I’m occasionally clumsy, I have semi-limited interests, I’m awkward around people sometimes, not always knowing how to keep a conversation going, and sometimes I don’t like myself. Shocking, isn’t it, that I wrote that for anyone to read? Well, it’s the truth, and people don’t talk about the truth as much as they should, so I will.
I was never comfortable being around the kids I grew up with: I couldn’t relate to them on a social level, nor could I, quite frankly, care. And it’s not like they thought about me too much, despite branding me as the gay kid before I even knew what the word meant. I only found out years later, away from their coarse breaths of judgment, that I could equate that word to my identity. And then I thought to myself, Could I be any less of a catch? I’m chubby, I have acne and I have Asperger’s, which causes my limited interests, awkwardness around people and trouble keeping conversations going.
In this world of ours, image is everything. And, in 2012, I wasn’t happy with my image, because I viewed myself in the eyes of those who would see me as a shattered visage of their expectations. I only thought it was going to get worse. Going into high school never seems to go well for nerdy, awkward people, if we have learned anything from pop culture.
I walk in on my first day, I don’t know a soul in the room, and like a lighthouse of hope, simmering across a bay of ugly futures, I recall hearing a group of people talking about a show that I couldn’t have bored my old schoolmates enough with. I start talking, freely, happily and at last I don’t have to be an outcast, because I found friends, friends I didn’t feel less worthy to be around. Although it took me more than eight years to realize at my old school, under threat of prejudice, it took me fewer than five hours before I mentioned I was gay.
Over my time there, I was getting happier with the person I was becoming. I gradually lost weight, got medicine for the acne and became even happier with my image by my clothing. If I don’t say so myself, I would respectfully argue that I’m the most dapper person in the entire building, and I truly, genuinely love it, because it simply makes me happy.
Now we come to the part where I actually go to Pride (took me long enough, didn’t it?). I missed the parade on my own scheduling faults (there’s the clumsiness again) but I made it to the festivities and again I entered uncertainness. I worked hard to be accepted by my peers; would the community that I am comfortable identifying in welcome me as well? I should have never doubted them, because this gay community of ours has people from every possible fold in life: man, woman black, white, Asian, Latino, Arab, rich, poor, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist and basically any other diversity on this earth. It might seem like a little thing, but I can’t help but smile to this day at the fact that not one, but I believe three, men hit on me! Now I won’t flirt and tell but if I could, I would thank those men again for giving me a little extra confidence.
The rest of the evening was wonderful, or as our ancestors put it: “I had a gay old time!” I saw The Village People (a rite of passage if you ask me), I saw people of all different types around me, including more than enough attractive men, food, games and more that I could have enjoyed in the time I had. The next time I go to Pride, however, I’ll get up when the roosters cluck if I need to — I’m not missing a second of it.
So what’s to be gathered from all this, about images, Asperger’s and being gay? Well, my reader, having Asperger’s made me feel that I wouldn’t be the best catch for any man, but going to Pride made me realize that no matter who I was, I can be proud of whoever I am. And what I am is a dapper gay man with Asperger’s — and I don’t think I’d have it any another way
Sean Morris, 16, is a junior at Science Leadership Academy.