I buy water at the liquor store across the street from where I live. So I'm walking into the door, and standing, loitering, outside the door is a man. And I walk by him to go in, and he says, I want pussy! Now, I don't want to seem conceited or anything, but he was talking about me!
I do enjoy and feel compelled to talk about things that are taboo. One, because I think I'm a troublemaker inside, if someone says, "Don't say that," it's all I want to say. And also, something I learned in therapy ... which is darkness can't exist in the light, and then that made me think of something that Mr. Rogers said, which is, "If it's mentionable, it's manageable."
My stepfather, John O'Hara, was the goodest man there was. He was not a man of many words, but of carefully chosen ones. He was the one parent who didn't try to fix me. One night I sat on his lap in his chair by the woodstove, sobbing. He just held me quietly and then asked only, "What does it feel like?" It was the first time I was prompted to articulate it. I thought about it, then said, "I feel homesick." That still feels like the most accurate description - I felt homesick, but I was home.
She, uh, came out of the closet recently, my niece. Um... She announced to the family that she's a lesbian and... She's seven, did I mention that? And, uh, I don't even know if she knows what a lesbian is, but I support her completely. And, uh... I'll tell you what's heartbreaking. My sister punished her for it. Can you believe that? No pussy for a week. Which to us may not sound like... But when you're seven, you know, a week is a long time.