Salted Beer and Goats for Jesus: a Gay Evangelical Childhood
A gay boy and a billy goat grow up
I was 12 that sweaty summer day I sat on an old couch and watched an old woman flick salt into a plastic glass of beer. I eyed it funny, because it was the exact kind of glass Mom served Kool Aid in.
Only Kool Aid never foamed up like that! And Kool Aid doesn’t send people to hell.
I say she was old, but she was probably younger than I am now as I push 60. Her unstyled hair was blond but greying around the edges. Her sun-red face, devoid of makeup, made me feel sad.
Mom, mom! The goat is peeing all over his face!
All I knew, she was a lot older than Dad, who sat beside me on that sofa in a white shirt and tie, smelling of aftershave, thumbing through his Bible and reading passages from the “Romans Road,” a set of verses Evangelicals use to “lead people to Christ.”
To get right.
I prayed a little with my eyes open, asking God to help my dad bring this lady to Jesus. She clearly wasn’t right! She needed saving.
Three little kids ran around screaming, two of them in diapers, none too fresh by the smell. They all needed their noses wiped.
