Not all opinions/sentiments held by the created man brand/project may be held by guest contributors. Not all opinions/sentiments held by guest contributors may be held by the created man brand/project. Guest contributors add a unique tile to the mosaic nature of our ideas and do not simply reaffirm our own held beliefs.
Guest Contributor: Christopher G.
The first time I remember being attracted to a boy, I was five or six years old.
My parents, my brothers, my sister and I were living in a small town north of Ontario. A boy around my age lived across the street. We began a rather ordinary friendship, and our days were full of the kind of adventure little boys revel in. From playing tag in the yard and hockey in the street, to digging in nearby ditches for frogs and salamanders; our hands and trousers got muddy beyond what the washing machine could remedy. We climbed trees with the heart pounding excitement of exploring heights never before seen, and spent rainy afternoons quietly engineering Lego creations on his basement floor.
With a calm and collected voice, my dad called the family into the kitchen. He and mum looked at each other and smiled. “I’ve been offered a job. It’s a really good one, and I’m going to take it. But we’re going to have to move.” Everyone seemed excited, but I was bewildered. I walked out of the room confused, upset, scared. I didn’t want to move.
I liked our house.
I liked our yard.
I liked my mate across the street.
A couple of days later, I began to pack my trucks and action figures into boxes, mournfully gazing across the street at my mate’s house. A memory with him tied to each plastic object. “Christopher.” I turned to look at my mum as she stepped into the room. Kneeling down, she looked straight into my eyes. “Do you know what happened when his mother told him you were moving away?” I shook my head and looked at my feet. She tilted my chin, so we were eye to eye again. “He cried. He’s going to miss you too, love.” She hugged me. But I was speechless.
He was going to miss me.
Thinking about our adventures coming to an end had moved him to uncontainable emotion; to tears. He cared about me. The feeling of being cared about so deeply by another human that they would cry…I’d never felt it before. It rushed over me in a way I couldn’t (and still can’t) describe.
We played at his house the next day. We merged the worlds of Matchbox cars and Legos until the entire basement floor formed our new civilization. Maneuvering my car into the Lego garage I’d built, I remembered what Mum had told me. “He cried. He’s going to miss you too, love” raced through my mind over and over. I wanted to keep playing, but I couldn’t. I looked at him; this boy who cared enough to cry.
He looked different to me. He looked like nothing else I’d ever seen. His compassionate care was magnetic, emanating outwards and drawing me in. The feeling was so full, I felt it expanding in my chest. I breathed deeply.
He picked up a wheel from the pile of pieces beside him and affixed it to the Lego car in his hand. I leaned towards him and kissed him.
We looked at each other, startled. He gave me a confused look. I gave him a confused smile. After a beat, he looked down at the car and went back to searching for the final wheel.
I know what it feels like to burn with lust for man. I know what the desire for sex feels like. My kiss on his basement floor, surrounded by Legos, was different. Like his tears, the kiss was an overflow; what I could not find words to say. At 6 years old, my attraction to him was born out of a need to somehow thank him for caring so deeply. At 6 years old, my attraction to him was that he loved me.
At 23 years old, my attraction to my Savior is born out of a need to somehow thank Him for caring so deeply. At 23 years old, my attraction to my God is that He loved me first.
About the author
Christopher is a Christian living and working in Canada. He is same-sex attracted and pursing celibacy through the power of Christ.