Onstage, the ballerino wore brown tights that showed the trunks of his thighs, and everything else.
Something about his movement told me he was gay, and I felt he was dancing not only for himself but for me. Earlier that evening, I had seen the dancer turn, leap and smile onstage, expressing through the mute language of ballet who he was. No, this is about the ballerino - my word for him - I met and what he represented to a lonely gay kid in Southern California in 1984, a kid who had never before met another gay person. I recall about 200 people - family friends, Olympic officials and maybe 25 dancers - eating curry (is that right?) off paper plates. The company had come to Los Angeles to dance in the Olympic Arts Festival, and my parents volunteered to host a post-performance dinner in our backyard.
When I was 15, I met a dancer from Canada’s Royal Winnipeg Ballet.
