Author's note: If you came here for a quick read then this is likely not your cup of tea. Sincere thanks to my friend and fellow author BaccusDelectous for his keen proofreading skills and valuable guidance in geographical/cultural accuracy.
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According to my parents, they met at university in San Francisco and fell in love at first sight in 1982. Feeling their oats in the cultural freedom they enjoyed here in America, as compared with their native Hong Kong, they married after a brief but traditional courtship - keeping their new status secret from my grandparents on both sides.
In 1985, shortly after commencing their graduate studies in the burgeoning field of computer science, I came along. It must have been a struggle, but they both managed to stay in school to maintain their student visas and protect their secret.
When my father graduated, he was quickly hired into an IT position at a large insurance firm in the Bay area. My mom succeeded in getting in on the ground floor of what would eventually become a well known software developer.
They were then able to convert their student visas to green cards, beginning the long process of eventually attaining the U.S. citizenship that was already mine by birthright.
Soon thereafter, they traveled back to Hong Kong with me in tow to come clean with their parents about the turn their lives had taken. I was three years old and have no memory to call my own of what transpired on my only visit to the country my parents still sometimes refer to as their homeland, but apparently things didn't go as they'd hoped.
Their young hearts broken, they brought me back to America to resume our lives - never to set foot again on their home soil until after I graduated college. In fact, I was in middle school before relations warmed enough that my grandparents allowed Mom and Dad to fly them over for occasional visits.
Those visits were somewhat stressful for me, due to the language barrier. They were no doubt stressful for my parents, too, having to constantly translate for us.
But, after that initial rejection, my parents understandably chose to fully embrace their new homeland and forsake their native language for American English, to the best of their ability. Much to my grandparents' chagrin, Mom and Dad had no qualms about me growing up as American as any Caucasian kid born into our same suburban existence.
My given name is Ching. My parents say it's Cantonese in origin and that it translates to 'journey', which was how they viewed my arrival in their lives. When I unofficially Americanized it to Ken near the end of my grade school years, they even embraced and honored that.
No boy could have been born to two more understanding and supportive parents. Yet - even as a resident of the gayest city in America - once my sexuality was jarringly awakened, I found myself unable to open up to them about it, or anyone else for that matter. But, more on that later.
I was always the smallest and frailest boy in my class. So, throughout my youth, I always chalked up my fascination with the burly brutes that caught my eye to my deep disappointment that nature had seen fit to deprive me of all hope of achieving such a commanding physical presence.
Before I was even out of elementary school, my parents enrolled me in a private gymnastics academy. I suppose they imagined I might want to take up some kind of sport when I reached high school and that I needed a head start on my physical development.
I did take to the endeavor, but not for that reason. Two days a week, we were required to practice ballet to improve balance and endurance.
I wasn't bad at gymnastics, but neither was I anything special. Dance was something else altogether, though. Soon, I began to envision myself as a dancer rather than a gymnast.
Once in high school, however, gymnastics naturally became my sport of choice. By age fourteen I had certainly acquired the body of a gymnast. At under five and a half feet in height still, I barely broke 100 pounds in body weight but had begun to sport sinews which were a great source of pride for me.
At that point, my parents withdrew me from the gymnastics academy so I could train at school and enrolled me in a dance academy to continue supplementing that. In truth, I was so enamored of dance by then that I honestly thought of gymnastics more as supplementary to my still unspoken dream of professional dance.
I worked hard, though. Gymnastics was a sport in which, as long as you were careful not to attempt anything dangerous, you could train yourself at school even outside of competition season. In my sophomore year, I decided to get an early start and train during football season. It was a decision probably based more on my attraction to one of the football coaches more than any dream of rising above my admitted mediocrity at my chosen sport.
Coach Baker was our football team's head line coach, who first came to my attention as my freshman year P.E. teacher. I ended up in another man's P.E. class my sophomore year, so I knew full well I would have to find another way to feast my eyes on Coach Baker with any kind of regularity.
By my guess, he was about fifty years of age and was the biggest, strongest looking man I had ever stood in the presence of to that point. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him at some point.
I didn't quite understand those feelings for him at that time, but I knew I loved the sense of being dwarfed by a man easily three times my size. And, I especially loved the electric, tingling sensations that shot through me when he would occasionally place his huge hands on me while correcting my form during certain exercises.
The sound of his deep voice reverberating in the gym was also a source of fascination for me. It was a perfect match for his imposing build and instantly commanded my respect.
Coach Baker took an instant liking to me and I found that tremendously comforting. I would stop him any time I saw him in the halls and try to think of anything to strike up conversation, just to thrill to his manly voice. He never once made me feel foolish for it and always seemed to engage with me sincerely.
A couple of weeks into my sophomore year, his equipment manager had to move when his dad was relocated in his job. Spying me in the gym while having his squad 'run horses', he came over and offered the position to me.
In my imagination, I leapt into his arms in acceptance. In reality, I simply told him I would ask my parents. He smiled and took my hand in his beefy paw, giving it a firm shake.
"I wouldn't expect anything less. You're a fine young man, Ken," he proudly acknowledged, "It's kind of urgent, though. Can you let me know by tomorrow?"
"I'll ask them tonight!" I assured him.
"Good man!"
"Thank you, sir!" I replied as he turned his incredibly broad back to me and sauntered off to go about his business.
My parents had no qualms about me accepting and I sought him ought first thing the next morning.
"Alright, then. Today is weight training with the guys, so let's plan on starting you tomorrow afternoon. I'd like you to find a pair of gray athletic shorts like mine...only a lot smaller, of course," he said with a laugh and a wink.
"Yes, sir! No problem, sir!"
"I'm pretty sure we've got a staff tee somewhere that'll fit you."
"Great!"
"One more thing, Ken."
