When I was about 16-17 I had an experience, a life changing one, on a very small scale from the outside of things. For a little background: I was very tall and skinny and was very moody, easily afraid, and often had had my ass kicked. I was also one of the few openly gay people I knew in town.
I was walking in downtown Fort Collins to meet some friends at someplace I can’t recall at the moment. While I was walking a guy almost clips me while riding his bike and yells back at me:
“Watch it FAGGOT”
My world goes red, I drop my back pack and start running after him, virtually frothing at the mouth and spewing obscenities. Completely intent on catching up to this asshole and beating him until there is nothing recognizably human left.
One of the friends who I was walking to meet, steps out in front of me. It’s like running into a brick wall. For clarity he’s taller than I am and has about 100 pounds on me at that point in my life. He wraps his arms around me.
He doesn't let go.
I’m still screaming and swearing and trying my hardest to break his grip, but he’s got my hands pinned to my sides. My anger redirects from the cyclist to my friend. I start yelling at him, venting all my rage and anger at the world on him. Struggling desperately to break free.
He doesn't let go.
Eventually my anger fades and I start crying. No matter how many times I’m called a fag, or thrown in lockers, or hit or spit on. It still hurts. This deep well of pain comes bubbling up. My friend’s grip changes from one of restraint to one of comfort.
And still he doesn't let go.
The storm of emotions lasts about 10 minutes, he and I standing on the main drag of our town he’s holding me tight while I fall apart. Completely unselfconscious about holding the gay kid, the faggot, while he weeps for a broken life. I've never forgotten that moment. I have never stopped being grateful for him being strong for me when I wasn't.
That’s what I mean when I say a hug is a commitment.
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