Faggot Essay

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As far back as my mind would let me travel I remember my grandmother telling me, “Jaylon, there are three things in life you can’t escape. Death, taxes, and sunday school.” Well it turns out she was right. Come rain or shine I was there every single Sunday morning service and since all my other grandmother’s grandsons took to playing sports and chasing women they left all the singing in church choir to me. Now I was always different and in my little town of Mount Pleasant they let you know just how different they thought you were. They called me weird, punk, sissy, and gay. My momma just called me special. The first time I ever heard the word “faggot” was when I was playing in the back of a pew one sunday after church. My pastor’s son, Matthew, delivered that two syllable death punch directly to my face after I showed him my Britney Spear’s album that I had gotten for my seventh birthday. Faggot? He called me a faggot. I was a faggot? What did that word even mean? Why did he call me that? Was I acting like a faggot? Upset and confused I asked my mom what it meant to be a faggot. She just looked at me with a calming smile, clasp my hands together and told me to pray. And I did. For years and years I prayed, but if there was one thing my grandmother was wrong about, it’s that there is a fourth thing you can’t escape in life, yourself. If that didn’t keep a gay teen in the closet then I don’t know what would. I tried so hard to convince myself I wasn’t gay. I exercised because I read somewhere that when you sweat your gay tendencies would pour out of your person. I also tried dating girls, but my relationships always ended after I realized that they were just using me to give them fashion advice. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed but nothing. There was no way I could tell my family. God must have truly hated

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