It was during lunch and I only had one more class left, which was band. My first inclination was to not tell anyone because I knew it would come to light that I was being harassed for being perceived to be gay. Then one day, during one of our almost daily scuffles, Daniel - who was at least half a foot taller than me - stabbed me in the head with a pencil.
Kicks and punches, nothing I couldn’t fend off. The verbal threats eventually escalated to physical violence. They teased me and even made a Myspace page about me being a faggot. It was my imagined community at a time in my life where I had none.Ī few guys in my middle school thought I was too gay to like punk. Punk music and its rich history, spanning decades and transporting me to different cities like London and New York, became my haven. Being labeled the “gay kid,” in sixth grade made me a social pariah. I started with The Ramones, which instantly became my favorite, before moving to more hardcore bands like The Unseen or Charged GBH. In seventh grade, I fell in love with punk music. Before I was able to be curious about my crushes on other boys, I trained my brain to stop before ever going there.
I didn’t know what it meant, but the scrutiny around my mannerisms taught me that it was wrong. I was 11 when people started calling me gay. I never came out to anyone - and the idea of coming out has always been foreign to me.
