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It was the summer of 1983, and Elton John was back on the charts with ‘I’m Still Standing’. While he was filming the music video in France, I was frolicking on some beach in New England, embracing my super-short-shorts like any burgeoning gay boy – so innocent and naive and silly – and so happily unaware of what the world had in store for me. The wind in my hair, the sun in my eyes, and the sand in-between my toes – it was summer on the beach. I didn’t feel the need to suck in my tummy, and striking a pose was already my natural mode of existence. It was nearly the end of childhood innocence, and I had absolutely no idea what was to come. 

You could never know what it’s like
Your blood like winter freezes just like ice
And there’s a cold lonely light that shines from you
You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use

And did you think this fool could never win?
Well look at me, I’m coming back again
I got a taste of love in a simple way
And if you need to know while I’m still standing, you just fade away…

Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I’m still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

I’m still standing (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I’m still standing (Yeah, yeah, yeah)

Building sandcastles by the sea, I lost myself in the sparkle of the water and the sun. I paid no mind to the other people on the beach, being entirely occupied with the kingdom before me. A hole in the sand filled with burrowing sand fleas and seaweed was more intriguing than the sterilized chlorine haze of the hotel pool, and the world I conjured for myself was all the more precious for the encroaching waves of the ocean, lapping and biting at my kingdom, ever-threatening to devour and destroy. 

Back then, I could flirt with the idea of dismantling entire worlds, watching the sea dissolve the grandest design, and not be very bothered by it. As the sun began its slow summer descent, and my stomach rumbled, attention moved from the transitory charms of the beach to the possibility of a seafood dinner. The sea always brought out the most voracious appetite – all the running into and out of the water, the swimming against the current and fighting a way back to shore. The waves could knock us down with their exhilarating might, and every time we got up we felt a little stronger. 

Oddly enough, in some ways I think the boy I was then stood a little taller, a little prouder, a little more confident than the man I am today. He was unafflicted by shame, he didn’t have names or hatred thrown at him, he didn’t know what awfulness the world could inflict. Children have that kind of power for such a brief window of time – I wish I’d known that then. Moreover, I wish I’d learned how to hang onto it. 

Some days, when I’m lucky enough to be on the beach, when the sun sparkles a certain way on the sea, and when I’m feeling especially free, I conjure a little bit of that kid. I remember his spirit, his innocence, his power. I remember his invincibility. 

And I mourn the way he left.