Kim Oclon - Man Up

Praise for Man Up

Interspersed with interstitials by Tyler, Davids narrations is down-to-earth and relatable, particularly for teens who live in places without large LGBTQ communities. Students preparing for the leap from high school to college in particular will find plenty to identify with.

-Publishers Weekly

Oclon thoughtfully develops Davids and Tylers inner transformations when it comes to self-acceptance, noting how others in their community need to grow with them. An engaging and enlightening coming-out tale for teens of all sexual persuasions.

-Kirkus Reviews

Man Up is an important and realistic young adult novel that deals with bullying, homophobia, and physical violence against the backdrop of varsity sports.

-Foreword Reviews

Man Up

Copyright 2020 by Kim Oclon

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

Man Up / Oclon, Kim

ISBN 978-0-9993886-3-1

Ebook ISBN 978-0-9993886-6-2

[1. LGBTQ Fiction. 2. Baseball Fiction. 3. Self Esteem Fiction. 4. Friendship Fiction. 5. Bullying Fiction.] I. Title.

Trism Books, Deerfield, IL, USA

Visit www.trismbooks.com

To Virginia

You make me so very happy

I came out to my dad at the hottest part of the day in the middle of last summer. Standing at the grill, he turned to ask me how I wanted my burger done.

Im gay. Medium well is fine. The suns rays beat down on my baseball cap as my arms and legs were sticky with sweat.

My dads neck and back twitched. He didnt say anything, just angled the spatula and flipped two burgers. The top half of my body tried to go back inside, but the bottom half was super-glued to the patio. Dad didnt turn around after the last flip. He just stood in front of the grill, letting smoke get into his eyes.

I had to ump a Little League game later so when we were all seated at the table, I wolfed my food down in less than five minutes. My mom said something about staying hydrated since it was still so hot and I knew she had this tight smile on her face, wondering why everyone was being so weird. Well, Robert, my little brother, wasnt being weird. He went on and on about this homerun derby fundraiser thing for his travel team.

Dad managed to avoid me for two days. Even though it seemed impossible for us to not see each other in our small two-bedroom house, it was actually pretty easy. He got up early to get some work in before the sun began to broil him while he measured boards for a deck he was building for a neighbors friend. And maybe I left a little early for the games I had to ump. When I got home, my mom claimed Dad was already asleep, the door to their bedroom closed. Being outside in the heat all day must have made him tired.

Or maybe he couldnt even look at me because he fucking hated me. I actually thought that.

On the third day, I came home to find Dad sitting on the front step, sipping a beer, wearing his reliable after-work uniform, shorts and an old White Sox T-shirt from their unbelievable World Series run. I turned off the car, forgetting to put it in park. It heaved forward like it was about to throw up, reminding me to shift gears. My dad continued to sit, elbows resting on his knees like he was still waiting for me to come home.

My hand froze on the door handle. Maybe he wasnt even going to let me back in the house.

When I finally got out of the car, we didnt say anything to one another for a few moments. I just stood there, slightly off to the side of the porch, aware of the mosquitos swarming around my legs.

Dad leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. He looked at weeds growing through a crack in the pavement. When I told your mom what you told me she was relieved.

I wrinkled my eyebrows, asking a question without having to say anything.

She said that with the way I was acting, she thought I was going to tell her that you were sick. Like you had cancer or something like that. Dad spoke slowly, still avoiding eye contact with me. Now, he focused on setting his beer down on a ring of condensation that was already on the porch.

Im not sick, I said, feeling like I had to peel the words from my mouth.

Are you still going to play ball in the spring? Dad finally looked up at me with one eye.

Yeah, I said, surprised by the question. Why wouldnt I? The summer night drone of insects and birds seemed to get louder.

Dad picked up his beer and moved over so he sat on the condensation ring. He gestured for me to sit down with his eyes. Baseball was a good subject for us. I sat next to him.

I didnt know if you would want to or if you had some other plans, Dad shrugged. You know, because youre

Gay. Dad needed me to finish the sentence but not because he hated me. How long had it taken me to say a little three-letter word? I could see him hearing the word and absorbing it.

I put a hand on my dads sweaty shoulder. Ill always play baseball, Dad. Being gay has nothing to do with it.

The outline of his head nodded in the orange glow of the lights on the front of the house. I dont know how this works, David. He patted my grass-stained knee.

Me either. It was true. I had no idea. But for now, I didnt have to. So we just sat on the porch together, my dad with his beer and me with a sports drink, until the mosquitos threatened to eat us alive and my mom called us inside.

Something invisible hovered over me on the first day of Open Gym. It pushed down, preventing me from lifting the bench press bar that wavered above my shaking elbows. There was no need to be nervous about making the team or playing time. I made varsity my sophomore year and started all of junior year. My spot was guaranteed providing I didnt lose a leg or arm in a freak accident. But no matter how much I grunted or sharply inhaled, the bench press bar didnt move. I only tasted the sweat, steel, and rubber that always hung in the weight rooms air. The cement walls somehow absorbed the stench because it even smelled that way over the summer when no one used it.

Come on, David! Come on, David! Mike, my best friend, yelled. He put his hands under the bar, ready to guide it back to the original slots.

I arched my back, breathed in again, and managed to straighten my arms. The bar settled in with a loud clang of steel on steel.

I think you were able to lift that with one arm last season, Mike razzed me as I sat up on the bench, swinging my arms to loosen them up.

You barely got the bar up when you tried. I sat on the bench for a moment so the blood could drain from my head and settle back into place. Good thing I was spotting you. As the pressure slowly faded, the gymnastics team glided into the weight room and began a regimen of push-ups and sit ups.

Somethings about to come up. Mike raised his eyebrows, pointing his eyes at the leotards and leggings. Right?

Forcing out a laugh, I fixed my focus on the free weights and rolled my shoulders forward and backward a few times. Come on. Bis and tris. I grabbed a fifteen-pound weight and my muscles burned after three quick reps of curls.

Mike let his weight fall and it bounced off the rubber floor that sucked up the smell of wet dirt and sand from the various playing fields. The gymnastics team added chalk and hairspray to the mix.