All the gay boys wanted to be Samantha; we were no different.

When I was five, my father taught me the meaning of work. “Don’t be blue collar,” he said tugging desperately at the thick collar of his mechanic’s work shirt. “Be white collar.”

The double line of an at-home pregnancy test cannot predict the future.

There was something about being a boy here.

For most people, Tahlequah was a heartwarming story about the power of a community of mothers. For me, it opened up a wound that I didn’t yet have the words for.

“His fate was predetermined, you see. The stars had already decided.”