On September 27th, 2018, my life changed forever against my will. 

I believe in God,

the Father almighty,

Creator of heaven and earth,

and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, died and was buried;

he descended into hell;

on the third day he rose again from the dead;

he ascended into heaven,

and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty;

from there he will come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy catholic Church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and life everlasting.

Amen.

I, too, have descended into Hell. My descent included my crucifixion, and nearly killed me. They will not bury me. 

In the fall of 2018, I began my senior year at Shawnee Heights High School. On nearly a weekly basis I was told, “Appreciate these times. They are the best days of your life. You will never have this again.” And, with myself and two of my best friends graduating that winter, rather than the upcoming May, I truly took that advice to heart. I would make the absolute most of the time I had left alongside my friends. Previously, I had planned to graduate in December, move to Chicago, and begin attending the University of Illinois at the beginning of the Spring semester. Due to finances – and a recent breakup that would taint the city of Chicago – I instead chose to begin college alongside my peers, in the fall of 2019. 

One last semester with my friends, one last musical, one last trip to Neewollah – though I was not an active member of the school band anymore. Our senior year, the majority of two separate friend groups had parking spots near each other, allowing for the intersection of friend groups to occur. It was in our school parking lot, each day after school, where I would become closer with a number of peers: Kristen – a light through dark times, Anna – a creative inspiration, and Katherine – a factory for laugh production. These girls, alongside my best friend, Kayla, and my core friend group Chicken Babies (Sam, Nikky, Morgan, Peyton, & Amy), would help to make senior year one that we would never forget. 

The year began like any other: pep rallies, new teachers, and the same peers. Something was different that year though: we finally had seniority, we held some power, and the younger students looked to us for inspiration. Having been prominent figures in the drama club and theatre department, my friends and I were ready for the opportunity to each have a lead in this year’s musical, but much to our dismay, the musical would be an ensemble show – meaning there were no leads. Still, it was clear that our younger peers were looking to us for guidance. 

Auditions were always in mid-September. They went fine that year, with not many stakes on the line. Still, I remember fighting for the role I received. I auditioned for the role of a latino hospice nurse. The role was designed for somebody of varied ethnicity, as that career is often filled by minority workers. The three people who auditioned were myself, another latino, and the director’s son: a white man. In front of the prospective cast, music directors, and our acting director, I voiced that I would not participate in this musical should the role go to the director’s son, the white man. I was scared, but I received the role. I know not if this interaction made an impact for any other minority students, but I am at least grateful that some change occurred. 

I was excited about this role. In the two years prior, my mom had moved my family into my grandparent’s house, affording her the opportunity to be my Tata’s caretaker as he battled bladder cancer. I experienced, firsthand, the toll that that job took on my mother. How it strained her relationships with her mother, her siblings, her children, and her husband. I saw my role in Working: A Musical as a means of paying respect to my mother, and to all the caregivers that would witness it. 

After receiving that role in mid-september, it became time for homecoming nominations. As the Vice President of Drama Club and some positioned role in the Math Club that I cannot recall, I felt confident in my ability to be nominated for homecoming. The fact of the matter was, I wanted to be nominated. I believed I contributed quite a bit to the school both intellectually and creatively, and moreso, I was decently popular. Liked by most of my peers at the very least. The gay accusations had calmed, which was quite ironic given that this was the time I actually began consistently having queer experiences. 

I digress, I received the nomination for Drama Club to be entered into the pool of nominees. Of which, a committee of staff and students would decide which students would be nominated for the open voting nomination for the crown. The official nominees would be announced on September 28th, 2018. 

The day before the announcement began like any other. I went to school, had a normal day, and due to the ensemble nature of the musical, I was not required to attend rehearsal that day. Instead, after school I would go to Carlos O’Kelly’s where I worked part-time as a host. At that point, I had been working there for nearly two years, my cousin was the General Manager, and many of my friends were hired on as well. During my typical host shift, I would work from 3:30-7 or 8pm depending on how busy we were. After that, I would do side work for about an hour, then head home. 

Tonight was different though. 

At around 7:15pm, my sister Serena called me. Originally, I ignored the call; I was situated at the host stand at the front of the restaurant. I could not actively take a personal call. 

She called again. I ignored and texted her that I am working.

She said it was urgent… to call as soon as I could. 

My heart dropped. There were so many things this could have been: someone was pregnant, someone died, someone was arrested, someone was gay, I was gay, my nudes leaked, anything. After seeing that text, I asked the shift supervisor, Erika, if she could watch the front for a moment. She obliged, and I stepped out front to call Serena. 

On that phone call, Serena would tell me this isn’t a brief conversation. That it is extremely serious and that I would need to be off work. I went back inside, fearing the worst, and told Erika what was going on. At this point, Erika knew that I was gay, and that I had an unaccepting family. Her as well as her co-supervisor, Bre, would often ask me if I am okay or need help. When I told Erika about the call I just had, she knew exactly what was happening. She told me to leave, that she or someone else would cover my side work. 

I do not know what I looked like having that conversation with Erika, but I can only assume I was flushed, pale, and shaking with fear. 

When I got to my car, I called Serena. 

“Jojo, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly. I may need to help you, and if I need to help, then I need to know the truth… Are you gay?”

Without hesitation, but still meekly, I answered, “Yes, I am gay.”

Immediately, I was inconsolable, more than likely unsafe to drive. I sobbed a deep, heavy cry. One of relief and one of fear. That was the first time I had told someone in my immediate family. The only other family members who knew were my cousin Mariah on my mom’s side, and my cousin Clare on my dad’s. 

“Okay, you are gay. Thank you for telling me, first of all, I hope you know that I support you. I don’t care who you like. But people in our family are talking. Apparently, a cousin found out, told one of the aunts, and now they are pestering mom and dad asking if it is true. The cousin said you told them yourself. Have you told anyone else?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“No, some friends know but none of our family does. Serena, I can’t go home.”

“Jojo, I need you to be honest. If a cousin knows it is going to come out. Going home is gonna be hard but everything will be okay” 

“Serena, I can’t go home. I can’t walk into this.” 

“We can talk before you go. Do you want me to meet you somewhere? You could come here but Anthony is already asleep.” 

“Come to the lake. By the swim beach, I’ll send you my location.” 

I sobbed the rest of the way to the lake. When I arrived I would text a few people: chicken babies, kayla, and chicago. I told them what was happening, that I was scared, that I did not know what would happen, but if I showed up at any of their doors that night, to let me in, and not let anyone know I was there. chicago, at the time, was attending university in Chicago, but still arranged an excuse for me to show up at their parent’s house. 

As I waited for Serena, texting my friends, and sobbing, I contemplated driving my shitty car into the lake. A number of bodies had been found there before, and I would rather die there than at the hands of my parents. I resisted. 

Serena arrived about 15 minutes later – a record time for living on the opposite side of Topeka. She got into my car – perhaps the only time that has ever happened – hugged me, cried with me, and had me tell her everything. It was that night that she found out I had a relationship with chicago for over two years, that I wasn’t a virgin, that so many friends knew I was gay, that two of our cousins knew, and that I had a plan. 

For as long as I can remember, I knew that I would move out before I came out. I would move to college, regardless of what state it was in, I would attend for a month or two, before announcing from the hilltops, “I am gay.” I would be independent; paying for my own life and not relying on my parents for anything. I would face minimal repercussions. I would lose my parents at that point, and I had long since accepted that fact. I had years, perhaps over a decade, to grieve the loss of my parents before it even happened. As college drew closer and became more imminent, I only became more excited to become free and more excited to sever all ties with my parents. 

Serena agreed that the plan was solid; however, it was no longer applicable. I stood strong, telling Serena that I could not return home. That multiple friends have a place ready for me. She understood, but suggested that would only make things worse. She said she can come with me. She can have that conversation with them, with me. Reluctantly, I obliged.

The five minute drive from the lake to my Nanny’s house was perhaps the most strenuous drive I have ever taken. 

I arrived at home, walked inside along with Serena, only to find that Tammy was showering. Certainly, Joe took note of my flushed face, puffy eyes, and of course, that Serena was there at 9pm. When Tammy finished showering and found us, she questioned what was happening. 

This is where my memory begins fading. I am not sure who spoke first or who said what. What I do remember is sitting on our dining chair shaking and sobbing. Wholly alone, outside of my sister sitting across the table. 

When I finally said the words, “I am gay”, Joe stood up. I thought my life would end. Calmly, he rose from the couch, a mere ten feet from me. Joe could be in my physical space in less than three steps. Should I run? Make a bolt for the door and just keep running? I could make it to Nikky’s house in about thirty minutes if I avoided the roads. Is that too predictable? Should I run and hide until this simmers down? What will happen to me? Will he hit me? Will he throw me against the wall like he did to Serena when she mouthed off? Would he put his hands on my neck and strangle me? Would he take his belt off of his pants and beat me like Tammy used to? I should not have come home. I should have ran. 

These thoughts, among many, many more flashed across my psyche as Joe came towards me. He stood in front of me, and asked me to stand, so I did. Joe reached out, and gave me the largest, longest, bear hug I have ever been a part of. I cried into his chest, leaving the front of his shirt wholly soaked. He hugged me for what felt like hours, but was realistically a few minutes long – still a long hug. 

Meanwhile, Tammy continued discussing how terrible this was and how it will not be supported. Not only was this against their religion, but they feared for my safety, bluntly telling me that I will contract AIDs and die if I continue having gay sex. 

I have to think that Serena did most of the heavy work throughout this conversation, as I truly have blacked out memory following Joe’s hug. After Serena left, I was not given the opportunity to cry myself to sleep. Instead, we sat down for another long conversation. 

It was then that my parents would discuss consequences: no phone, no car, and no seeing friends. They suggested that when I did get these ‘privileges’ back, that I would need to pay for my phone bill, buy a car, and pay for car insurance. They would take me off their health insurance the moment I turned 18, because they could not be bothered paying for treatment of illnesses that I was ‘seeking out’. 

Finally, I was released to my room. I sobbed for a while, before hearing the sobs coming from the front room. Tammy was distraught over the events of the night, and was ranting to Joe about how they should divorce. I went out to the front room and stated: 

“Mom, you are so wicked. You act like you love me and you don’t. You know I am in the other room, I can hear what you are saying. You are so vile and incredibly wicked.” 

This broke her. And it felt good. 

My mom sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed about how I cannot call her wicked, how I cannot disrespect her like that. “How could you call me vile while you were partaking in sodomy in the same home as my dying father?”

I quipped back, “I never had sex while Tata was here, he was mostly in the hospital. But you’re right, I had plenty of sex while you were in the home”

I was forced to apologize, “I’m sorry, but I am only saying that because you’re forcing me to. I am not actually sorry.”

I believe Kayla picked me up for school in the morning. That day I had multiple retellings of the night I had just been through. I was distraught, but grateful to be away from that space. In fact, I would get to be away all day: Chicken Babies was going to our local pumpkin patch after school that night. 

During our final period that day, it was announced that I was officially nominated for homecoming. My class shouted in celebration of myself and the other two peers in that class who were also nominated. School ended and the shouts of celebration and joy filled the halls. People passing by me, some that I knew and some that I didn’t, were celebrating me, congratulating me. 

I celebrated too, recognizing that I was leaving school, descending back into Hell. Back at home, I let my parents know of my nomination and of Chicken Babies plans to attend the pumpkin patch that night. 

My parents congratulated me, but said I could not go. That was the straw that broke my back. 

“You take away everything. I can’t have my car to go places. I can’t have my phone to talk to my friends. I can’t have the freedom to go do anything. Maybe I will just kill myself. Seems more enjoyable.”

They didn’t like that, but they had no idea how to deal with it. If suicide was water, my parents were hydrophobic. They immediately called Serena, and handed me the phone. I took it and ran to our bathroom/basement storage, locking myself inside. I told Serena that they took everything, that I want to die, and I can’t even talk to my friends: the only people who could save me. Again, Serena did the heavy work. I am not sure what she told my parents, but I was able to go that night. 

I have so many joyous memories from that night. We buried each other in the corn pit and took videos of ourselves rising from the dead. We jumped on the giant pillow balloon, making a boomerang of us jumping as high as we could. We walked the corn maze, and took a hayrack ride around the park. During that ride, for the first time that night, the pumpkin patch shot off fireworks, and I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

My parents had effectively taken my car, but they were also incredibly stupid. Throughout my adolescence, I had a plethora of different cell phones. Occasionally trading them in for upgrades and occasionally keeping the old phones for the memories held within it. By my senior year, I had two burner phones that my parents knew nothing about. These burner phones allowed me to still talk to my friends in secret. Allowing me a lifeline to the community I needed. I was not understood or respected at home, but my friends were able to provide that to me. 

Using this burner phone, I told all of my friends which of my cousins outed me. I told them to block them and not talk to them moving forward. This person had broken all of my trust and I did not want them to have any part in my life, even if marginal. 

Those actions were out of hurt. In the time that has passed, I have reconciled with this cousin, and I now understand how everything is not exactly as it may appear to be; It was my Aunt Tess who outed me, not Clare. Regardless of who outed me or not, I had and still have much bigger issues to deal with; namely, Joe and Tammy. 

Spirit week followed my outing. My home life was consumed by arguments with my parents. I suggested that since I am out now, I might as well post about it to get everyone on the same page. They said I could not do that. That this was not anyone’s business, and that my being gay was not even certain yet. At school, I was spirited, I was smiling, and I was participating. Again, I wanted to make the most of senior year, and though I thought of killing myself each day, I did not want to let them win. Homecoming would take place on Friday. 

On Wednesday, two days before homecoming, I worked. With no car, Tammy would drive me to work and Joe would pick me up. That night, I got in the car, but my dad did not drive off. He turned the radio off. 

“I want to talk with you, and for talking with me I will let you have your phone for the car ride home. But we have to talk first” 

I obliged, anything to get my phone back for just a moment. I desperately needed to retrieve it to delete my nudes and log out of accounts that would be receiving nudes. 

That talk still perplexes me to this day:

Joe began, “This conversation stays between us. I am not telling your siblings or any family member. Your mom does not know about this conversation. If you ever bring this conversation up, I will deny that it happened. I will say that you’re lying, and you will not be believed. But I mean what I am about to say, I just cannot let other people know… I do not care that you’re gay. In fact, I couldn’t care less. Whoever you like is none of my business, and I would attend your wedding regardless of if it is to a woman or a man. I want you to know that I support you, and that I am going to do everything I can to get your mom on the same page. But it is going to take some work. It will not happen overnight and it will not happen in the next year. It will take a long time, but I will continue to push her. You are my son and I love you. I want to be here for you, and I want to support you. I do support you, I just have to do it privately for now. When your mother is more accepting, I will be there for you. I love you”

Shocked, this broke me down. I cried and said I understood. I was so unbelievably relieved to have someone of importance on my side, even if it was in secret. He allowed me my phone on the drive home, and even took a few laps around our neighborhood to give me some extra time. I successfully deleted my nudes and accounts. 

The next day, I told all of my friends. Joe is an ally, Tammy is a demon. Immediately, my friends and I found solace in Joe. On friday, Joe was driving the drama club float in the homecoming parade. I had my own float as a nominee so I would not be on the drama float. After the parade, my friends made sure I knew they were all friendly and smiley towards Joe and chose not to interact with Tammy, only shooting her disapproving glances. 

God, I love my friends. 

Then, it was finally time for homecoming. As is tradition across most high schools, nominees would be introduced before the homecoming football game, escorted down the field by the nominee’s family between rows of football players and members of the marching band. The stands are typically full; homecoming is a big deal. 

Nominees were introduced alternating between girls and boys. I was the third boy to be announced, smack dab in the middle of the program. I linked arms with my parents, who linked arms with Serena, my younger siblings, and Nanny. 

“Jojo Katsbulas is a senior who has attended Shawnee Heights since Kindergarten. Jojo is the Vice President of Drama Club, where he enjoys acting, singing, and any sort of performance for our theatre department. Jojo has participated in the Marching Thunderbirds for three years playing trumpet. Jojo is also an active member of our community, partaking in our school math club and gay-straight-alliance. Outside of school, he enjoys getting all of his friends hired at Carlos O’Kellys” 

The crowd erupted into cheers, and the student section waved pride flags as we proceeded to the front of the field. 95% of my peers had no idea about what my homelife had been like that past week, but looking up, seeing my peers smiling, outwardly supporting me, changed something. I could feel the heat, the anger radiating off of Tammy, and I smiled greater than I ever had. For the first time since my outing, I felt proud.

Being so concerned with my own well-being at the time, I did not think about how that homecoming would impact future students, nominees, or queer people in general. I was elated to find out that the very instance of waving pride flags in the student section empowered some of my younger queer peers not only to come out, but to be loud and proud in their queerness. 

I do not believe I was the first ‘openly’ queer nominee, but just three years later, Shawnee Heights would have their first ever queer homecoming king. A person I am incredibly proud to call a peer and my friend: Brock Broadbent. 

The following week, I would tell Serena about the conversation with Joe. She was shocked but had something to tell me as well. Joe had called Serena into his office at the car dealership, and said nearly the same thing to her. Joe vocalized his allyship to myself and Serena, separately and individually, of his own volition. 

For some time, this allyship was my saving grace. It was wonderful to have a supporter on the inside. It was not until Katelyn came out, that this allyship would no longer work for me. Joe had multiple years to work on Tammy’s support. They each had every opportunity to learn from how they failed to maintain their relationship with me. 

My parents refused to learn. My parents, still, refuse to learn. I am uncertain if Joe had a similar conversation when Katelyn came out. Part of me hopes so, providing some grace for Katelyn. Part of me hopes not, because falsified support is just that: False.

In the months that would follow my outing, I would buy my phone out of its contract and I would purchase a car from my parents. With these assets officially in my name, my parents could no longer take them away from me. Tammy suggested that I will not be successful, that I will not find happiness in this life if I follow this path. 

These days, I am gayer than ever, I am more successful than ever, and I am the happiest I have ever been. 

Jesus – allegedly – lived in Hell for three days; I lived there for eleven months before ascending into heaven: Freedom.