I am always bitterly amused when I hear people say that homosexuality is a choice. I could only imagine, as a prepubescent boy, the relief I would feel when nature finally flipped that hormone switch, when at last I would begin to slaver and tremble over pictures of boobs in dog-eared copies of Playboy, stashed lovingly under my bed. Truly, I looked forward to it.
I have a peculiar memory which must date to when I was 10 or 11 years old. I am sitting daydreaming one afternoon, and it occurs to me that I will never get married. Simultaneously with this realization comes the recognition that I have always understood that marriage was unlikely for me, and that today is merely the first time I have said so, to myself, "aloud."