When high school still hurts

Thirty years ago, I graduated from high school as part of Indianapolis North Central High School’s Class of 1980.

Thirty years later, I still remember two very different days when two different jocks hurt my feelings and broke my heart.

Freshman year, the star quarterback and object of my crush crushed my spirit by calling me, in so many words, retarded. It was the Day I Died in 9th Grade Gym Class.

Sophomore year, a basketball jock gave me a title much worse. Scott (Last Name Withheld) saw me alone in the halls and simply said: faggot. What I still wanna know, Scott (Last Name Withheld): Can We Be Faggots Together?

High School. Sometimes it hurts.

Sometimes you never forget the pain.