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The Coward Act of Being Ashamed of My Gay Best Friend
How toxic masculinity ruined summer camp and my friendship
When I was 10 years old, my parents decided they wanted the summer for themselves. So they did what any self-respecting NYC family with little money would do — they signed me up for day camp. That’s where I met Jose, my first best friend.
Jose was a light-skinned Dominican kid with straight black hair and big eyes; his fingernails were painted black. We met during lunch when he jumped into a heated debate between me and our lead camp counselor, Jayshawn, about who was the strongest Power Ranger. Jayshawn and his crew insisted it was the Green Ranger (Tommy). I was outnumbered trying to defend the legacy of the Red Ranger (Jason). Just as things got tense, Jose pulled up and saved the (my) day. Not only did he agree with me about the Red Ranger, but he also pointed out that Tommy couldn’t even be counted on because he always lost his powers.
From that moment, Jose and I became inseparable. Yes, our friendship started over a Power Rangers debate, but it grew even more through our shared love of music — hip-hop, to be exact. We’d spend hours in the cafeteria debating who was the best rapper in New York. I was a Biggie Smalls fan; Jose thought Big Pun would be rap’s Michael Jordan.
