That Time I… Survived My Teens by Craig Barker
Craig Barker
LGBTQ Non-fiction/Memoir
Release Date: 10.13.19
Blurb
The Saturday prior to starting this memoir, my ex-fiancé and I had two of his work friends over for an old-fashioned games night. And when I say “old-fashioned,” I’m talking about dice, cards, racking up your points on an abacus, etc. You know, the things people entertained themselves with before politicians blamed every violent fart that wafted their way on video games.
Stop doing that.
Anyway, seeing as I didn’t know who these people were and would’ve much rather spent the evening on the sofa with our dog, I was less than optimistic. If anything, the whole ordeal was going to be like sitting through a Christopher Nolan movie. Sure, I’d say I was having a great time to fit in, but in all honesty, I wouldn’t have a clue what was happening and I’d probably need to take a nap midway through.
Hours before they arrived, just as I’d started to have those “what if I accidentally say something so obscenely offensive or mind-numbingly stupid, I’ll be haunted by the memory of it for years to come” thoughts, my ex ran down into the basement in which I dwell, his eyes frantic, and begged—
“Please don’t talk about choking on dicks when they get here.”
Come again?
“Please, Craig. That kind of talk makes them uncomfortable. Don’t do it.”
I felt a flurry of emotions in the picosecond it took for his words to register: amused, bemused, offended. It sounded like a joke, but his face was full of fear—a fear that I would be unequivocally crude to these complete strangers, and that my behavior would burn bridges he obviously wanted to keep erect (more on erections later).
That was when it hit me like a pair of loose-hanging nuts to the taint; a realization that I, Craig Thomas Barker, had a pattern of behavior that stretched across my life since adolescence—
I’m the person you get warned about before meeting. I’m the person that gets warned before going anywhere.
Like Carrie Bradshaw, “I couldn’t help but wonder” why that was. So, in order to understand who I am today, I decided to take a look at the years that shaped me. I spread my life out on the table, lubed it with the flare of artistic exaggeration, and went at it until I found my answer.
This isn’t so much a memoir as it is a gay’s journey to discover himself; don’t expect structure, coherency, or a thoroughly thought out narrative with a climactic closing paragraph that gives any of this dribble closure. I’m no one special, I’m not famous, and I don’t have much to say that hasn’t been said before, but I have lived a life, and all twenty-six years of that life has culminated in a single sentence—
“Please don’t talk about choking on dicks when they get here.”
This memoir explains why…
And it was cheaper than therapy.
The first day of high school, I stood at the bus stop with two dozen strangers and watched as they effortlessly formed connections that would last a lifetime. There was an infectious excitement in the air, spreading person to person, drawing us all into a circle where we tried to impress one another. It was a group interview and the job of being one’s friend—as to not suffer through the next five years alone—was a highly sought-after position. I remained (mostly) silent during this process, but I wore the nicest shoes my Mom could afford and the best smile I could muster.
I wanted people to like me.
There were four schools within my area I could have picked from; two of them had horrible reputations, one was a catholic school, and the other was an all-boys that was (apparently) very strict. In hindsight, the all-boys school would’ve been my best bet; most of my friends from my street (including James) went there. However, I knew a large portion of my primary school classmates were also transferring, and the last thing I wanted was to have those two worlds collide.
I didn’t want to be a “freak” or “sissy” for the next five years, so I chose a school I hadn’t heard anyone talk about, which also happened to be one of the two with a bad reputation. (I don’t think I need to explain why I passed on the catholic school, right?)
When the double-decker bus turned the corner, my heart skipped a beat. I had never been on a bus on my own before, and judging by the way everyone eagerly piled on and ran to the upper deck, no one else had either. It was rare moment of freedom; I was an eleven-year-old travelling on my own, going to a place where I could be whoever I wanted to be.
It was the beginning of the rest of my life.
The bus driver rolled his eyes as we squawked and squealed our way up the stairs. He set off before we’d even taken to our seats, resulting in a chain of laughter that encouraged me to speak. Everyone was having a good time, and I wanted to be a part of that. I was fully prepared to make high school, and the people I might meet there, my whole world.
Writing a biography has always baffled me. I mean, I’m writing my own but I’m supposed to do it in third person, right? I’m supposed to tell you I attended some top-notch school, help people cross the street, have a “relatable” passion for something and spend my weekends frolicking in a field of flowers…
I can’t do that.
My name is Craig. I like fried food. I write because I enjoy it. Please don’t make me do this anymore.
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