This hadn’t been the first time I lied to my father. My father, now that is a good man. Tough, intelligent, hard-working, a terrific husband to my mother, and always there for my brothers and I. My grandmother used to say that my dad and I, “both had that strapping, rugged build, but had a face with the innocence and honesty of a choir-boy.” I always thought that description was slightly contradictory. Nonetheless, my dad is a great guy. My mother, is a f------ rock star. I apologize for the language, but in this case the explicitness was necessary. Raising four boys (I’m almost a man) and still living her dream in the Fashion Industry. Tall, and with blonde wavy hair like Farrah Fawcett, I don’t want to describe my mother’s physical features too much because that’s just weird. But my mom is a beautiful woman. Mom and my dad’s genes combined created one pretty, d--- handsome young man. Then, there are my three little brothers. Cameron, 13, is the coolest kid I know. He once faked drowning in the club pool, just so the sexy life guard would give him mouth-to-mouth. My other brother Olly (Oliver) is 7 years old, and he is straight up trouble. He has this sort of red hair, which makes no sense considering my father has brown hair and my mother is a blonde. We kind of tease him about it. Lastly, my baby brother Adam is just like any other youngest kid in the family. He is the “angel” and always gets away with everything. My family is terrific, and my life was terrific.

Life up until January 1st was just fine the way it was. It wasn’t just fine, it was perfect. I had everything: the girl, I was star of the Lacrosse team, I owned Hudson Prep, and my parents loved me.
I actually remember so clearly that whole week leading up to that stupid, asinine, brash, horrible New Year’s. It really was a great holiday vacation. I mean, what says Christmas more than the beaches of St. Bart’s right?
Well, anyhow, after a grueling week of finishing exams at school, the family and I got to spend seven wonderful, stress-free days just kicking back and getting some sun. On the first day, my parents made the whole family take a guided tour of the island to really “get enthralled in the culture of another place” as my mom put it. The first day of the vacation was nothing short of disaster. Isolated in boiling, sweaty cesspools of people on the St. Bart’s tour bus, which looked like it had been in use since my parents were my age (A long time ago) was just a horrendous experience full of bad smells, unsanitary people, and finally, the most ANNOYING tour guide in the history of the occupation. I mean this guy or woman (I couldn’t really tell) had a high screeching voice that resembled nails on a chalkboard, combined with a way, too energetic personality for six in the morning. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he or she also kept cheering, “Gotta get your head in the game” when he or she saw me not paying attention to the tour. After finally arriving back at the house, the only thing I could see was the cream color of the house and it’s stain-glass windows. The pool in the back was shaped like an egg, and the water was so blue, that it was brighter than the faces of those Blue Man Group guys. The next few days the boys and I had a blast as we got the day to ourselves and went to the beach, ran all over the town, and talked to complete strangers and the local street vendors.
In the town, specifically, we had a lot of fun as my brother Cameron would attempt to have long, at least three-minute conversations talking about absolute b-------. This particular one was my favorite. He went up to an older Asian gentleman and said, “Hey, how you doing, it’s great to see you, my man.” As the older man stared at my brother in complete disarray and confusion, he said, “Sorry, I do believe, you have made a mistake.”
“Are you kidding me? It’ s me, Burt, I went out with your daugher. I asked her to marry me. She said yes, but you never gave us permission. Remember me now, Sir?”
This was one of Cameron’s most convincing performances yet, and eventually, the man was agreeing with every last detail that Cameron would create on the spot. For the next half an hour, we continued to manipulate strangers’ minds on the boardwalk with such phrases like, “Remember me from the coffee shop?” or “My mom said that you were my biological father.” Some consider this type comedy to be rude, crude, and very immature. I completely disagree with that opinion. Life shouldn’t always be so serious.
The next day was Christmas. I would say Christmas is my favorite December holiday of all-time. Good food, lots of presents, just a fun day. My brothers and I all had written very specific Wish Lists to Santa all claiming the we had all been “good boys this year.” Cameron wanted an old Record player. Olly wanted the newest Nike Basketball shoes. My baby brother Adam, well, he was kind of unsure what he wanted considering he can’t really speak right now. But, we speculated that toy cars would be great due to his constant moaning and pointing every time he saw a car. For myself, I didn’t need any presents, so I requested “a loving and accepting home.” Before my turn came to open my gifts, a brute, rugged, strikingly handsome figure appeared in front of our window. I was distracted. Who was this person? He must have came from the beach and lived in the town.
“Son!” “Son!” Both of my parents’ loud, siren-like yelling awoke me from my short moment of bliss.
“Who was that f-----y looking man outside?” my father said abruptly. “He was walking around in a d--- bikini bottom.”
“That’s a speedo. It’s just the style here with the men” my mother rebuttled.
“Whatever, I’m sure that boy’s parents are ashamed to see their son walking around like a d--- fairy.”
“It’s your turn” my mother said. Feeling of complete shame of my attraction towards the mystery man, I quickly opened the first gift to see a brand new pair of Lacrosse Cleats. “Yay, just what I wanted,” I thought sarcastically. “Son, I know how hard you’ve been working lately,” my dad said. “I just wanted to show my appreciation for you and how much I am proud of you, not only because you finished with straight A’s this past semester, but also for sacrificing so much, for you to reach your dream of playing Lacrosse at Cornell, just like your old man.” Ah yes, “my dream” of playing at Cornell. Don’t get me wrong, I understand how much Lacrosse has done for myself, and for my family’s overall happiness, but it’s not something I want to do for another four years. And I definitely don’t want to go to Cornell. I guess my dad was right about one thing, the sacrifice. As my dad rambled on about my future successes at Cornell, I thought, “I have sacrificed so much of my joy, just to please my parents, just to please my father. It’s time for them to know the truth.” This moment was the first time I had really admitted to myself that everything I felt regarding my future and who I was attracted to, was completely real and not what I had originally hoped, that they were just weird phases. Yes, I was terrified of what my father might do to me when he would find out about my feelings, but I knew for my own sake, he needed to know the truth.
Christmas dinner was wonderfully pleasant, as we all went down to the beach, the entire community dressed in all-white garments, and singing carols throughout the night. My favorite one was “Silent Night” because of its calm, peaceful style and also for its message of a “silent night (is a) holy night.” As I saw my father sing with my mother so nicely, I realized another reason why my father is so great. He is the ideal man. Tough, courageous, supporting of his wife and children, and courageous. Although I don’t have a wife and children, I am not tough or courageous. I am a coward, and I am not like my father. I have tried, but I failed. During the caroling, it felt like we were all on a big, white cloud, just floating in the air, looking down upon the world. It was spiritual, and it was a confidence-builder for me, in terms of standing up to my parents. Olly asked me, “What is Christmas all about?” I replied, “About being able to tell your loved ones the truth, and them still loving you no matter what. It’s a day to celebrate Jesus’s birthday, and the sins and flaws that we all have, but to remember we are all God’s children.” I’m pretty sure Olly was slightly confused in my answer, so after, I said, “In short, it’s a day of giving and receiving presents.” That response made a whole lot more sense to my brother. After we headed back home, my parents asked me about Scarlett, (my girlfriend from school). They asked if I had gotten “her a gift or if I called her wishing her a Merry Christmas.” When I said, “No, I have not,” they became enraged. They were disappointed that I had not been a gentlemen to my girlfriend of so many years. “She’s a wonderful girl honey,” my mother told me.
“How dare you take her for granite,” my father said.
“Honey, you call that girl and apologize for not talking to her earlier.”
“Yes Mam.”
“And you better make sure you keep that girl.”
“Yes sir.” See, the story with Scarlett Faye is, well she is perfect. Even her name sounds elegant, yet kind of mysterious. Scar-lett, Faaayyyeee. It just rolls off the tongue nicely. I’ve been with her since pretty much forever. Our parents all went to Cornell and are still really good friends today, so in short, I had no choice in the matter of her being with me. Don’t get me wrong, we’re friends, and I like spending time with her, but it’s just... she is not the right person for me. Honestly, I don’t know where that person is. I know for sure though, I will not find them in my current setting in life. Is it corny that at 18 I want to find the one? I’m lonesome. Yes, I have a great relationship with my brothers, yes, school comes easy for me, but still there is a huge space in my life that I want to be filled. No one understands it, no one knows about it, and I don’t trust anyone enough to tell them about it.
The dreadful day finally arrived. New Year’s Eve. December 31st, and the chance to hit reset and tell my parents the truth about who I really am and what I truly want for my future. With some friends from New York visiting just for the night and it being our last night as well, my parents decided to throw an extravagant party at the house. My parents organized costumes to be decorated by the local women, and had five cooks prepare a feast of fresh salads, juicy steaks, and also mouth-watering desserts. This was a big night, and I had big plans to announce to my parents. The last couple hours before the sun began to set was spent finishing final decorations and nuances of the house. The house is a slender, cream place that resembles a Church because of the gorgeous, and timeless stain-glass windows. The recently cut grass in the front of the house was full of a tall rainbow-like variety of flowers. The facade was so beautiful inviting and warm, slight strings of Ivory layed over it like a child resting on a bed at night. For now, it is peaceful and quiet.

As the final minutes before midnight approached, I became extremely nervous about my decision to tell my parents about my secret feelings about myself and my future. Deep breaths never felt so helpful before, and the thoughts of shame ran through my head like a bad nightmare. Tick, tock, tick, tock. 11:53 PM. I couldn’t handle it. Sweating and anxious, I retreated into my room to “ease the tension”. Dimming the lights, and stripping off my $1,500 blue Armani Suit, I pulled out my partner and began the therapy session. “5 minutes that’s all I need, In, out, tell my parents, and that’s it,” I thought to myself. My lack of focus led to my inability to finish. Desperately, I pulled out an old magazine of mine, which I hadn’t looked at since the start of the trip. I flipped through the rigorously used magazine until I found my favorite picture. Tall, lean, and handsome. Always gets me. Deep breath, legs tensing, body tightening, right before this moment of relaxation ended, my father pulled open the door. I attempted to shield myself away from his dead-lock laserbeam vision. But, I failed. His eyes met my eyes. His eyes gazed over my naked body and into my left hand, holding the magazine. “I, I,” I pled for my explanation, but there was none. The look in his face was of shock, like seeing a ghost, and of the total feeling of failure as a father. He shut the door. My plans of explaining my “situation” to my parents were ruined.
As I laid naked in my bed, full of shame and embarrassment, I began staring at the plain white ceiling above me. “What do I do now?” I thought to myself. “My father will never accept me. Maybe if I had tried explaining this to him, maybe. But that opportunity is gone, and that image of me will never escape his mind.” As the countdown to the new year began, I walked over to the window of my room. I looked out the window to the garden of our house to see all my family, family friends, and other party guests smiling, laughing, and excited for the moment to arrive. As I looked harder into the back of the garden, I saw my parents together. I then saw my father whisper into my mother’s ear. All of the guests joyously shaking in excitement, while I saw my father began to cry and hug my mother so tightly as if he was desperate for companionship. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Happy New Year.