I grew up in a very small conservative mormon Utah town. Today I visited my old Middle School for the first time in [Large Number Omitted] years to watch my niece’s dance team's performance. I sat in the bleachers in the school’s gymnasium, right next to the boy’s locker room entrance; probably my least favorite room on campus. I’m not going to lie, a bit of anxiety started to creep up as I had flashbacks of the shy, often-scared, non-athletic boy, who Hated PE, was hitting puberty, who knew he was ‘different’ and never wanted to stand out in the crowd.
As the assembly was coming to a close the High School cheerleaders came out to preform a routine. Something caught my eye. There was a black uniform in the center of all the short red skirts and pony tails. A boy with fabulous purple streaks in his hair was actually a member of the squad in my small conservative mormon hometown alma mater And in that moment I wanted to cry, but for another totally different reason. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t want to assume anything about his sexuality. But the fact alone that he had the courage to try out and make the team, be a proud cheerleader and live his truth. Wow. That was the highlight of my day. Give me an H. Give me an E. Give me an R. Give me an O. Kids these days.
And yes. He was absolutely fantastic!
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