I grew up in the Bronx. It was a real tight-knit Italian community. I had lots of cousins who lived right in the neighborhood, and we all went to Catholic school together. My grandparents were still alive, and there were always parties at their house with incredible food. My grandfather used to make wine and had a wine cellar.

My father and his brothers and sisters had a band, and they played whatever was popular. They had a good time. What really strikes me is that back then, my parents and uncles, who would have been in their thirties, had plenty of leisure time. They were able to play and have fun. None of the wives worked.

They owned an auto repair garage and gas station. They used to play at weddings and make money, but it was more that they were having fun. They were able to cover their gas, and they'd get a free meal. It was really a fifties view of the world--fun and dancing and an unawareness of social problems or political climate.

Those were good times. . . . I had a lot of friends, and most of my friends were Catholic. It was a good time. There was never any mention of homosexuality, except for George the florist, who was overtly effeminate. Of course, that's your stereotype. The gay man is either a florist or a hairdresser, and we didn't even have any gay hairdressers that I ever saw.

In high school there were about a dozen of us, mixed men and women, who hung around together. I was realizing that I didn't have a strong attraction to girls, but I didn't deal with it beyond that. I didn't allow myself to admit there was any attraction to guys. In many ways, I was the girls' closest male friend in the group. I was the one they could talk to in a different way than they talked to any of the other guys. I dated some girls too, but there was no magic there.

In college, it became more and more painfully evident, though, that if I wasn't totally drunk, there was just no possibility for sex whatsoever, but it was years trickling into my consciousness. I hear stories of people who knew when they were twelve. With hindsight, I can think back to kindergarten and being attracted to somebody. I can picture his face and remember his name, but that's with hindsight.

It really wasn't until I was traveling with some friends in British Columbia that I got in touch with those feelings. There were three of us, all men. They were straight and I was straight, except realizing that I wasn't.

Part of it was just stepping out of my life. Just being there, with the pure water and the healthy living, knocked down all the little defenses I had built up in my head. There was no more denying my homosexual feelings.

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