i n

F

BIGGER

SMALLER

COURIER

GEORGIA

TIMES

VERDANA

COMIC

l

RECENT

POPULAR

e

u

 ^{(it's beta!)}

The sun beats down on me. I wish I had sunglasses. They should of given us sunglasses. I mean, it's not like we can hurt ourselves with sunglasses. Honestly, I need some sunglasses.

The trees look really nice today though. I don't know why we had to do bear-bags last night. This is grad group, their aren't bears here. But, shit, I'm coming back soon. I don't even fucking care. Hell yeah.

There are some dumb fucking kids in my grad group. Whatever. Theres some cool kids, too. This kid with dreads is really cool.

Theres this random kid that seems autistic, too. It's really freaky, hes like 12, but hes fucking seven feet tall. Hes got really creepy facial features, too. Hes really nice though.

"Hi!" he yells at me all the time. Probably because I'm the only fucking kid not bitter enough to be a shit to him.

"Hey man." I say.

"Whats your name?"

"I'm Frank. But, I'm actually James Franco."

"Who's James Franco?"

"Hes in Spiderman one, two, and three. He played Harry Osbourne, Peter Parkers best friend, who later becomes the New Goblin. He was the Green Goblins, Norman Osbourne, the president of Osbourne Industries son."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And you're him?"

"Yes. I am James Franco."

"Heh heh, should I call you Frank?"

"Or James."

"James FRANKo! Haha. Get it?"

He smiles.

"That is a coincidence. I was James Franco before I was Frank. Have you played the Super Mario Brothers series of video games?"

"Yes, I have."

"I have played through every single one:"

He proceeds to list off every single Mario game.

"I, also, know every boss in every game."

"Really?"

"Tell me your favorite game."

"My favorites Paper Mario."

"Paper Mario or Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door?"

"Paper Mario."

He proceeds to list off every boss in the game.

Honestly, I'm incredibly impressed, confused, and curious at the same time.

"Tell me your second favorite."

"How about Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door."

"Is it your second favorite?"

"Um, yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He lists off every boss in the game.

"Would you like to take the Super Mario Super Quiz? I made it up right now, and I'm going to make sure you're actually a fan of the Super Mario Series."

"Sure."

He asks me questions and sometimes makes fun of me for not knowing the answers. It kind of makes me feel bad, but then I realize: This is an autistic twelve year old giving me a quiz about a series of video games.

"I have my own world."

"Yeah?"

"Actually my own universe. Do you want to know all the planets?"

"Sure."

"Well theres the ice planet. With glaciers and little eskimos. And then theres a lava planet, thats got like volcanoes and a jungle and island villagers. Then theres the ocean planet and all it is is people on cruise ships. And then there are just docks that sit in the middle. And everybody on the cruise ships have tempurpedic beds, and those little drinks with the umbrella. Actually on every planet, every person gets a tempurpedic bed and an infinite amount of those little drinks with the umbrellas. And its all free. Everything's free. And then theres other planets. Do you want to know about them?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Theres a cloud planet. Thats like all in the clouds and everyone has wings and stuff. And everyone gets a tempurpedic bed and those little drinks with the umbrellas."

"So everybody gets a tempurpedic bed and those little drinks with the umbrellas?"

"Yeah. Now remember that. I don't want to have to keep saying it. Because every planet in my universe has those. And there are infinite planets. Theres just tons."

"Really? Thats cool."

"Thank you."

"Wait... why were you sent here?"

"I was being spoiled and I was behaving badly. I would yell at my parents and only play video games. I was being a bad child. I have changed now."

"Well... I'm glad."

"What'd you do?"

"Well, I kinda like tried to overdose. Not like really suicide, just a cry for help kind of thing. I didn't really have any friends."

"Oh, I don't have very many friends either. But we're friends right? You're my friend, right, Elijah?"

"Yeah. We're friends." I smile.

He laughs.

They call for us to go back to our cabins and to our groups, etc etc.

"Bye Elijah! Bye! Bye!"

He waves and smiles.

"Bye Frank."

"Call me James."

"I thought you said I could call you Frank."

"Well I'm not Frank anymore, I'm James Franco."

"Heh, alright. Bye James."

"BYE ELIJAH!!!"

My god, that kid was fucking awesome.

Ever since I was a child, I was told that it was okay to be gay. My parents would go out of their way to make this point to a then preadolescent me. I just sat innocent, starry-eyed and understood not a word of it. I was a naturally tolerant child, most likely stemming from the fact that since birth I have been categorized in the most unrecognized minority of all, the abnormally pale. I was teased recklessly by the kids who thought anything that wasn't loud, obnoxious and tan was not normal and should be treated as such. What confused me about this was that I was adequately loud and obnoxious for a child of that age. Obviously my peers attended private school, where a solid sixty-seven percent was still failing.

To this day, people look at me as if they see some different species, some new animal just located residing in the crevices of the densest and deepest rain forest. As if being pale is akin to being morbidly disfigured or mentally handicapped. At least those people are treated with guilt-ridden dignity, while I sit helpless to another regulatory parade of questions. The most irritating being:

"Do you even go outside?"

Well, yes! In fact, I do! Thanks ever so much for asking!

The next, and most frequent, being:

"Are you albino?"

This question, every time I am asked it, confuses and dissapoints me. I answer the same way most times, choosing to reside on a simple, "No." But occasionally I will be caught on an off-day and I'll just have to explain that: Albinos are notorious, right after having pale skin, to having red eyes. But as with any issue in America, pointing out clear falsehoods changes nothing.

Growing up with this whole stigma surrounding my skin color arose an early and valid understanding that many people are shallow, unsympathetic, rude and just plain dumb. People can look at me, poke fun and not even see the irony as they turn back to talk to their black friend (who along with them pokes fun at me and precedes to admire Martin Luthor King Jr. who would merely rest his palm on his forehead in shame of what his teachings have become). Thousands of years of bigotry and we still can't understand that skin color determines nothing about a persons worth or dignity.

This entire business with albinism raises an even deeper and more unsettling question:

If I was an Albino, what would be so wrong with that?

Absolutely nothing, but as with anything, people fear the different and unfamiliar. It's a sad, but simple truth. So to guarantee my awareness of this fact, my parents taught me that gay was a-ok. My father tended more towards teaching me to be tolerant of all races and religions, while my mother leaned towards teaching me to be tolerant of women and homosexuals. I have had a suspicion for many years that my mother has a feeling of disappointment, buried away under many layers, that neither of her sons turned out to be a flamer. During my years of early childhood through my early teenage years, I remember my mother approaching both my brother and I and reassuring us that if we were gay, it was okay and that she would accept us. This is something I think any good mother really should do and I admire my mother for it. But after being told by both my brother and I that we were indeed preferable to the females, she should have stopped. She didn't stop though. She proceeded to reassure us on a monthly basis, as if it was a sort of homo-conditioning exercise she had learned from a parenting class in college.

My mother won't admit that she secretly wishes we preferred the snake to the snake-hole, but I think I understand. If I turned out to be gay, my mom could have gone to her book club and be known among her peers as the supporting mother of the gay kid. She could have gone to her Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and be known as the one who not only conquered Alcoholism, but a queer son too! Her social status would go shooting through the roof! She would be among the greats now: the dad who's fighting skin cancer, the mother who lost her entire family; she would have all of the social height but none of the suffering! She could have her cake and eat it too!

I don't blame my mother at all for wishing I was gay. Sometimes I wish I was gay, too. Then, at the very least, I would have something to cover up how ridiculously pale I am.