I’m not counting on it though. I mean, white, male raised in affluent suburbia? It’s hardly the stuff of great fiction… or even mildly interesting non-fiction, come to think of it. Sure, I could play up the emotionally unavailable parents angle, but honestly? Besides being disturbingly predictable, I’m not sure what else there is to say. Daddy didn’t show up at my father-son basketball game. My mother’s idea of quality time was making gelatin breasts with grapes in them. Oh yeah, I should probably clarify that my mother is a radiologist and breast cancer specialist, otherwise that last one might seem a little weird. The fact of the matter is, I had a pretty good childhood. Well, okay, there is the emotionally stunted man-child, incapable of expressing emotion without drinking or maintaining a healthy relationship, but that’s normal, right? Oh… it’s not? Well, still, that’s material that a shrink can milk long enough for me to single-handedly pay for his new Audi, not exactly the stuff of the great American novel.But it’s okay. That whole alarmingly well-adjusted childhood? Well, soon after I went off to college, my dad called me up to tell me that my mother had left him. She had been having an affair for the past 10 years. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “That’s terrible,” right? Well, if you’re a sociopath like me, all you can think is, “jackpot!” Okay, maybe those weren’t my exact thoughts. First, I had to get the images of my mother in flagrante delicto outta my head… but I finally had it. This is the type of angst-y, self-indulgent drivel that affluent suburbanites like myself flock to. Seriously. I mean, have you even read The Catcher in the Rye? Totally up my alley.
Then it dawned on me. America’s divorce rate is 51%. Divorce and infidelity is old news. Besides, how morally reprehensible would it be to cash in on my parent’s failed marriage? Instead, I could cash in on my sexuality. I mean, come on, growing up gay in small-town Ohio? That’s the kind of thing those bitter ol’ queens at Yale and Harvard love to pedal in their Lit classes. I mean, partially to see if they can stir up some “curiosity” in the student body, but hey, it could work. Then I realized… well, I mean, sure I got picked on and made fun of, but by and large, most people were pretty cool about it. Oh, well, one time a kid carved “fag” into my locker, but yeah… that was pretty much it. I didn’t bring a dude to prom because, well, seriously, how gay is going to prom? I didn’t get beat up because, well, I could hit back. Yeah, by and large, it was a pretty emotionally isolated period in my life, but without a lot of controversy.And there you have it. Oh, and I went to art school (biggest waste of my time) and here I am now. So, yeah, not exactly the greatest work of Americana. But that’s okay. I’m still hoping something really terrible will happen so I can write about it… and then Lifetime will make a movie about it where I play myself opposite my on-screen boyfriend, Rob Lowe. Eh, I’ve been indulging the delusions of grandeur for twenty-something years, why stop now?