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a letter

Good morning, Livejournal. I haven't been blogging on here very often for the past few weeks.
Yesterday was my sister's due date. She hasn't had the baby yet. We're waiting and I'm nervous but I know that he will come when he's ready.
And to be completely honest, I'm horrified. I don't know if I've ever been so afraid in my whole life.

The Amanda Palmer show on Monday night was surreal. I blogged about it on Tumblr but I'm just going to ramble about it again on here because I still feel like it never even happened.
I took the train to Boston with my mom and Sophie. We ate dinner at Club Passim/Veggie Planet and went to the Harvard Bookstore. The last time I went to the Harvard Bookstore it was December 2006, when I was going to see the Onion Cellar with my dad, over three years ago.
Wandering those shelves, I was hit with this overwhelming sense of being, presence, nostalgia. I was such a different person three years ago. I was eleven years old.
We walked past the restaurant my father and I ate at, and we passed Cafe Pamplona, which Amanda sings about in "Truce" and is just always talking about in general.
And I saw it, my dream apartment. It's just down the street from the Oberon Theatre, the venue where the show was, and I saw it and just...knew. It is beautiful. I can't even describe it.
Cambridge is...Cambridge already feels like home. I can keep dreaming, I guess.

We finally made it to the venue and waited in line for an hour or so with the other people who had congregated by the main doors. We talked about Amanda Palmer and my mom went to go get ice cream and Sophie and I just kept waiting.
Eventually we got inside. I got my merchandise and we all crowded towards the stage and Jason played. He screamed and pounded on his guitar and his accordion and we spun in circles before singing "The Drinking Song."
Amanda came out and played a few songs and I remembered why I love her so much. I see her and I can't breathe. I see her and all I want to do is make people feel the way she makes me feel.
Evelyn Evelyn played and it was hilarious and sad and, when they were finished, it was 11 o'clock. They had a Q&A and then Amanda said they were going to sign things.
We waited in line. Sophie told me that I had to go first and I decided to just let it go, because I really don't feel like fighting with anyone anymore. It was the first time she's seen Amanda.
Eventually, it was my turn. I asked her to sign my vinyl and told her my name and I asked her if I could hug her. I told her that I've been in love with her since I was ten years old. She asked me how old I am.
I told her that I am fourteen. And I am so young. But it has been almost five years since I found her. And she has changed my life.
She kissed me on the cheek again and it was okay with me that she doesn't remember my name, because she meets hundreds of people every day and I'm just one person.
Sophie came and met me after and we walked away, holding hands, crying.
I always cry after I see her.

The week went by quickly because all I was thinking about was what my sister had texted me on Monday night when we were at the concert.
My dad added me on Facebook a few months ago, but I didn't approve him. He doesn't know that I'm gay. And I'm not ready to tell him. I've realized now that I'm never going to be ready, but I'm still putting it off, telling him.
But I guess on Monday night he went on my Facebook again, and saw it, there. Interested In Men. He asked my sister what it was about and she changed the subject and he didn't push it any farther.
I took it off my Facebook.
He brought it up again on Tuesday when I was in my room doing yoga, I guess. He hasn't brought it up since then, but he will. And I'm going to tell him. I have to.
I've been thinking about coincidence, and circumstance, and my father. When I started writing this post, I had the intention of writing my dad a letter that he would never read, about me. I think I'm going to do that, and just see whatever comes out, and just let it out.

I'm sorry. I can apologize hundreds of times and it's not going to change anything. You saw it, on my Facebook. You know now. You've probably always known. I've always known, I think. I've just been avoiding it, the same way I know you are.
So I'm just going to come out and say it. I'm gay. I don't want to hold a girl's hand and I don't want her to take me home to meet her parents. I want to be held by a boy who smells like the ocean, who will understand me the way I've always dreamed of.
There's something I have to say, first- it was never a choice. This wasn't a decision I made. I didn't wake up one morning and decide that I was gay, that I was incapable of being attracted to girls the way that normal boys are.
And this doesn't make me abnormal. This doesn't make me defective. This wasn't a mistake.
I am who I am this is what it is and I'm sorry. I already apologized. I'm probably going to keep apologizing for the rest of my life.
I don't want to have to be disappointed in myself. I want to tell you. I want to just come out and say it. I've been imagining ways I can bring it up without falling apart.
I keep thinking that we're going to be in the waiting room, and Ashley is going to be in labor, and you're going to ask me about it. I'm going to cry and you're going to cry and I won't have to tell you because the look on my face will be enough.
Is it ever enough?
I feel like I've always disappointed you.
When I was younger, and I played with dolls instead of action figures, I feel like I disappointed you. When I listened to Britney Spears and the Spice Girls and knew every single word, I was disappointing you. When I cut my tank tops into belly shirts and gave everyone the peace sign, I was disappointing you.
When you ask me if I have a girlfriend and I tell you that it's not important to me, I'm disappointing you. I'm lying to you. I don't want to lie anymore.
I met a boy last summer, who made me feel like the most beautiful person in the world. He loved me, and he still loves me, and I don't know if I love him. I've hurt him and he's hurt me and we have been through so much and I can't tell you about it because you won't understand.
Maybe you will. Maybe I'm just afraid. I know I'm afraid.
I met another boy, in the fall, who broke my heart. We spent three nights driving around this town that I have always lived in, listening to Imogen Heap and the soundtrack to The Wiz, and he kissed me in the parking lot at Lynch Park. It was the kind of kiss I've always dreamed of.
And he hurt me. And he's hurt me so many times, but I keep falling into his traps.
I want to tell you about him too, but I can't.
And there have been other boys. And there will be other boys. And maybe someday, I will tell you about them.
Maybe you'll never talk to me. Or maybe we'll live in this same house until I leave for college but you won't see me anymore, because I've become everything a father doesn't want his son to be.
I am not the basketball star. Or the baseball star. Or the football star.
But I am a writer. That's all I want to do. I want to write stories and songs and poems about people and I want ot reach people. I want to make people laugh and cry and live in a brickstone in Cambridge. I want to retire to London when I'm older, when my children are out of college.
Will I ever have children?
Will you ever forgive me.
I have a lot of questions.

I don't remember the last time I told you I love you. Maybe on my birthday, last summer? Maybe it was even farther back. Maybe I'll never say it again. Maybe you'll stop loving me.
But I love you. You're my dad. You will always be my dad and I will always be your son but I can't get those three words out because of the two words I have never been able to tell you.
Sometimes I think it doesn't fit me- gay. Does it fit anyone? I know it's the truth.
Friday was the Day of Silence. I didn't talk, for the most part, for over six hours. Sometimes I'd start talking and stop, all these things I wanted to say but couldn't.
My relationship with you has turned into that.

So maybe this is a bridge I have to cross. You have to cross it, too.
We can cross it together, dad.

I started writing a short story. It's called "Thread My Coat," which is a line from a Meg Hutchinson song called "Travel In." It's about a boy coming out to his parents.
It's been really hard to write. It feels disjointed and awkward, wrong, but I know it's right.
I'm going to finish it. I'm going to edit it and then I think I'm going to store it away and not look at it for a few months.
This is all, for now.
Thank you for reading.

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Robby, That letter to your father, made me cry! It was so well put together, and It was just beautifully written. I Loved it. And I know that we don't talk that much, But believe it or not, I think about you, almost everyday. It might sound weird, But its not. You are a beautiful writer, and I really love your work, Its wonderful. Thanks, Robby. -Colin[:

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