First there was the psychiatrist. I’d always known that Dad was hiding some terrible pain deep inside himself. I hadn’t realized that it was so ba... that he needed to see a psychiatrist – lots of psychiatrists. For the longest time, I thought his constant rejection of my hugs was something to do with me. It had built up this huge seething hurt way down deep inside of me. I was convinced that he didn’t love me enough to hug me. Slowly, very slowly, I realized that it wasn’t about me. What Dad had. That abuse would later berepeated in comments by a male middle school gym teacher who told me andmy fat friend Duane that we shouldn't hang out so much in front of theboys bathroom because people were going to think we were two queersscrewing each other.Another event in my childhood happened when I was 13. There was a bigfalling out between my mother and my aunt during a battle over theirmother's inheritance. The inheritance struggle reached a fever pitchwhen shortly after my grandmother's. More

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