Phoenixville's Gay Pride Festival.
It was the 1974-75 school year and I was 14 years old. When the guidance counselor asked why I seemed so unhappy and having trouble in school, after a long pause, I mustered my strength and replied, "Because I think I'm gay and I don't know where to turn. I need someone to talk with me." Her response was "Oh my God...whatever you do don't tell this to Mr. Daher (then, the assistant vice principal)!" And that was the extent of her guidance.
The next guidance I received was through the Christian religion. In the confessional, the priest told me that we should talk more extensively about my situation, and after feeding me a little religious doctrine and not a little whiskey, the clergyman molested me that night. Thinking I had nowhere else to turn, I ran away from home.
I ran away because, given the information and "guidance" I had received, there seemed to be no other solution. I thought I was alone and in the dark. I thought that God did not love me anymore, and it didn't really matter what happened to me. I was, in short, handed a pack of cruel lies. By writing this particular column, it is my intention that this will never happen to another gay kid in the Phoenixville area ever again.
http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=15296836&BRD=1673&PAG=461&dept_id=17918&rfi=6Phoenixville is a small town in SE PA, about 30 miles west of Philadelphia.