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jawnbcWhen I was in my senior year of high school I needed to get out--out of my family, out of my neighbourhood, out of it all. At some point the combination of sexuality, political and economic awareness, coupled with a large dose of Catlick anti-individualism, meant I could bear little more, and juggle work, schoo, family and perversion with less and less dexterity. What happened next set a pattern that held sway in my life for the next decade: make a good decision for the wrong reasons and based on bad information.
I decided to go to Europe. Backpacking.
When I put the idea forward to the geeks with whom I hanged around (I wasn’t really capable of friendship) thought it was a great idea, so of course we were all--about 8 of us--going. But as I started to research and organize, it boiled down to 3 of us: me, Kathi Katucki, and Steve Cooper. Kathi, like me, had to pay her own was and working primarily to save foruniversity college. Steve, however, had parents with some cash, so he was funded. Kathi dropped out in April, and I was faced with the dilemma of going with Steve or not at all. My parents had a hard time with the idea of sleeping in a room with non-relatives (10 in a dorm room wasn’t an issue, it was the strangerthing). I had worked a lot and saved enough, and browbeat my parents into buying my ticket. So about a week after graduation Steve and I flew to Ireland, for a 5 week sojourn. A week before we left, one of my co-workers gave me a diary, which I promised to let her read when I got back.
I need confess that, while I was having sex with guys almost every day duringyear 12 12th Grade, I wasn’t gay. I knew they mostly were (though a lot were married to women; one creepy guy compared my SAT scores to his daughter’s. Mine were better, but ew), but I was just “messing around.” I was already quite cynical about religion, family, politics, schooling--in fact, I seethed about such things. Da and I had a good hate-on for each other, and Ma’s “stress problem” (alcoholism) meant I mostly slept at home, nothing more. I certainly didn’t do much homework--to the point where I nearly flunked honours physics. “I’m going to Europe, I’m going to Europe” was my new mantra; previously it had been “I’m gonna go away to college.” But though I would go away to college, I no longer expected education to be a way out for me. And though I have a PhD in education, I can’t say my faith in schooling has returned: my faith is in learning, individually and collaboratively. As hooks says, education is the practice of freedom.
But in July 1982, Eurail was the practice of freedom. Steve and I spent a couple nights with my whacky relatives in Tipperary (note to self, if their “village” translates to pig’s shit as gaelige, skip it), then grabbed a ferry to France. In appropriate epic terms, I put a 50P coin in a slot machine and won £: this trip would go well. And though we went to sleep under grey skies and on rocky seas, the morning we sailed into Le Havre was sunny and calm. Europe!
We visited 10 countries in 5 weeks: Ireland, France, Belgium, Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Germany, Switzerland and Austria (OK, we were on a train that passed through Austria). No one gets a true sense of any culture in 3 days, but what I did get was a true sense that the world had many more opportunities and aspects than I’d known in my narrow little New York world. Money kept me from spending much time drinking (I knew I’d go broke very quickly if I got drunk frequently), and the range and quality of museums kept us busy most days. And train travel itself was a revelation.
I kept the diary Nancy gave me too; the only I’ve kept in long hand. I wrote every evening (almost), detailed everything I did (almost), but on some pages there would appear extemporaneous solitary words in upper case:
MAGNA MAGNR MTGBB
Met a guy named Alex, in Munich, who’s only word in English was “fock”, and back then I didn’t get “focked”. Met a guy named Rick? Reno? Rob? Met 2 guys, one was a body builder.
I found there was also something of an international male queer sex culture. Train stations, beaches, parks, were all placed to meet men for low-frills sex--just like at home. The only difference was having Steve there: I wasn’t gay so coming out wasn’t an option. And he stuck to me like a dirty shirt; engineering a fight with him was the only way to get a few hours to myself. “I’ll see you back at the hostel before bed--I need some space!”
Indeed.
Our trip ended in Ireland, and just as I expected my money ran out 3 days early. Steve offered to cover me, but I wasn’t hearing it. So I spent my last night sleeping in the airport that last night. We met for check in, and wearily boarded the 5 hour flight back to JFK (5 hour flights seemed so long back then!). We had a month before startinguniversity college; I worked some more, and let Nancy (and a few of the other servers) read my diary. “You’re different” Nancy told me “you’re not the same person you were before.”
She was right. a month early I was a cocky, impetuous, young buck wrestling some demons. In the four months that followed I would start university, have a breakdown (alone, without letting anyone know), decide to come out, fail at it, flunk out of university, squander my financial aid, and return home, dazed and broken. I had counted on university being my Promised Land, my salvation. What on earth would I do now?
I decided to go to Europe. Backpacking.
When I put the idea forward to the geeks with whom I hanged around (I wasn’t really capable of friendship) thought it was a great idea, so of course we were all--about 8 of us--going. But as I started to research and organize, it boiled down to 3 of us: me, Kathi Katucki, and Steve Cooper. Kathi, like me, had to pay her own was and working primarily to save for
I need confess that, while I was having sex with guys almost every day during
But in July 1982, Eurail was the practice of freedom. Steve and I spent a couple nights with my whacky relatives in Tipperary (note to self, if their “village” translates to pig’s shit as gaelige, skip it), then grabbed a ferry to France. In appropriate epic terms, I put a 50P coin in a slot machine and won £: this trip would go well. And though we went to sleep under grey skies and on rocky seas, the morning we sailed into Le Havre was sunny and calm. Europe!
We visited 10 countries in 5 weeks: Ireland, France, Belgium, Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Germany, Switzerland and Austria (OK, we were on a train that passed through Austria). No one gets a true sense of any culture in 3 days, but what I did get was a true sense that the world had many more opportunities and aspects than I’d known in my narrow little New York world. Money kept me from spending much time drinking (I knew I’d go broke very quickly if I got drunk frequently), and the range and quality of museums kept us busy most days. And train travel itself was a revelation.
I kept the diary Nancy gave me too; the only I’ve kept in long hand. I wrote every evening (almost), detailed everything I did (almost), but on some pages there would appear extemporaneous solitary words in upper case:
MAGNA MAGNR MTGBB
Met a guy named Alex, in Munich, who’s only word in English was “fock”, and back then I didn’t get “focked”. Met a guy named Rick? Reno? Rob? Met 2 guys, one was a body builder.
I found there was also something of an international male queer sex culture. Train stations, beaches, parks, were all placed to meet men for low-frills sex--just like at home. The only difference was having Steve there: I wasn’t gay so coming out wasn’t an option. And he stuck to me like a dirty shirt; engineering a fight with him was the only way to get a few hours to myself. “I’ll see you back at the hostel before bed--I need some space!”
Indeed.
Our trip ended in Ireland, and just as I expected my money ran out 3 days early. Steve offered to cover me, but I wasn’t hearing it. So I spent my last night sleeping in the airport that last night. We met for check in, and wearily boarded the 5 hour flight back to JFK (5 hour flights seemed so long back then!). We had a month before starting
She was right. a month early I was a cocky, impetuous, young buck wrestling some demons. In the four months that followed I would start university, have a breakdown (alone, without letting anyone know), decide to come out, fail at it, flunk out of university, squander my financial aid, and return home, dazed and broken. I had counted on university being my Promised Land, my salvation. What on earth would I do now?
