I've taken the liberty, as an aside, to insert a song that became,
quite by accident, very important in my life.
With so much talk as to whether people, particularly men, who display
pronounced sexual preferences outside of the mainstream expectations,
are "born that way" or "learn to become that way" or, to strike a more
fundamental note, "succumb to the tempations of Satan." Certainly the
nature vs. nurture arguments have been batted about regarding
homosexuality in the classic sense, but if one is a child lover, one
cannot help but wonder--particularly since being such is so reviled
and stigmatized in Western society--so much so that enlightened legal
systems haven't a problem tearing away from them the basic legal and
human rights that are yet held sacred for murderers and serial
rapists.
Although I am not absolutely convinced, I think the argument that it
is a born tendency is the only one that holds. There is no convincing
evidence that a boy [and I shall speak of boys only] who, having been
"molested" by an adult, will himself develop a sexual preference for
young boys--unless, of course, he already had that propensity as a
child and, yes, perhaps even at birth. Although a boy may indeed
enjoy a sexual experience with another boy or man, that enjoyment is
no indication if he'll lead a straight or gay or child-loving life. I
find it dispicable that Western Society insists to the child that this
IS the case ... as with the boy who told his father he was "afraid
he'd become a fag." It is just another way society keeps people in
line, I suppose, whatever the cost.
But, I digress [as usual]. I'll let the brilliant geneticists tinker
with that one. No doubt they'll identify a gene marker, prescribe
some advanced and technologically savvy treatment, do a longitudinal
study of one or two decades, then decide that there was no significant
statistical evidence for their discovery. A bit like cold fusion.
But, I digress [as usual][again].
Does a boy, then, really know if he will grow up to love boys? And if
so, how and when might it be revealed and, if it is, would he know
what it meant?
I was a very shy boy and hesitant ... easily embarrassed and
intimidated. I had a few friends as a child and we played together.
We loved all the American things ... and played Army and Cowboys and
Naked Indians [in swimming attire, I assure you] and, like most boys,
did some sneaking and peeking at one another's privates and hootchicoo
dancing. That was all good and fine ... none of it seemed sexual in
the least. I do recall alot of giggling and the accidental spurting
of soda pop out of the nose.
But I think the moment that the revelation hit me, was during a
vacation with the folks in the States. We'd gone off to Disneyland,
in the state of California ... Anaheim. It must have been '64 or '65
of the last century [ouch]. I was probably thirteen years old ...
right at puberty [though I had no inkling what all that was really
about--just pretended I did, like so many other lads]. Mum and Dad
had gone off for refreshments ... I remember it was summertime and I
was left standing in line for one of the rides. They used tickets in
those days--I understand it's changed, tho' haven't been back in
decades. It was quite hot and muggy, and I was in a tight line
waiting to get into the "C" ticket ride called [I believe] The Peter
Pan Ride.
Heavens! Barrie! Peter Pan! My God, could it have been so
obvious??? What an amusing coincidence! Or was it a coincidence?
But I digress [as usual][again][repeatedly]. I vividly recall
turning around to look to see if Mummy and Daddy had returned. There
was a song playing out on a tinny transistor radio--an instrumental by
Vince Guaraldi. As I turned, I looked into the face of a boy standing
directly behind me, a sandy-haired American boy, probably eleven or
twelve years old. He had one of those American style white sailor
caps, the kind you can snap the brim down all around--and he had the
brim down, shading his eyes ... I recall they were deep blue. His
features were strong, but not overly masculine or feminine--a delicate
mouth with a ready smile ... a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he
looked ahead. Well, something hit me emotionally. I didn't know what
it was, really ... I didn't have an erection, or any such thing that I
could have even thought might be sexual [it was then all a mystery to
me anyway]. I just felt my heart jump and suddenly weak. To tell you
the truth, it scared me terribly. I looked away quickly, but glanced
back again. The lad saw me look and asked, "Are you okay?" in a most
sincere tone, rather than the sarcastic sneer one might expect from
someone teetering on the brink of teen hood. I stuttered out
something ... I don't remember what, perhaps, "Uh, yeah. Okay," then
looked away again, feeling anxious and frightened. Thankfully, at
last the line began to move and I clamoured into the cart waiting to
whisk me up and away over London and to Neverland ... alone.
Anyone with some simple arithmetic skills can deduce that I am now
somewhat sadly over middle age, yet I have never forgotten that ride.
I have never forgotten that boy. At times I wonder if he'd been
killed in Vietnam and pray not. And I shall always cherish that piece
I heard that day by Vince Guaraldi, which when played today yet
brings tears to my eyes.
Was that the revelation, then? What was a boy to make of such a
thing?
Well ... silly me. Here's the piece, not that any would be
particularly interested, rendered by Sounds Symphonic ...
God Save Her Majesty the Queen.
God Preserve the Prince of Wales.
Rule Britannia!
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