Chapter 8: I Knew I Was Gay Before I Knew I Was Black

When I was 6 years old, a close family friend was bathing my cousin and me. She left to get some towels, and when she returned, she found me playing with my cousin’s penis right there in the bathtub. While I don’t remember what happened, I do remember the drama it caused among the adults. Concerns were raised, and sides were chosen, and the fact that I was a child didn’t matter. I was to be watched for any additional indiscretions.

The children in our family were not as forgiving as the adults. They called me “faggot.” I had no idea what it meant, but I understood it was a powerful pejorative like “poopy-head” or “asshole.” While I may not have known who I was or what I wanted to be, I knew what I didn’t what to be: I did not want to be a faggot.