Free Remembering Brad: On the Loss of a Son to AIDS by Wayne Schow; Brad Schow Page B

happen. The thing is, I’ve come to the point now where I don’t really want to change. I like being this way.
    JANUARY 14, 1979: I have some things to say tonight about homosexuality, and then this will be the last time that I ever again mention it in my journal. This sick feeling is going to haunt me no more…. Homosexuality is not a good, wholesome thing in the long run. I do not condemn experimenting with it, but any sort of long range sexuality in this area or any experimenting that would distort a healthy preoccupation with the opposite sex is very wrong!
    I have had many good arguments for homosexuality. I wanted to find it OK so badly, wanted it to be logically and morally right. It had to be, because I wanted it to be. But it’s not. Gradually, one by one, much to my despair, I broke down those wonderful arguments. One by one they crashed before my eyes. They had seemed so sound, so logically perfect, but they had one flaw–they just were not realistic. Their perfectness just doesn’t fit the real world. I have to admit that I am grateful to my parents for being so open with me and willing to discuss the subject in the way they did, most of all for their not finding it repulsive, only non-productive, a Pyrrhic choice.
    So, now it shall begin—my struggle to do not what I want to do but what I know I must and should do. I want to make plain that just because I feel this way about the matter does not mean I can readily bring this about. I must still contend with that pounding, obliterating drive, that hunger for sex. And I must still live with the layer-upon-layer effects of eight years of habitual thought. I pray to the Lord that he will help me in this. He has given me the knowledge I need, and now I must supply the determination, the guts, to move this unmovable mountain.
    FEBRUARY 1, 1979: In the last entry I vowed not to write about sex, homosexuality really, anymore. But I don’t know if I can do that. It’s what I’m thinking of probably three-fourths of the day, every day. It’s constantly on my mind.
    FEBRUARY 4, 1979: My vow to never discuss homosexuality in here again was unrealistic. As little as I would like to admit it, it is very much there, good or bad, and somehow I must come to terms with it. To not be able to write about it would be to deny myself of the one outlet that I have to get the heaviness off my chest. Since I do not feel that I could openly discuss what I feel with anyone I know, this journal must lend its open, unjudging ear.
    To be very honest though, I wish this journal could judge what I write once in a while. I guess what I’m looking for is complete acceptance of such a lifestyle, someone to pat me on the back and say, “It’s all right, homosexuality is not wrong. Be at peace and live as you would like.” I wish my journal could do that for me. It seems that I don’t want to take no for an answer.
    I have met many people here. Most of them I like very much. I make friends with a few new people, and they in turn introduce me to their friends, and they again, until one knows a good number. That is how I met this guy named Edgar. A little background. He’s from Puerto Rico. He’s about twenty-six years old. He lived in New York a few years before coming here. He’s in the dance/ballet program. A dancer. He’s about my height and weight. He also has a pierced ear and wears a diamond in it. Not so long ago that would have really bugged me. If he wasn’t Puerto Rican I think it would bother me now, but that seems to make it all right for some reason.
    I don’t know if he is gay or not. There are not many of the usual signs pointing either way. He’s not effeminate, but he moves with some grace, in a very masculine way. He moves like a dancer. I enjoy watching him. He’s quite a good looking guy in his own way. He’s also very hyper most of the time. He reminds me of myself in some respects.
    We get along very well. I ask myself if I have some kind of crush on him. I