Lincoln Ho

March 1998

For info on me, check my previous columns (there's only two but you can go back to the ones before just for the hell of it). Otherwise, read on...

I guess I should get started at writing for the March column since I am writing this on the deadline date (as I always have). Anyway, hope you all had a very romantic Valentine's Day. I know I didn't, but to look at the bright side, I'm not in my 50's writing for Oasis. If I was, I probably have no life (as if I do right now).

<Make up your own title>

Grade nine (both negative and positively) will be the most memorable year for me in school. I'll never forget how I finally accepted I was gay, and I'll definitely never forget being brave enough to come out to my friends. It all started out with telling my friend (who talks the most and never keeps secrets) "Tamara". She told her friend and then they helped me out while not letting any more people know. Meanwhile at school, people have started to tease me to the point where they called me a fag.

That was the time when things were pretty hard for me. Were they calling me that because they knew or was it because it shows in my behavior or if my friends told them? That was when I got pissed off and started writing my letter to the principal about how they shouldn't harass me. It was also the time I felt that someone should come out so less of these jokes would be said (at least around me).

The letter never did get to the principal. I gave it to Tamara and she actually showed it to the idiots that bugged my continuously day after day. Of course, they grabbed it from her and disposed of it, but I had a back-up copy. I decided not to use it because Tamara talked me out of it. I didn't want to leave the class and (I don't think) she wanted me to either. If I did, I'd have no friends at all and there would be even more things said about me because I would have left the IB class.

So, since that way of getting my message across didn't work so I started to think of other methods to get it across -- my weekly newsletter which is distributed to my school and to some of my penpals around the world. I started to write and write, and write. It was the best article I ever wrote (at the time) and boy did things start to happen, even before it got on paper (it was typed on computer).

Since the newspaper was distributed around my school, the principal had to check over it every week to see if it is appropriate for the students to read. I thought the article would just go through like all the other ones that were placed his desk before. Well, my thoughts were incorrect.

The principal (Mr. P. for principal) took me out of class and put me into his office to say that the article was NOT going to be published in the paper, period. Then I started to argue with him (bad decision) and asked him why. He said that the article would influence the students and community around my school. Like what has that got to do with it? It's not like an article would make everyone gay in my city! Then he asked me if I'm sure I am gay and said that he doesn't know that people this young can tell if they are gay. He also asked my if I had sex with another guy to clarify that I am gay. (Is he allowed to ask that???)

So now, pissed of at my say about it, he adds that if I do get it put in, he would call my parents. Then he said that he would, that afternoon to tell them that their son is gay. Isn't that my job to do and my decision? What is this _______ (fill in the blank with a swear) up to? By that time I was so scared about how my parents would react and didn't even pay attention to what he was saying. I just smiled and nodded my head with the occasional "OK, that'll be fine" or "I totally agree".

After the talk which seemed like a lifetime, there was ten minutes before lunch so I went back to class. I didn't know what happened with me but near the end of the lunch hour, I was standing outside crying to this girl that I only call as a classmate. I didn't know what to do. In my mind, the word suicide was repetitively banging inside my head and it felt like it was going to explode. Some how, the word leaked out and the next thing I knew, I was with Tamara in his office, again. Tamara did all the talking and I did all the sitting. Then she was sent out and I was sent to the hospital. Don't worry, they did it before I tried anything stupid.

So now, with these psychologists asking me questions on and on. AND since this is quite long, I'll stop here. Catch the continuation next month, if anyone is actually reading my boring true story. If you are actually reading this and find this interesting, or boring and has no meaning, please write me @ <tci@iname.com>.

'Till next time, enjoy the holidays (if there is any)!


P.S. Be sure to read my useless poem called "Less Than..." (that isn't about me)!

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