text: When I was 22 years old I had an opportunity to live rent free in a small house that sat on county property. It was next to a lake and inside a park that was open from sunrise to sunset. I’d agreed to lock the main gates up at night and make one trip around the park each evening after we’d closed. It was a pretty sweet deal. My father was friends with the guy who ran the place and that’s how I got to live in ‘Wood House’ as we called it. Two cheers for nepotism. At that time in my life I was bumping heads with my parents over the smallest of things and wasn’t an easy person to be around. My dad’s pulling strings was as much about getting me out of the family house as it was finding an opportunity for me. After graduating high school I’d hopped around from job to job and had zero desire to start college. I was never a great student and during school I’d always struggled to keep up with everyone else. Studying and retaining information at the speed they expected never worked for me. I was bright, but not in the way needed for school success. I was in my early twenties and looking for a direction to go in. Looking back at this era in my life I can see why things were so frustrating and confusing for me. I’d been coming to terms with the same sex attraction I felt and desperately wanted to get away from. It was the late 80’s and it seemed being gay was a virtual death sentence. AIDS was in the news and on the covers of magazines and it was the most press coverage gay people had ever gotten. True, it wasn’t just a gay person's disease but it sure as hell looked that way. If there was a good time to figure out you were gay, this wasn’t it. As any other young adult who’s just crossed the border into adulthood might want for themselves I could think of nothing I wanted to do more than sexually explore and practice being with other people. That was about the only thing I was clear on but it’s not the kind of thing you can tell someone when they ask what you’re doing with yourself. Being gay was dangerous and I hated that. It took about four years after high school for me to finally embrace that my same sex attraction was natural for me and had to do with the way I was wired. It was shortly after this personal awakening that I moved into Wood House. I was 22 and on my own. My parents were only a short drive away and I could call on them if I needed to. I didn’t have many expenses and just needed to keep my car on the road and fueled. l had a part time job at the town hall helping a couple women process parking code violations. Another opportunity my dad arranged. It paid well and I had enough money to sustain myself while living on my own. It’s easy to see that younger version of myself as having the perfect set up. I’d figured out I was gay and suddenly had my own place to bring men home to. But I was totally lacking in confidence. I’d never gone to any of my school proms or had a chance to practice being with someone I liked. Not in the same way my straight peers did. The school dances and social gatherings that came and went over the years were aimed at giving us kids a chance to rehearse the roles we’d play later in life. But not for me. Not for the gay kids. I may have suddenly had my own place but that didn’t mean I knew how to take advantage of it. This was also in an era before smartphones and apps that could let you talk with other people without leaving the comfort of home. If I wanted to meet other gay men I’d have to go to a club or bar, something I’d never really done before and didn’t feel comfortable with. Those were my options. I’m not suggesting that young gay people today have it easy just because technology has taken a great leap forward. You guys have your own struggles to deal with and I recognize that. I’m just telling you how it was for me in the late 80’s and early 90’s. This is what I had to work with. My arrival at Wood House marked the start of my growing gay identity and for reasons you might not expect. It marked the beginning of a series of strange experiences I’d start having throughout my life. Experiences that expanded the way I looked at the world around me and proved that more things were possible than what seemed obvious. This was the exact message I needed. Here’s what happened. After living at Wood House a couple weeks my dad decided to come by for a visit. He planned to come over once he got off from work, so that I’d have to meet him at the main gate of the park to let him in. Having the keys to the park entrance made me feel like a real adult. I had responsibilities and I was excited about being able to let my dad into a place that was closed off for everyone else. I got to the gate a bit early as I couldn’t wait to let him in. The entire park felt like it was mine and I loved it. It was the most grown up I’d ever felt. It was mid October at the time and many of the trees had already lost a bunch of their leaves. It was easy to look deep into the woods without having my line of site blocked. I noticed movement off in the distance and could see what looked like an older man entering the property. He was carrying a fishing pole but I couldn’t tell much else about him. I’d never had anyone sneak onto the property before and this would be the first time I’d have to tell someone they had to leave. I watched the man approach the lake and then lost sight of him. I knew I’d have to go and find the guy as soon as my dad arrived. It was dusk and only getting darker. It was a comforting thought that my dad would be there with me for this first encounter with a stranger. After my dad arrived I told him about the trespasser. It was late enough in the season that few people were fishing anymore and absolutely nobody went fishing at night. We both knew that something wasn’t right with this guy. Dad even suggested the man might be heading to some marijuana plants of his. A secret garden hidden within the woods. It got dark fast and we drove the trail that circled around the lake but didn’t see anything. Dad suggested we drive it again but this time with our headlights off. After getting about halfway around the lake we could see a spark of light at the edge of the water. Our mysterious fisherman had just lit up a cigarette. A couple minutes later and we could smell the smoke. I parked the car but didn’t shut the engine off as my dad suggested I let it keep running. He made me extra nervous with this suggestion. Why would we need to get away quickly? I had my official looking ‘town jacket’ on and was carrying a big flashlight. Neither of which made me feel very safe. My dad looked more the authority figure than I did. I was just a scared kid trying out what it felt like to be an adult. We headed into the woods and towards the man, taking quiet steps and trying not to draw attention to ourselves. I wanted to whisper something to my father, anything, so that he’d whisper back and I could hear his voice one more time. I was scared and had second thoughts about having taken the house at the lake. It was dark and cold and I was approaching a stranger in the woods. I needed to start making better life choices. We got close to the stranger. Night had set and I couldn’t see very far into the woods anymore, but I could see the glow of the man’s lit cigarette and still smell its smoke. My dad and I exchanged a look but I couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do next. Approaching this man any further seemed a mistake. I tried to find strength in the fact that I had the authority to be there and this man didn’t. The tension was broken by a loud splash in the water and then seeing our visitor struggle with his fishing rod to reel in his catch. My dad crept closer to me as this happened, masked by the sounds happening at the water. The man reeled in a fish that looked huge, bigger than anything I’d seen come out of the lake before. It was hard to see, but this fish looked to be about as big as a medium sized dog. There was no way a fish that size was hiding in the lake. It just wasn’t possible. The moon had started rising in the sky but was only a narrow slice of its fuller self. It wasn’t going to cast much light to help us see. We stood and watched the man slip his fish into a large sack. And then, it happened. The fish started making a loud crying sound. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. The best way to describe it is to say it sounded like a goat, a sound I’d learn is called ‘bleating.’ I was finished. Done. My dad felt the same way because we both started heading back toward the car in unison. I’d never heard a fish make a sound like that before and I was sure it wasn’t supposed to. We picked up our pace but could hear the man talking to the fish in a calming tone as if talking to a child. The goat noise stopped and we heard what sounded like a purring cat, amplified. Even now I get chills thinking about it. My dad and I moved faster towards the waiting car and once inside took off towards Wood House. I’d never seen my dad so shaken and it was a disturbing thing to witness. We made coffee and sat at the dining room table trying to make sense of what had just happened. My big plans to show off the house and the ways I’d personalized it didn’t matter anymore. The only thing I felt about the place was that I needed to get far away from it. My dad suggested we drive back home so that he could get a change of clothes. He insisted he was sleeping over that night to be with me. I could hardly believe it. He had to get up early for work the next day but was willing to change his plans and stay over with me. I’ll always love him for it. Back at my parents house we told my mother what we’d seen and how strange it was. She suggested we call the police but my dad was set against it. We’d have to tell them I didn’t actually approach the stranger and ask him to leave. It would look like I’d failed to do my job. Dad was right. And telling the police about strange goat sounds wasn’t going to help us either. The stranger had been trespassing, it’s true. But he was only fishing. My mother helped us feel better about the whole thing by insisting that the man at the lake was a very poor person who sometimes fished for food and had probably been doing so for years. He was nothing to get paranoid over. Back at the lake my dad and I checked to see if the man was still there and he wasn’t. Thank God. He’d gone and taken his goat fish with him. We tried to get some sleep but after a half hour of staring at the ceiling we got up and watched television; old episodes of ‘Night Court’ I’d had on VHS and refused to record over. I did my best to not think about what had happened at the lake but it was hard. I was just glad my father was there with me. My dad agreed to come by the park the next evening and spend the night with me again. On the third night I told him it would be enough if he came by for an after hours visit and then returned home. By the fourth night I was feeling pretty good about things and told my dad it was enough for him to just call in and check on me. I remember feeling so appreciative that my dad was my dad. I felt like my father’s son and it was the first time I’d felt that way in years. The passage of time has allowed me to share this first part of the story in a matter of fact way, but it took a long time before I was able to talk about it openly. About a week after this incident with the fish I was back to my evening patrols and gate locking routine as a comfortable solo activity. I was returning to a sense of normalcy and spending my nights alone again at Wood House didn’t feel threatening. As even more time passed I became friends again with the forest that surrounded my little house. I also began to feel empathy for the poor guy who needed to come and fish at night in order to feed himself. I decided that if he showed up again I’d invite him to come and fish the lake by the light of day and offer him a free park membership. I’d pay for it myself. This normalcy lasted about a week before the next strange thing happened at the lake. I was getting lonely spending my nights alone at Wood House and threw myself into the task of meeting another guy I could be with. I was working at the town hall five hours a day and then driving twenty minutes to the nearest gay club. I did this every day after work. Not because I had the guts to actually go inside, because all I did was drive past the place. I went really, really slow so that I could check the place out and take it in. In fact, I almost caused an accident once. It took a couple weeks of these drive-by’s before I was able to pull into the parking lot and spend time sitting in my car alone before starting it back up and leaving. That routine lasted another couple weeks and allowed me a closer look at all the people coming and going from the club. I was fascinated by them. What really stunned me was how normal everyone looked. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but these people didn’t look much different than anybody else. I’d leave my window open a couple inches and overhear bits and pieces of conversations. I was fascinated. I was also freezing, as the cold night air coming through my window chilled me to the bone. It’s amazing I didn’t get sick. The night I found the strength to go inside was a sub-freezing friday evening in late November. It was far too cold to sit in the parking lot with my window open; it was far too cold to be sitting outside at all. Just before I’d gone into the building I asked the universe to give me a sign that this was the night to go inside. I looked up into the night sky and saw a shooting star. I couldn’t believe it! I’d asked for a sign and had received one. Entering the club was like entering another world. I wanted to stop and stare at everyone but didn’t want to come off as a newbie or tourist. I saw people buying drinks at the bar so I followed suit and did the same. I spent that night hiding in dark corners and sipping my beer while taking it all in. And believe me, there was a lot to see. I saw men dancing with other men and guys kissing one another. There was a guy in a pink wig and high heels dancing on top of a speaker. A girl in a wheelchair rolled herself out onto the dance floor and was spinning circles. A guy in bikini briefs was blowing bubbles from a balcony above. And there were lots of guys I never would have believed were gay if I’d seen them outside of the club. I never knew there were so many ways to be gay. I returned to the club over the next couple of friday’s and continued lurking in shadows and people watching. On my fourth visit to the club I met Justin. He was the first guy I ever developed feelings for and was the next person with me when strange things happened again at Wood House. It was a saturday night and the club always had live shows then but I never knew it because I’d only come on fridays. The featured performance of the night was the 10pm show, a group of female impersonators who lip synced to old disco songs and called themselves the ‘Pussy Bags.’ There were five of them and they carried huge purses that contained an endless amount of tampons they’d throw at the audience. I met Justin because one of the tampons bounced off my head and went into his drink. He seemed to be the only person not drinking a beer. Justin was about the same age as me and sort of looked like he could me my brother if I had one. I immediately found him attractive. I’m not sure what that says about me, but there it is. He seemed equally out of place at the club. He was shy and easy to talk to. What really bonded us was what happened next. During their performance one of the Pussy Bags slipped and fell and someone had to call an ambulance. He’d hurt his leg and could barely move. The poor guy was desperately afraid about having to go to the hospital in drag and people were doing their best to calm him down. Everyone clapped as he got rolled out the front door of the club to the ambulance. Justin and I followed him outside along with a handful of others, because he wanted to smoke and I needed the fresh air. After the ambulance was loaded one of the EMT’s started asking people if they’d seen what happened and was looking for witnesses. Nobody wanted to give their names and neither did we. When asked what he’d seen, Justin explained the incident as simply as he could and offered his name as ‘Justin Daisy,’ a play on the name of one of the performers inside named ‘Lazy Daisy.’ I caught on to the game and confirmed everything he’d just said and offered my name as ‘Henry Dance.’ One of the performers inside was ‘P.P. Dance.’ We felt clever and amused with ourselves. A week later and Justin was coming to meet me at Wood House. I’d cleaned the place up and used Febreeze fabric spray on all the ancient furniture. It had just come out and I felt hip and cutting edge for having it. Justin would come over after he’d gotten off work and gone home to eat dinner with his family. I was super excited about his visit and bought vanilla coffee for us to have and also a big box of Entenmann's crumb cake. I was hoping to fool around with him but was really nervous about it. I didn’t have any experience and was in need of some. I had my copy of ‘The Last Starfighter’ on DVD set to go in case things took a turn for the worse and I had an evening of platonic frustration ahead of me. I didn’t know what Justin had in mind and I was anxious to find out. I met Justin at the gate after the park had closed and let him in. It was very late November or early December and freezing out. He followed me back to Wood House and after parking our cars we stood and stared at the moon for a bit. It was almost full. I liked that he noticed it and brought it to my attention. I’ve always been in tune with nature and he seemed to be the same way. Again, it’s about wiring.