Rouse - Americas boy : a memoir

Wade Rouse is a public relations director at one of the nations oldest and most prestigious private schools. He is also a journalist, and his articles have appeared in The Chicago Reader and The St. Louis Riverfront Times. He lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Americas Boy is his first book.

This is like the Oscar speech I always dreamed of giving, except on paper and not wearing a tight sea-foam-green Chanel gown that would bring out the color of my eyes as I accepted my Best Screenwriting statuette from Tom Hanks.

To my agent Wendy Sherman for her enthusiasm, belief, tenacity, expertise, and ability to walk through Manhattan in six-inch heels without ever getting stuck in a grate; to Michelle Brower, Wendys assistant, for initially plucking me from the pile, and it is truly, always one hell of a pile in that office. Wendy and Michelle give hope to every talented writer who works hard and writes what he believes; to Laurie Chittenden, my editor, my old soul, my in-house warrior, whobesides taking a huge leap of faith on me and my workmentored, nurtured, laughed, and truly helped make this book so much better in every way; to Lauries assistant, Erika Kahn, who provided guidance and good humor at every stepits not good to get us on the phone together; and to everyone, in every position at Duttonpublicity, copyediting, art, sales, and marketingthis has been a wonderful collaborative experience for a first-time writer. I still look at the Penguin/Dutton Web site, which lists Maeve Binchy and John Jakes and Al Franken and Dave Pelzer among its many distinguished authors, and I immediately think: What am I doing with this group?

To my parents for loving me through everything, even this book; to Jill and Julie, my very first readersyour tears and laughter gave me much-needed confidence, and your suggestions helped me make the book stronger; to all my friends for their support, advice, and belief; to Gary, my muse (I told you it would sound too Lifetime in print), for telling me to just sit down and write, for believing in me and my never-ending desire to write, for being my partner, my best friend, my entire life; and to Marge, our eighty-five-pound salvage mutt, who kept my feet warm, laid by my side for months on end, and who, whenever I moved from the computer, stared at me with a look of Where the hell do you think youre going? Youve got a looong way to go!

And shes right. I still do. But what a joyous journey it will be.

PRAISE FOR AMERICAS BOY

ROUSES AFFECTIONATE, episodic evocation of his loving, extended, and slightly eccentric family is engaging .

[When] the unthinkable happens, life for the survivors becomes darker, more dangerous, andfor readers more interesting as Wade, who has always defined himself by his family, must find himself.

Booklist

FUNNY, AFFECTINGRouse was hopelessly out of step with the red neck masculinity urged on him by taunting classmates and despairing relatives. Fortunately, he had a charmingly offbeat family, led by two warmhearted grandmothers, who accepted him as he was (without asking too many questions) and left him with a trove of glowing memories .the book comes alive with tender portraits of kitsch and kin.

Publishers Weekly

ISBN 0-525-94934-8

US. $34.95

Can. $35.00

Americas BOY

a memoir

WADE ROUSE

You dont really have a say in where you grow up. It is predestined. Some people get Malibu, Taos, or Aspen; I get Granby, a tiny farming town in the southwest Missouri Ozarks.

From America s Boy

Born in 1965 into a small town in the heartland of America. Wade Rouse didnt quite fit in. At five, his family returned home to find Wade in the middle of their living room wearing red heels, a black-and-white polka-dot bikini, gold earrings, a tinfoil crown embedded with glued-on red checkers, and a cardboard sash saying Miss Sugar Creek in red magic marker. With his golden, feathered hair and preference for pink dress shirts, Wade is mistaken for a girl for much of his childhood. Wades family has their own quirks. His father calls everyone honincluding the dirty gas station attendantand his mother talks as though shes cross-examining herself. Wade fills his time eating Little Debbie cakes and Cherry Mashes because becoming fat is more acceptable than being different.

But when summer arrives, his entire lovable, eccentric family pack their clothes in garbage bags and drive to their log cabin on Sugar Creek in the Missouri Ozarks. At Sugar Creek, Wade finds comfort with his family until a tragic accident takes his brothers life and, afraid of losing the love of his remaining family, swears that he will never allow them to mourn the loss of their only remaining son. Wade buries his identity along with his brother.

Told with humor, courage, and boundless joy, Americas Boy is a love letter to a singular time in Americas heartland, to a family perhaps in detail different but familiar all the same, and to the growing pains that accompany self-discovery.

WADE ROUSE is a public relations director at one of the nations oldest and most prestigious private schools. He is also a journalist whose articles have appeared in the Chicago Reader and the Riverfront Times (St. Louis). He lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

Visit www.waderouse.com

JACKET DESIGN: ERIKA FUSARI

FRONT JACKET PHOTOGRAPH: VEER

FRONT FLAP, BACK JACKET PHOTOGRAPHS:

SUPPLIED BY AUTHOR

AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH, BACK FLAP: TIMPARKERPHOTO.COM

DUTTON

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375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

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Printed in U S A.

i am five years old and standing as dramatically as a five-year- old knows how in the middle of the Rouse Family log cabin in the Missouri Ozarks. I am wearing the following handpicked items: my grandma Rouses red heels (her whore shoes, she calls them); my moms black-and-white polka-dot bikini (which fits surprisingly well after duct-taping it down, and it shows off my thin, tan body and blond hair); gold earrings that look like marigolds; a faux pearl necklace; a tinfoil crown embedded with glued-on red checkers; and a cardboard sash that says miss sugar creek in red magic marker.

I am posing as regally as I know howback razor straight, head slightly tilted, smiling brightlywhile holding a tinfoil- covered Wiffleball bat I pretend is a scepter. I am breathlessly waiting for my family to come back from fishing off our beach on Sugar Creek. It is the Fourth of July, and every year on this holiday my family holds a mock Miss America pageant, complete with eveningwear, bathing suit, and talent competitions. I am always a judge but have never been allowed to be a contestant.

Until now, I have always thought it was because I am too young.

It has finally dawned on me that its because Im a boy.

So while everyone is down at the beach fishing and gathering kindling for our big bonfire, I am sneaking back up and officially entering myself in the pageant.

The moment my family comes in, I wave my scepter and graciously thank them for their decision. They stare at me, blinking in slow motion, trying to act like nothing is wrong, like it is perfectly natural for me to be standing there in a bikini and heels, like a tiny boy Phyllis George.