Dad I'm gay…(period)

Instead of swinging his coarse blue-collar fists at me in antipathy and tossing my creased Lee jeans and red Pro-Keds into the ragged alley behind our fertile home; on Saturdays he drove me passed the pugilistic football fields in his masculine Cadillac car, to the tittering ballet studio where I learned to tuck my d**k and point my toes, and sat amongst the proud parents of girl-children watching me signify and finger snap.