"I don't understand it.
There's no dirt on you."
Apparently, in the years B.G. ("Before Google"), this boy would ask around our little gay community to discover your deep, dark secrets.
Maybe he had been lied to by a series of ex-boyfriends. (As the saying goes, "Never trust a man who says, 'Trust me.'") Or maybe he was like my last boyfriend and looking for something he could use to inflict pain.
Either way, it was a less than classy thing to do and an even less classier thing to admit.
I told him that there was no dirt on me. And there wasn't. I didn't achieve the real, juicy "He put what where for how long?!?" kind of dirt that I've come to enjoy and happily accept as my own until I moved to Chicago. Because I knew, as we all know when we grow up in a small town, that people talk.
Small town boys move to big cities so we can get lost and finally be faceless. Being faceless allowed me to wipe the slate clean, to determine for myself who I was, what I liked. I was no longer tied to the beliefs and ideals of my parents. I was becoming my own person. All of my falls from grace and/or failures in judgement may have created the "dirt" that the boy above was searching for, but in Chicago, my life was now mine, chosen by me.
It's easier to defend the choices made in your life when you are actually the one doing the choosing.
I'm sure that President-elect Barack Obama isn't perfect. And unlike my former college-age self, I'm sure that Obama has done things in his past that others can and will condemn. But that's human. We all are less than perfect.
But everytime the Right Wing Hit Squad tries to dig deep into Obama's life to find the major media skeleton that they dream of using against him, it always makes me think of that old boyfriend of mine.
Because they try and try to find dirt and there is none. Which is frustrating to them and also says everything you need to know about who they are.
As one of my favorite Dolly Parton lyrics goes...