Memoirs of a Gay Boy



*Note: The above picture is me. Do not be fooled that Tyra Banks and I sort of look like. And the "V" topped pole that I am carrying was such a stupid prop. I tried to reason with Victoria's but they made me use it anyway.

I remember very little of my childhood. I am not sure if it is because something happened when I was a child or what. But, I only have maybe a hand full of memories that I remember without having to be told the stories. The clearest memory that I have of being a child is the one in which I always practiced being a super model. I thought that I would grow up to model clothing, jewelry, that cute Victoria's Secret nighty I saw in a window display, or model a hot guy. Here is the memory.

I would gather different sheets and materials as my wardrobe. I would put them into my closet and get dressed in the closet because it was my backstage. But, before I got ready for my catwalk I would get a window fan and attach a sheet to the back of it so that it blew in the air like some glamorous effect. I mean it is not like I had a fog machine at the age of eleven or a crew that could throw pink glitter sparkles from the ceiling as I made my big entrance sporting the couture of 250 thread count or sleepy chic as I like to call it. Well after my catwalk and special effects were set up I would prepare an outfit behind the closed closet doors. Not to get away from the point too much but I spent a lot of time in a closet, literally. Then I would knock the closet doors open and do my signature "Tyra meets Naomi meets Twiggy meets Tyson (the model not the chicken) meets Paul" walk. It would be utterly fabulous. I would do my pose at the end of my made catwalk and then go back in the closet (Jesus am I the meaning of irony) and perform this over and over again. I would perform it until my mother would burst in the room and tell me I was going to catch the house on fire by having the sheet over the fan. Then my show would end.

It was so much fun being a growing girl. I really miss being that little princess that could make a fan and some sheets into a world of fashion. Now if I could only get my mother to stop hiding the fan from me. You can take the fan away from the girl but you can never take the girl away from her catwalk.