Since this past Fathers’ Day, my compressed memories — not “suppressed” as I thought all my life have been expanding, back into the conscious part of my brain.  Not bragging but please remember that I’m a member of Mensa, and I’m “different” (smarter yes, better no).  So after writing here yesterday, I think of something I wrote yesterday that is VERY important.

The Stonewall Riots.  Today, you have to Google it.  When it happened, I was 25, and a survivor (stupid euphemism: victim, OK?).  Why do I say survivor?  Because Allan and I went through the same childhood terror.  I have lived to 73, he died 48 years ago, at 17.  Your math was correct, Anita.  He’d be 65 today if…….

The Riots.  This was the 60’s, when many US cities experienced violent uprisings that make today’s stuff look like nothing.  The History Web site has the details, but I can’t handle that right now.  Worth a look, maybe later.  It’s just that the present overwhelms the past for me, which is a good thing, I assure you.

I have to be honest.  Well, I am anyway, but although I know now that I always was homosexual, I lived a straight life for more than 40 years.  I just figured it out: getting married (my first sex, remember) made me “normal” after a very abnormal childhood that I hated.  Think of the timing.  July one year after Allan died.  I was in mourning, and vulnerable. I go to dinner at a co-worker’s house and six weeks later, I’m a married “MAN.”

So the Stonewall Riots were just another headline to straight old me, but had to be a dagger in Allan’s gay heart, no doubt about it. OMG, he’d been there the year before, hung out with people, and…..  I don’t want to think about the “maybes,” R.I.P Allan.