How Do You Explain to People What You're Really Like?

In the fall of 1982, I start at a new college. I get a room in the downstairs residence hall nearest the cafeteria, and I get there the day before my roommate, and open the windows wide to let in cool air (of which there doesn't turn out to be any). I set up my record player and play my new Oklahoma cast album that I got over the summer.

When the others show up, it turns out most of them don't like me much. I'm in the Performing Arts dormitory, which you would think would be a good thing, because I like acting, and theatre, and that kind of thing. But it isn't, it really isn't. A lot of the kids on the hall are gay. I don't mind gay people, even though my religion says I should. Gay people are outsiders, like me, and I am always on the side of the outsiders. But after they find out I'm a Baptist, the other kids on the hall don't bother asking me what I think. They just make a lot of assumptions, and then they don't like me because of them.

School Pictures

The day when our picture-orders arrive at school, is always a good day. The teacher has all our packets to pass out, and that's time she can't give us work to do. I take out a book and read, keeping one ear open to hear when my name is called. When I get my packet, I open it right away. I sort through the pictures, the little wallet-sized ones for us at home to keep, and the bigger, portrait-sized ones that get sent to my grandparents.