Joey was 7 years old and was raised in the Deep South. He grew up with both parents and had several sisters.  As a child, Joey was tortured by the boys in the neighborhood and at school.  They were always calling him a “ sissy ” or a “mama’s boy.”  The other boys were rough, and they scared Joey.

Joey was short and skinny and was not very athletic.  When he was forced to play sports, he was always picked last.

Deep down, Joey felt different from the other boys.  He was ashamed of being called a sissy.  He felt like he didn’t belong, and the teasing just reinforced this.  At school he would hang out with some of the girls in his class which did not make things any easier for him.

Even Joey’s family gave him a hard time about being different.  At family gatherings, his older cousins and even his uncles would tease him.  Just like the neighborhood kids, they called him a sissy.  Every time Joey heard that word it was like he had been stabbed in the gut. It actually felt like a knife was plunged into his stomach.  He could feel that knife in his stomach all through his childhood.

Joey was always waiting for the humiliation.  Even his grandmother would make fun of him for not being enough of a boy.  She would always comment about how sensitive he was.  She even told him he should have been born a girl and his tomboy sister should have been born a boy.

Sometimes, Joey thought life may be easier if he was a girl.  Even he believed he was a sissy.  He preferred playing with his sisters’ toys.  He loved playing with their Barbie dolls.  That’s not to say they liked playing with him – they would only put up with him for so long.  His sisters like to have the Barbies play dress up or get married.  Joey liked to pretend they were in a burning house or car accident.  He liked pretending the dolls were dying so he could swoop in and save them.  Joey like to pretend to be a hero – it allowed him to exist in an imaginary world where he fit in.

Unlike all the men in his family, he did not like to hunt or fish.  He didn’t like watching football or playing sports.  The only two things he was good at were swimming and skateboarding and he never got the chance to do either.   There were no local swim teams and his mom said he was too “fragile” to skateboard.

Thankfully, Joey lived just a couple of blocks from his grandparents so could visit them all the time.  He liked spending time with them.  He didn’t mind that his grandfather made fun of his skinny arms.  He was always joking that Joey had no muscles.  Joey loved spending time with him.  His granddad would sneak him candy or some other treat when he would visit his house.  Plus, his grandfather had a pigeon coop.

Joey’s granddad raised pigeons.  Some were homing pigeons and some he raised for food.  The idea that you could attach a note to a homing pigeon and have it fly miles away to deliver it fascinated Joey.  He thought that one day he would like to raise his own pigeons.  Boy, would he be cool then.  He could tell everyone about his pigeons and finally he would fit in.

Joey would often visit the pigeon coop with his grandfather.  One day his grandfather showed him a pigeon egg while it was hatching.  Joey couldn’t wait to see the new born squab.  He went every day to see if it had hatched yet.  After a couple days, the squab was finally here and nesting with its mother.  The mother was a beautiful, white hen.  All of the other pigeons were blue and gray.  They pretty much all looked the same.

Joey asked his grandfather, “What color will the baby pigeon be?”

His grandfather replied, “Probably white with blue tip.”

Joey was so excited.  He asked his grandfather, “Can he be mine?”

His grandfather smiled and said, “Yes! He will be your pigeon Joey.”

Joey was so happy.  He could just imagine how jealous his sisters would be when they found out.  All the neighborhood boys would envy him.  He would finally be doing a “man” thing.  He would be raising pigeons.

All summer long, Joey visited that pigeon coop.  He couldn’t believe how fast his pigeon grew.  Unlike the other pigeons, his pigeon would let him hold it.  He would try to catch the other pigeons in the coop but his grandfather didn’t like that.  He would get them all riled up.

Joey’s pigeon grew into a really pretty bird.  It was white with blue tips just like his grandfather said it would.   He loved it when the bird would rest on his arm.  One day while it was perched on his shoulder, Joey saw a commotion out of the corner of his eye.  When he turned his head, he saw his grandfather doing something to one of the pigeons.

“What are you doing Paw Paw?” Joey asked.

“I’m getting it ready for a meal” his grandfather said.

“Huh?” Joey was confused.

“That’s what you do when you want to eat the pigeons. You have to kill them.  You ring their necks” his grandfather said.

His grandfather just killed that pigeon.  He wrung its neck and it died.  Just like that.  Joey was horrified.  His grandfather saw the look on his face and laughed and said,

“Don’t worry…. only men do this…not little boys like you.”

The next thing Joey knew, he saw red.  The word sissy came to mind and he was angrier than he could ever remember being.  Without thinking, he grabbed his pigeon by the head and started twisting.  As he twisted the little bird’s neck all he could think of was all of those boys calling him sissy.  He thought of his sisters and the Barbie dolls they played with.  He thought to himself, “Oh yeah?  I’ll show you what these scrawny arms can do.”

He felt the wings of the bird thrashing about and hitting and scratching his arms.  He felt its claws rip into his thighs.  All of a sudden, he felt powerful.  For the first time, he felt like he was in control.  He was a man.

“Joey!” his grandfather called.

Joey looked at his grandfather and his grandfather stared back. The next thing Joey knew the bird stopped moving.  Its lifeless body hung from Joey’s hand.

“Give me the pigeon” his grandfather said.

“Let’s get out of here. The pigeons are too stirred up.”

Joey handed his dead pigeon to his grandfather.  They left the pigeon coop, Joey trailing behind his grandfather, looking down at the ground.  “What have I done?” he thought.  In 30 seconds his life went from sunny to dark.

His grandfather never said a word about what happened in the pigeon coop that day.  Joey tried to block it from his memory.   Paw Paw died a year later and the pigeon coop died with him.

Joey remembers the teasing continued until about middle school.  He somehow went on to make friends in high school and graduate with honors.  But still, the memory of that day in the pigeon coop haunted him – the lifeless pigeon in his hand.

What had happened in the pigeon coop that day gave rise to several unwanted identities that Joey had to deal with years later in therapy.

He now embraces his unwanted identity. “a sissy” he says.

“I’ll own being a sissy, but not with the negative connotations. I was just a little effeminate boy, who was sensitive and caring, I didn’t like rough housing because I was so tiny and weak. I wasn’t athletic, but I was smart. I just didn’t have any outlets to explore my interests and desires. I felt different and later realized I was gay. I didn’t know really what my identity was nor could I identify others like me.

I was born in a world that had little to offer a child like myself and not enough adults to understand my needs. All I was hearing was that I was bad, my authenticity was not enough that I was not enough. And I was terrified. I wanted nothing to do with that Sissy identity. It meant both physical and emotional pain. I could not embrace my true self. I had to try and hide it. It was dangerous, and the danger was real and it cost me dearly.

Once I could embrace my sexuality, I could develop support networks for myself. I learned they did not have to include family members. I could surround myself with others like me. I could also embrace those who accepted my authenticity even though they were different from me.”

During therapy, Joey also had to deal with the unwanted identity of being someone who was capable of killing something that meant so much to him. His anger in those early years had stockpiled. By the age of 7, his rage was such that he could kill something he held so dear.

Integrating his unwanted identities and associated feelings of abuse and anger was something he had to own and come to terms with. In doing so, he learned how to forgive himself and others. He was able to set free the shame and humiliation of what he had done to his pigeon.

He learned to set appropriate boundaries with people who were not able to embrace his sexual orientation – this includes his family. He learned to assert his feelings instead of stockpiling them. Doing so assured him that although capable, he would never again have to engage in such rage fueled behavior.

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My name is Joseph LaFleur. I am originally from Southwest Louisiana, but now I live and work in Washington D.C. I am a licensed psychotherapist and certified “Daring Way” facilitator. I provide individual therapy and facilitate “Daring Way” and “Rising Strong” intensive weekend retreats for both my patients and others who are interested. I also practice psychodynamic and somatic experiencing therapy.

As men we have resilient stories to tell, but only if we choose to own them. Many men I see have had the courage to attend my “Daring Way™” and “Rising Strong™”intensive weekend retreats. These retreats focus on shame, resilience and are based off of the research and methodology of Brene´ Brown – a leading researcher in shame. I am continuously struck by the courage and vulnerability of the men and women who attend these retreats. I am moved by the common humanity felt in them. In these groups, common humanity is no longer a concept – it is warm, loving, compassionate, empathetic, energizing and relieving. Even this description doesn’t do it justice. They are powerful experiences that I wish for everyone. They give the information and tools you need to be truly happy. People who participate in these workshops come away clear on what steps they need to take in order to be happy.

If you are interested in attending one of the“Daring Way™” or “Rising Strong™”retreats, please contact me.