Louisiana. He loved the fishing and hunting and he had decided that we would return to our home in Doyline. I was thirteen when we returned. Aunt Florence and Uncle Fred were the same. But so much had changed. They tore down their old dog trot and replaced it with a more modern house. It didn’t have the character of the old place and it was hard for me to adjust to the newness.

Joe and I had not kept up with each other and things were not the same. We had grown up and grown apart. Joe and I would go our separate ways. We left Doyline after graduation to start new lives.

A few years later, Joe called me out of the blue and asked me to have lunch with him. We went to Barbara’s Backporch in Doyline and had a wonderful lunch together. Catching up was great. Joe told me he had found love. And he had found someone to love him. I was so happy for him. I wasn’t surprised when he told me he was gay. I knew it all along. Even as a child, I knew he was special. I didn’t have a name for it and didn’t need one. I loved him for who he was. I loved his spirit. I loved his kindness. Without giving any thought to what all that meant. Whether it was right or wrong, I knew it was right for him. I’m sure his parents had a hard time with it. They were devout Christians and I’m sure their beliefs were challenged. But they loved him anyway, too. How could you not? Joe was wonderful. He was talented. He was gifted. He was generous. He was kind. And yes, he was different. But that’s the way God made him. There was no doubt in my mind.

My childhood friendship with Joe and my unconditional love for him opened my heart and my mind to accepting homosexuals for who they are. I truly believe you are born gay. I know there are some exceptions, but overall, I believe that it’s part of their genetic makeup. I find it hard to understand and accept the homophobia and the public ostracizing I see happening around me.

When did we get so hateful?