By J. Corbett Holmes

For Score and seven years ago ... My judgments on supreme courting

Four score and seven years ago, I met Todd. I suppose you could say there were fireworks when I spotted him across a crowded bar. There was no Gettysburg address emoting from the room. No American flags waving high above the crowd. But, there was a bolt of Benjamin Franklin-infused electricity that ran through my body -- serving as the catalyst to propel me through the crowd to make his acquaintance.

Sadly, when I finally gained his attention, the speech I had prepared lost its potency when I was introduced to his boyfriend Richard. And, although he had won my visual-vote, sadly I was the defeated party. Thus I quietly returned to my corner of the bar -- retiring my cannon and nursing my wounded defeat with a margarita. As we all know, time heals most wounds, and it also gives us history.

Fast-forward three years to my holiday Christmas party. Guest after guest arrived at the door, and I made sure to greet them all as they crossed my threshold. Numerous glasses of "holiday cheer" kept me gracious, albeit a little numb, when I answered the door to my friend Kevin. "How are you? Welcome!" I oozed cheerfully. Next, he moved aside and said, "Oh, This is my new boyfriend Todd! Todd, this is Jim!" We smiled and exchanged hellos. And, as I filled their glasses with holiday cheer, my cheery demeanor promptly lost its bubble. Throughout the evening I did my best to avoid Todd and any possible mishaps under the mistletoe. Eventually I talked myself back into it's-a-wonderful-life even though the package I really wanted would not be waiting for me by the tree. Along with his boyfriend and the other guests, Todd went home. I forged ahead, and sadly our history repeated itself.

The funny thing about history ... time and events can sometimes become blurry, even altered, depending on who is the narrator, but there is no replacement for firsts. Like the first time you experience internal fireworks from infatuation. But along with history, comes age. Seven years of age to be exact. So, when I saw Todd again after several years, the fireworks flared and the cannons fired but my eyes weren't as patriotic. Is that Todd, I thought to myself as I stared from across the room -- while dancing with my friend John. Upon completion of our margarita-induced dance, I was bombed. No, not from too many margaritas. It was Todd (at least it felt like Todd). He had decided to join us on the dance floor. While attempting to align my feelings with my focus, my friend John moves in for an introduction. "Oh ... hi, my name's Bob!" He spurts back at us. Bob, I thought, hmmm ... he sure does look like Todd! And my firework-feelings felt like Todd! But along with the rocket's red glare and the bombs bursting in my pants, I was bewildered. While doing what I could to coax my flag to fly at half-mast, I leaned in and said, "God you look familiar! What did you say your name was?" "Todd," he volleys back along with the most perfect smile.

At 45, my eyesight has declined and my hearing is unquestionably impaired (probably a product of dance clubs and drinking), but thus far, despite the confusion, there was still no replacing that extraordinary feeling the first time I saw Todd seven years earlier. And this time he was solo. No boyfriend to ambush this American fag. Only now, with the graying of our goatees, I envisioned us the perfect forefathers. As I gazed into his eyes, we were a new nation. So, with the proposition that we were equal, in pursuit of my happiness, I took liberties. I wanted justice -- to finally have him to myself. And due to the aforementioned feelings (induced by tequila), I was propelled to tell the truth. "Ever since the first time I saw you, I was attracted to you!" came shooting out of my mouth, cannon ball style. He smiled as I shoved my business card in his pocket. "We should have a date!" And, with that I left, hoping our history would have a different lesson.

After numerous phone calls, we arranged to meet for drinks, and that moved into a relaxed dinner. I couldn't have asked for a better state of mind to our union. So I guess that's why I was caught off guard when he turned to me with the innocence of a child and said, "I don't know if I should say this or not, but ... I had a really nice time and I hope we can see each other again." Since I had already rung my liberty bell of truth the previous weekend, feeling totally free, I asked, "Why wouldn't you feel comfortable to tell me that?" Looking over to meet his gaze -- the sparklers only made him glow more. "Well, because sometimes -- in the past when I've been truthful with people, and I've said that, they say the same thing, then never call." After a sweet goodnight kiss, I began to think about my honest turn at the truth and my feelings of liberty -- all in the pursuit of happiness.

It was grade school when I first learned about the Gettysburg address and the Constitution. Now, with the present statement from (what I hoped would become) my affair, I considered those formative years -- standing beside my classmates with my hand over my heart, pledging my allegiance to the flag. Only today, seven years later, Todd added a new lesson to the history of my heart. His statement flooded over me like another Watergate break-in! It exposed the fact that although I was learning to speak the truth, I was still holding my hand over my heart. Next I began to wonder -- was it a pledge of allegiance or protection? And it made me think ... as we grow older, along with our country, why do we have such trepidation about the truth ... especially when we cast our ballot for love? As we grow older, do our amendments for amore make our relationship civil rights or wrongs? And when we are "courting," have we forgotten the freedom of our youthful choices in a dating declaration of independence, or are we just getting lost in our front (lines) when looking for love?

"I still feel tingly!" I told the doctor after he made me pee into a cup with my name scribbled in Crayola scratch on the outside. Well, we'll have to put you on medication for another seven days, and in the meantime no sex and no drinking!" "Seven days, bbbbut, it's my birthday!" I whined. "James, you heard me!" (for those of you who read the last column -- this is residue.)

So, in my current state of affairs, if I was going to become a united nation under Todd, and I was to continue our constitution of honesty, then I had to appoint the right judge to my character and tell him the truth about my tale of tingle. There it was! Everything was coming at me in sevens! Seven years since the first time I'd seen Todd. Seven years I'd waited to sleep with him. And now seven more days I would have to go before I would be at liberty to pursue my happiness. It was an odd predicament -- but they say seven is a lucky number, so I continued to tell the truth. And truth be told, so did Todd. And just like sixth graders, we kissed passionately and whole-heartedly with the purity and innocence of our youth.

The best part about honesty ... the one without amendments ... although it makes

you vulnerable, and at times, even scared ... it also gives you a personal peace that helps stop that war within. And hopefully, (like Todd) it will bring you together with mankind, as well as a man that is kind. See, the best part of history is that it teaches you new things about the past ... even your own!

Along with the decline of my hearing and eyesight, is our country's state of "affairs" due to presidential pitfalls and dishonest declarations? Thus I am continually plagued by the changes that need to occur for world harmony. But for now, along with history and age there is one thing I can do! Take one small step for gay mankind! I shall pledge my allegiance to the fag, in the united dates I am scared of, and I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as Todd is my witness. And there would be no amendments! Thank you Mr. President!

For your shaving graces, contact me at shavingsfrommyhead@yahoo.com.