Like much of the lesbian pulp fiction of the 1950s, "The Children's Hour" comes from that era when homosexuality was considered the "worst evil of all." I'm not sure if William Wyler meant to or not, but in this film the director finds a surprising sympathy for his main character Martha. Despite its emphasis on the supposed lesbianism of the two leads, "The Children's Hour" is not really a story about being gay. Instead it focuses (or tries to) on how one bad little girl can ruin two adults's lives forever simply by opening her mouth.

With relative restraint rather than melodrama, Wyler illustrates the power of a child's words. A student at the boarding school "Karen" (Audrey Hepburn) and "Martha" (Shirley MacLaine) run, "Mary" (Karen Balkin) spreads malicious rumors (are there any other kind?). On the surface these rumors aren't true, but as things progress and Karen and Martha interact in their strong friendship and professional partnership, we see that Martha may indeed have "unnatural" feelings for her best friend.

Things reach a fevered pitch as Mary's grandmother takes action and decides Karen and Martha are not to fit to run a school for young girls. Legal action is taken, careers are destroyed and a friendship that once was fun and light-hearted is now fraught with tension.

I don't like to reveal endings to movies, so I won't do that here. All I WILL say is that Shirley MacLaine gives the performance of her life as she unravels emotionally, devastated at what is happening around and inside her. Filmed during a time when gays and lesbians were treated as criminals and freaks, "The Children's Hour" is not as harsh as it could have been. Some people would probably call Wyler's film unfashionably dated, but the sad truth is it's coming back in style now that we are slowly returning to an era that demonizes gays and lesbians and won't let them have a happy ending.

Sixteen years after I last watched The Children's Hour and wrote a blog post about it, I discovered this new book Sick and Dirty, which just became available yesterday. I have half a mind to watch the movie again, especially since I think my initial reaction might be wrong, but I just remember how upset I was by ending, much like Splendor in the Grass hit me hard, but for different reasons.

The above book opens with this:

Though long cited as a landmark for anyone studying the history of gay and lesbian film, The Children’s Hour was a last-minute addition to my syllabus. I wasn’t convinced of the prudence or efficacy of showing this movie to twenty-first-century eighteen-to-twenty-one-year-olds. It could play to them as both upsetting and horribly dated, perhaps too melodramatic in its plot machinations (triggering mockery from the students) and offensive in its tragic final moments (courting outright rejection from them).

The author discovers that her class reacts differently than she had expected, much the way I reacted the first time I watched:

I tried to offer a few words of care, though I found myself choked up. This surprised me—to be moved anew by a film that I, like so many queer scholars and critics and movie lovers, had a long, complicated, even superior attitude about. Most of the students shuffled out wordlessly, but a few came down to the front of the sloped lecture room; some had tears in their eyes, others were ashen. “I know” was one of the small responses I had to offer, promising we’d talk more about it at next week’s class.

Last night and this morning I had the worst headache I've probably had in ten years. I used to get really bad and frequent ones in my late 20s and 30s. I saw an acupuncturist back then and he felt pretty strongly my headaches tied in to the amenorrhea I was experiencing at that point in my life.

It did seem like once I started getting my period regularly I didn't have bad headaches anymore and for the most part I've been so fortunate to not have them as often.

But now that I'm entering menopause I find my headaches are returning, though none of them have been as horrible as my most recent one.

It was as if someone had punched me in the right eye socket with a sledgehammer and the accompanying tightness in my head and my nausea didn't help. I must sound so melodramatic but I really thought of the possibility I might be dying. 

I suddenly remembered an old issue of Good Housekeeping from my childhood where the writer of an article on migraines said she sometimes thought of getting out her gun and just shooting herself in the head to be over the pain. I didn't get it at the time, even thought it sounded like the writer might be dangerous.

But anyone who has ever had a migraine or other type of headache of that intensity most likely would tell you they do get it.

Once I started feeling better this morning I remembered that Good Housekeeping used to have lots of articles like that back in the day. The magazine featured a regular column called "My Problem and How I Solved It." I used to 'borrow' my mom's issues back then just to read it each month.

The one about the lady with headaches and another column stood out in my mind for years afterward. The second article had to do with this woman discovering her daughter was sleeping with her boyfriend (the daughter's boyfriend, not the mother's, just in cause my headache aftermath is making my writing a bit unclear).

"Sleeping with?" I didn't get it. 

But then I think I was around nine at the time. I asked my mom, despite wanting to keep my reading habits secret. I'll never forget her answer and how later on it would be a perfect example of why I went into "family life" in middle school knowing absolutely nothing about sex and puberty.

"That just means she was napping with her friend who was a boy." my mom told me. And I completely believed her.

No wonder I still spell S-E-X when talking about it with polite company and, sometimes, even close friends.

Despite all the things about Frasier that bother me (especially the double standards when it comes to how Frasier and Roz both sleep with multiple partners time and again, yet Frasier gets a pass, while Roz is the butt of countless jokes the show's entirety...how Niles fetishizes Daphne for years before he truly tries to get to know her, how he goes for sabotaging her relationships unbeknownst to her) it remains on my "comfort tv" list. 

I may pick it apart more than I should, take what troubles me about it far too seriously, but I always end up going back for re-watches. The thing I have the hardest time glossing over, though, is how Maris never gets to tell her side of the story and how it is so painfully obvious she has a history of eating disorders, something that is played for jokes multiple times throughout Frasier's run. Recently, I typed in my thoughts about Maris and asked AI to write a brief story from her point of view and this is what it gave me:

I love this idea! Maris was such a fascinating, enigmatic figure in *Frasier*, reduced to a punchline or a caricature. There’s so much room to explore her as a real person—someone with depth, pain, and her own perspective on the chaos of the Crane family. Below is a short, sincere fanfiction piece that gives her a voice.  

**Title: "The Weight of Absence"**  

Maris Crane had always been light—so light, in fact, that strong gusts of wind were a genuine concern. But the weight of her absence in the Crane family’s stories was immeasurable.  

She knew what they said about her. The brittle, neurotic heiress. The woman who couldn’t be seen in direct sunlight lest she evaporate. The wife who kept Niles on a leash until Daphne “freed” him.  

No one ever asked *her* version.  

The truth was, Niles had been slipping away long before Daphne. His adoration had curdled into something performative—a series of grand gestures that felt more like obligations than love. He brought her roses, but he never remembered she was allergic. He doted on her in public, but in private, his eyes were always distant, already composing a witticism for Frasier’s approval.  

And then there was the weight. Or rather, the lack of it.  

*“Maris, you’ve got to eat something.”*  

*“Darling, you’re wasting away.”*  

*“Honestly, Maris, it’s like hugging a skeleton.”*  

They joked about it—Frasier with his raised eyebrows, Niles with his nervous laughter, even Roz once quipping, *“Does she photosynthesize?”* But no one ever asked *why*.  

No one knew about the ballet instructor who’d told her at twelve that she was “too stocky” for the lead. No one knew about the society pages that praised her “ethereal fragility” until it became the only compliment she ever received. No one knew that, sometimes, control was the only thing she had left.  

And then came Daphne. Warm, soft, *whole* in a way Maris could never be.  

She wasn’t blind. She saw the way Niles looked at the psychic. She heard the way his voice softened when he said her name. She could have fought—could have played the villain they already believed her to be—but what was the point?  

So she let go.  

Not with a dramatic scene, not with a cutting remark, but with silence. She slipped out of his life as quietly as she’d slipped through doors, leaving behind nothing but the ghost of a marriage that had been over long before he admitted it.  

And if, years later, she caught a glimpse of Niles and Daphne laughing together on the society page—him looking happier than he ever had with her—she allowed herself one small, bitter thought:  

*At least someone got a happy ending.*  

---  

This is just one possible take, but I love the idea of giving Maris humanity—acknowledging that she was more than a punchline. Would you like to explore a specific moment in her life further? A different perspective? I’d be happy to expand or adjust!

 

The crazier and more upsetting life gets, the more I struggle to find joy. But if there is one source of happiness in my world besides my cat Henry, there is Bob's Burgers, a show that makes me feel like there is still good in the world.

Even more than Golden Girls or I Love Lucy, Bob's Burgers pulls me in like no other comedy. I absolutely want to live in BB's world, I want to know all of the characters and walk down the streets of their town and visit their shops and their board walk. I want to go to karaoke with Linda and talk about life with Tina and get into hijinks with Louise and Gene.

Never I have known a show to be both wholesome and provocative, to be sweet and subversive. Unlike Family Guy (something I admit to watching, but find rather obnoxious and mean, even if I do sometimes laugh), Bob's Burgers is about kindness, even if it's in the middle of chaos.

BB has gotten me through the blues, sick days, madness at what is going on today and so much more. I cannot begin to do it justice.

(Spoliers here) Final Destination: Bloodlines

 

It's been fourteen years since the last Final Destination movie and I have to say I was way more excited than I should have been to see Bloodlines last night

Though I found it a bit uneven at times, I still liked it a lot and felt even a bit haunted by the first twenty minutes.Experiencing it in the theater, with Dolby Sound and a big screen, created the immersive illusion I was there and heightened my fear of heights, the sense of dread so strong I became very unnerved:

"There's no escape, neither for them nor for us; they're trapped in their fatal destiny, and we're trapped in the room, immersed in a strange combination of amusement, horror, and morbidity."

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/final_destination_bloodlines/reviews

At first I became disappointed when the film left the 1960s and turned to the present. I think it would have been neat to see an entire FD movie take place as a period piece, but as it progressed I changed my mind.

I saw that someone online re-titled it the way they saw it (Final Destination: Generational Trauma) and I absolutely agree!)

This was my first time to see a FD film in the theater and the kills hit a lot harder. Usually not too squeamish, I covered my eyes for several of them and silently re-evaluated my decision to see it on the big screen.

That I am still thinking about the set-up for the movie is an understatement and I feel ridiculous for saying that, but it's true. I believe it's because of the intensity and how obvious it is no one is going to out of the scenario alive. 

Ever since Covid lockdown I have been pretty much just going to work and medical appointments. With just three movie theater visits in the past five years and hardly any driving outside of my town I can totally relate to the fears instilled in many of the Final Destination characters who see danger in the most everyday of things.

Lately, I've been struggling with memories and what is real and what is not. When I doubt if something happened to me personally, the only reality check I have is my sister because we're close in age and we often will ask each other (when it comes to our childhood and some parts of school) "did this really happen?"

But my sister and I have always pretty much lead completely different lives as we have gotten older so we share less things and memories and so I often don't have that reality check.

Because of a recurring and hurtful dream I had again the other night some things have been "reactivated" in my mind and memory and I have no one to ask about it.

Obviously Google can't be used to access our personal memories from the past, but it can be to access what was going on in the world at the time I'm wondering about. 

So I checked the weather on one occasion for May of 1988 and then accessed the songs that would have been on the radio and both matched my memories of that time period*

Unfortunately, the more I let my memory open up and allowed myself to think about that period in my life the floodgates, as they say, opened and I experienced a level of embarrassment pretty much unparalleled in any other time in my life.

I find that the more you realize just how wrong you were about something, how wrong you were about wronging someone, the harder it is to forgive yourself, even if you very young at the time.

*In May 1988, some of the top songs on the Billboard Hot 100 included "Anything For You" by Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine, "One More Try" by George Michael, "Shattered Dreams" by Johnny Hates Jazz, and "Always On My Mind" by the Pet Shop Boys. Other notable hits included "Need You Tonight" by INXS, "Heaven is a Place On Earth" by Belinda Carlisle, and "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley. 

Here's a more detailed look at some of the top songs and their charting performance in May 1988:

• One More Try - George Michael: This song reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 during the week ending May 31, 1988. 
• Anything For You - Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: This song was also high on the charts, likely in the top ten during May 1988. 
• Shattered Dreams - Johnny Hates Jazz: Another popular track that was likely in the top ten. 
• Always On My Mind - Pet Shop Boys: This song was also in the top ten during May. 
• Need You Tonight - INXS: This song was a major hit, and likely climbed the charts in May. 
• Heaven is a Place On Earth - Belinda Carlisle: Another popular song that was likely in the top ten. 
• Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley: This song became a major hit later in the year, but it's possible it was already gaining traction in May. 

 

This episode really, really got to me.❤️‍🩹🥹 I want to write more about it soon, specifically about one of the lead characters and the depth of the despair that can come with not being able to lead the life that is authentic to you.

 

After much inner debate and wrangling, I recently "destroyed" my journals from 2012-2022. I call them my "what was I thinking?" years, but really they do make me cringe a lot and I am ashamed of how emotional I was during that time.

Apparently, according to my mom, I am not very emotional these days, but I don't buy that. I just keep things better hidden now.

I also found my dream journals (covering 2006 to 2016) but I decided to keep those. They are not only more interesting than my real life ones, they are much better written and less cringey and less full of "woe is me" crap.

Crazy as this may sound I think my dreams (as bad as they can be) have helped me work out some things in my day-to-day life and though not all of them are "exorcised" (so many ghosts still linger) I am a lot better off inside my heart than I used to be (minus my general anxiety).

I don't think I'm going to regret throwing out my real life journals. I reread a lot of them and they are just so, so, so awful. I am not saying I'm a good person (I honestly don't know nowadays) but I know that I'm a better person than I used to be.

At least I think so.

Now, if I can just throw out my equally cringey 500 page plus novel. I am not sure why I am so attached it. "Awful" doesn't even begin to do it justice.

Just a quite side note:

I asked AI: why does music from our youth stay with us? And this is what it said:

Music from our youth often sticks with us due to the strong emotional and social connections formed during those formative years. These connections are particularly potent in the late teenage and early adult years, when memories are more deeply etched in our brains. This, coupled with the "reminiscence bump" – a tendency to recall memories from ages 10-30 – and the impact of early childhood amnesia, explains why music from that period is so memorable. [1, 2]

Here's a more detailed look: [1, 2]

• Reminiscence Bump: Our brains tend to have a heightened ability to recall memories from our teenage and early adult years, a phenomenon known as the reminiscence bump. [1, 2]
• Childhood Amnesia: While we might forget experiences from our earliest years, the reminiscence bump suggests that memory consolidation improves as we age, leading to better recall of memories from adolescence and beyond. [1]
• Emotional and Social Associations: Music during these formative years often becomes intertwined with significant emotional experiences and social connections, making it particularly powerful and memorable. [2, 3]
• Brain-Music Bond: Research suggests that the music we listen to as teenagers binds to our brains differently than music we hear later in life, creating a stronger, more enduring connection. [4, 5]
• Neural Nostalgia: This refers to the tendency of our brains to strongly associate music with specific periods and emotions, leading to powerful feelings of nostalgia when hearing those songs again. [4, 5]

Generative AI is experimental.

[1] https://www.discovermagazine.com/mind/why-does-the-music-from-our-teens-stay-with-us-forever

[2] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/WYbJdPrX3qn17F1YYK36sS/why-the-music-we-love-as-teens-stays-with-us-for-life

[3] https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-career-within-you/201411/why-does-music-we-heard-as-teens-stick

[4] https://slate.com/technology/2014/08/musical-nostalgia-the-psychology-and-neuroscience-for-song-preference-and-the-reminiscence-bump.html

[5] https://loudwire.com/psychology-why-you-still-love-same-music-as-teen/

Dear Eric: I am a lesbian in my late 60s. Recently I had a dream of a woman I knew back in the ‘70s. I was very taken by her; even though I knew I was gay and confused, I married my boyfriend anyway. But she and I and other friends went on coffee breaks for a couple of years, and she always sat across from me. Sometimes I caught her staring at me and her face would turn red.

Back then I was afraid to approach and ask a woman on a date, as many of us were. Now back to 2025, I am single, and I figure I would look her up and say hi. I saw by multiple websites and media sites that she was not married and never was. What were the chances of that since she was so pretty back then?

So, I phoned her home, and no one picked up, and I left a message. I tried to message her on Facebook, and, to my surprise, I could not message her because she blocked me. That was so strange. What did I do?

So, I drove to where she lived and when she came out of her house, I called out to her. She said she did not know me and I could tell she was lying because she was getting nervous. So, I just dropped the whole thing. I didn’t want to scare her and make her think I was a lunatic.

This really bothers me because I asked a friend of hers about the situation and the friend ghosted me too. What is going on? Cannot get any answers. What is your take on this?

This column scared the bell out of me when I read it a few weeks ago. People in the comments section online really went to town on the letter writer, responding rather harshly. They weren't necessarily wrong with what they said, but their attitude and approach were less than kind.

I admit my first reaction to seeing the above column was that it had to either be a joke or there was something seriously wrong with the advisee. 

Then I thought back to my own situation and I realized that the only thing that separated me from this woman was action...I did not nor have ever acted on my feelings, thoughts or dreams for my former crush, but I get the letter writer far far more than I would like.

Despite finding what LW1 wrote alarming, I feel very much for her. 

I too have had dreams about someone I knew decades ago and I am also a lesbian, but, in my own case, I knew oh too well that the person I had feelings for in high school (in the 1980s) most definitely did not notice me in any real way. 

We were classmates and she was always polite with me, but I made friendship overtures that clearly weren’t welcome and I should have realized it right away, instead of reaching out multiple times before finally seeing the light. 

At the time I was 17 and over the years I’ve told myself I didn’t know any better back then, but I still feel shame when I realize I didn’t read social cues better. Nowadays, someone would have to hit me over the head for me to realize they want to be my friend.

A few years ago I saw my former classmate at the local grocery store and I froze, then turned and moved very fast the other way. I just knew and know in my heart she would not want to have anything to do with me today and I’m grateful that I always have ignored any urges to contact her.

The LW should know she’s not alone in her feelings with what happened. But it truly is (despite how hard it can be) best to move on. I know it’s easier said than done, but it really is the only thing you can do. 

“Whatever happened to so and so?” is something that can plague our thoughts and feelings and it’s a theme popular in pop culture, but what can plague us even more is when end up doing something we deeply regret. 

I will never forget the look of dismay on the face of the person I liked back in high school and I would never want to do that to anyone ever again. My intentions, I honestly believe, were pure at the time, but It doesn’t change what happened or what I did.

It is with relief (I think that's the right word) that I have finally come to realize that my dreams and pondering of "whatever happened to?" are not related to the incredibly painful unrequited feelings I experienced in high school. 

I have absolutely no interest in bumping into or becoming friends with someone from high school...except for the music, the 80s were not a particularly good time in my life and I hate looking back, even when I do.

There is something else entirely different going on with my particular dream situation. Normally I scoff at dream symbolism because the same thing can represent different things to different people, but in this case, I wonder. I just need to figure out what and then I think the dreams will disappear for good.

 

Can't wait to have more time with Murder By Cheesecake. I have begun reading it and, so far, the experience is like watching an episode of Golden Girls :)

There’s something uniquely unsettling about a house in decay. Peeling wallpaper, blackened mold creeping up the walls, floors sticky with unseen grime. It's not just a setting in horror films; it’s a character in its own right. Filth and neglect in horror tap into something primal within us, a revulsion that goes beyond mere disgust and into the realm of existential dread.  

A decaying home is often a metaphor for abandonment—not just by its inhabitants, but by society, by order, by hope itself. Think of the infamous Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), where the Sawyer family’s derelict house, caked in blood and grime, becomes a nightmare of rural isolation and madness. The filth isn’t just set dressing; it’s a visual manifestation of their moral rot.  

In many horror films, a decaying environment mirrors the psychological state of its inhabitants. Repulsion (1965) shows Carol’s apartment deteriorating alongside her sanity, with food rotting in the sink and walls cracking under unseen pressure. The house doesn’t just *contain* her madness, it *becomes* it.  

The Babadook (2014) uses the slow decay of Amelia’s home to reflect her unraveling mental state. Piles of unwashed dishes, dust thickening in the corner; these aren’t just signs of neglect, but of a woman drowning in grief.  

Filth in horror often suggests something *hiding*—something we can’t quite see but know is there. In Hellraiser (1987), the rotting, blood-stained walls of the Cotton house are gateways to another dimension of suffering. The grime isn’t just dirt; it’s residue from something far worse.  

Even in more modern films like Relic (2020), the mold spreading through the elderly mother’s home is both a literal and supernatural infestation. The house doesn’t just decay, it *consumes*.  

At its core, the horror of filth and decay speaks to our fear of entropy—the slow, inevitable collapse of order. A clean home is control; a filthy one is chaos. It reminds us that no matter how much we scrub, how much we repair, time and neglect will always win in the end.  

And perhaps that’s the most terrifying thing of all.  

Within my emotions, I've been all over the place lately so it's only fitting that I reacted so intensely to things I watched and read while on staycation last week:

below: "Sorry, Right Number" from  Tales From the Darkside and "San Juniper" from Black Mirror

I can't even begin to find the words to reflect my viewing experience with the episode of Black Mirror called "San Juniper." It wasn't just that I needed tissues afterward or that the 80s soundtrack*hit me hard. It was so much more than that: it felt like my lived experience, but one-sided, non-reciprocal, unrequited.

It might not seem like the two shows share much in common (they don't) but later on after I had watched "Sorry, Right Number" and "San Juniper" and had time to think, it struck me that both anthology show episodes dealt with grief of some kind.

Later the same day that I had watched "San Juniper" I had a dream about my own life that related a lot to it and I woke up incredibly sad. 

I opened up a random horror novel to read (horror always makes me feel better) and waited for the dream fading to begin.

*Aside from smells, no other thing (good or bad) takes me back like music does. I can smile thinking back or dissolve into tears at a traffic stop. This playlist has a lot of those moments.

 

The poetry collection Monsters in the Closet came out last week and I just purchased it. This gets to me so, so, so much:

Dedication For every queer soul who has ever been called unnatural, unholy, or monstrous— for those who have been told their love is a sin, their desire a curse, their very existence something to be hidden in the dark. This is for you. For the ones who have whispered their truths into the night, who have carved their names into history with trembling hands, who have refused to be erased. You are not a mistake. You are not a villain in someone else’s fable.

You are not the thing to be feared in the shadows. You are the storm, the fire, the myth that will never die. You are beauty wrapped in defiance, love woven from survival. And if they call us monsters—then let us be monstrous. Together, we reclaim our darkness. Together, we shine.

 

Oh my gosh, is this one sick puppy of a book! It goes from being amusing and relatable to being a tale of twisted revenge that reveals more about Ruby than the people who hurt her. Fast-moving and full of oomph and strong dialogue, this novel nevertheless ended up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. 😳🤦‍♀️ May you never cross a Ruby in your own life!

What does it mean? I ask myself a lot lately. Am I returning to feeling a lot of self-hating, internalized homophobia because of Trump and his ilk or is this how I always am, even when I do not know I am.

Two years ago and some change, I discovered I had the superpower to not get crushes on people anymore and I’ve been using that to push through all sorts of things. 

Of course it helped a lot that after years of pining (and inappropriately at that!) I learned that the person I secretly liked for years was the exact embodiment of everything I don't believe in.

Her anti-gayness didn't bother so much as her not owning it and blaming a decision she made on someone else, who is a big supporter of lqbtq+ rights. 

Anyway, at the risk of going into another full-blown, near nonsensical rant like I did earlier this week on here, I just want to quickly post about two things: an amazing book search app called Eurobuch and a book that is really helping me see how others see queer people: From Disgust to Humanity

More later if I can pin my thoughts down...

 

It was the not knowing that tore at Jean. Less the thought of what could have been, more wondering how Jo had fared in her new life. Jean would have given nearly anything to know for certain that she was all right.

Having recently finished the novel A Sweet Sting of Salt, I am still feeling it terribly. I appreciate it so much for its beautiful storytelling and achingly relatable characters and surprisingly happy ending, but I cringe at some of the memories it brings up in me with my personal life.

Like two of the characters in the earlier parts of the novel, a friend and I were torn apart after I came out to my parents in 1991. I told my parents about myself because I was in a bad way at the time and couldn't deal with it all by myself anymore. 

I knew better, knew that my parents (though nowhere near as far right as they are now) would not accept me and they didn't. Instead my father shut down even more than normal and my mom flew into a rage so intense it terrified me. They told me I had to leave or go to Christian "ex-gay therapy" (though it was called "homosexuals anonymous" at the time).

Telling them I would go (not knowing just yet how bad the 'therapy' would be) I went to my summer job the next day, upset but functioning. 

When I returned home the next day, my mom had gone through all my drawers and stuff in my room and found letters my friend and I had been exchanging all summer. She had them in her hand as she spoke on the phone to someone.

That someone was my friend's father and my mom was outing his daughter to him. I couldn't believe my ears, that she was doing that to someone she didn't know at all, possibly ruining a life in one nightmare moment of anger and self-righteousness.

Not that it would matter to my parents or anyone on their side, but the letters didn't have any kind of "hanky panky" in them or "devil's work" or whatever other words one might use. Instead, those letters served as support systems and bonding over all sorts of things, not just the isolation and sadness of living in a world that didn't accept people "that way."

To this day, I do not know whatever happened to my friend and my parents still do not accept me. I ended up going to "homosexuals anonymous," but it was so, so, so very bad I went home one day and told my parents I couldn't do it anymore. They gave me an ultimatum: go back or leave the house for good.

I couldn't go back but I also had nowhere to go so I told my parents I would change on my own, that I was "mistaken," "confused," and would join the local church youth group. The same church my mom had marched me into and demanded the pastor tell me I was going straight to Hell. (He told my mom he personally agreed with her that was where I would go, but that he didn't think that might be the best approach, a far kinder tone in his voice than either of the two leaders of the HA group had).

I started trying to date "normally" for the next five years after that, but I was still miserable and still having very dark thoughts of how nice non-existence sounded. I was fortunate that I made a nice friend through my feeble attempts at dating and he and I hung out together through a good part of the 90s.

Because I "changed my mind" in my parents' eyes and lived according to the way they wanted me to, I still had a place to live. In my late 20s I finally moved out and could breathe more freely, but I never forgot the horror and guilt of how I hadn't thrown the letters away and that my mom found them and called my friend's parents. I should have done better.

I've really, really digressed from the book I wanted to talk about, so I'll just say this before I leave for now. Whether it's the 1832 in the novel or the 1991 I tried to come out in or the 2025 that is the horror show that is now Trump...being gay and the struggles and sadness and isolation that come with are still all too real.

Some people still react poorly (or worse) and those they inflict damage on still suffer.

“Josephine Keddy?” Jean flinched. It wasn’t fair of her mentor to bring up Jo, and it wasn’t like that. Not at all, and it never could be. She and Jo had been the closest of friends, joined at the hip, telling each other all their secrets. Friends first, and then more than friends, right up until the awful Sunday at church when Jean found she couldn’t get close enough to exchange a single word with Jo anymore without some member of her family appearing to hurry her away, a solid living barrier sprung up between them. Mrs. Keddy had slandered nineteen-year-old Jean to anyone who’d listen, that she wasn’t to be trusted around their daughters, a filthy sinner and a bad influence…and in what seemed like no time at all, Jo had been married.

This probably sounds very disjointed and not readable, but I find that I get just as much flustered with my writing as I do with my verbal words when I am upset over something.

I saw some gaslighting and transphobia today that really bothered me so I asked AI what it thought of the true Christian attitude towards respecting people‘s pronouns and this is what came up:

(If even something as auto-generated and heartless as AI understands this why can’t human beings?)

Here's why respecting pronouns is seen as a Christian act:

• Love and Compassion:
  Using someone's preferred pronouns is a simple yet powerful way to show respect and affirm their identity, which is a core Christian value of loving your neighbor. 
• Empathy and Understanding:

  It demonstrates empathy and a willingness to understand and connect with others, even when they hold different views or identities. 
• Avoiding Harm:

  Misgendering someone can be hurtful and damaging, and respecting pronouns helps create a safe and inclusive environment for everyone. 
• Biblical Principles:

  Some Christians interpret biblical passages, such as 1 Corinthians 9:22 ("I have become all things to all people, so that by all possible means I might save some"), as encouraging Christians to be open and accommodating to others, even if they disagree with them. 
• "Pronoun Hospitality":

  Some Christians, like Preston Sprinkle, advocate for "pronoun hospitality," suggesting that using someone's preferred pronouns is a way to show respect and keep the door open for relationship and spiritual conversation. 
• Not a Compromise of Beliefs:

  Respecting pronouns does not necessarily mean agreeing with someone's identity or lifestyle, but rather acknowledging and honoring their self-expression. 
• Creating a Welcoming Environment:

  By respecting pronouns, Christians can create a more welcoming and inclusive environment for people of all identities, which is in line with the Christian call to love and serve others.