I was in the third grade when I learned the word faggot.   I heard it on the bus.  It was directed at me.  I was immediately made to understand what this meant.  I was also made to feel what I had become.  Soon thereafter, this little boy came to realize that until I left my home town of adulterous wife beating drunks, there would be no escape from any association with that word on a daily basis, ever.

I suppose that the constant derision and name calling has scarred me indelibly forever.  I suppose also that I was lucky to escape with my life... not to have been beaten senseless by a horde of drunken rubes or even taking my own life.  Unlike some others, I survived the beatings and the taunts.  I endured the destruction of my personal property.  I was able to overlook the limitations imposed upon me by others as a result of my sexuality.  Furthermore, I annihilated my classmates with my superior grades and class participation...  which resulted in even further humiliation and hatred.  Being very smart I did make one very poignant observation  fingering the perpetrators only makes things worse.  

So I am left wondering about the upright conservative family values of the assholes in my home town.  How is it that they are able to look themselves in the eye and identify one another  as loving Christians  I grew up in a very white bread community... no blacks... one Jew... one homosexual, me  or so I was led to believe.  In  the ten years from third grade until I graduated from high school I endured countless physical attacks, sucker punches, tripping, pushing, shoving, numerous insults, flagrant hatred and undeniable discrimination... and not one person ever came to my defense... not one teacher or a bus driver, nor the school nurse, not a principal or a vice principal, nor the gym teacher nor the guidance counselor, nor a lunch room monitor, not even my parents or my grandparents... not one single person ever raised a hand to stop my persecution.  In a ten year span of time I find it unlikely that all of these people had no idea what was going on.  In such a small town of 400 the likelihood of this going unnoticed is slim to none.  I was the church organist from the age of 12 and directed the choir... but still my exemplary participation in community life at this early age was not enough to spare me the humiliation and taunts of my peers.  It appears then that it is perfectly acceptable to use a faggot for what he is worth... but not worth defending him while he is being shit on.

Remarkably, I do owe all these same people my sincerest thanks.  For you see, without them I am nothing.  I have honed my skill on jagged and unyielding bedrock, these people.   For every slap and insult there was a snappy comeback... whether it was spoken or not.  As my piano teacher, Mrs. Britt used to say, Perfect practice makes perfect, my dear... 

I still practice perfectly.

What does all this mean...  It means the predominant sentiment in early 21st century America is this...  faggots only get what they deserve.   

And to think that people actually wonder why at times I am such a short fused bitch.

 Timothy P. Credle