This is an iconic scene from Scent of a Woman, which I'm sure most of you have seen at some point. Shortly after I told my mother about my "predicament" this film was screened on the television. I remember my mother said something like: "the young lady is beautiful and it astounds me that you don't feel anything." I don't think I said anything in response, being quite used to the many barbed comments on that subject and general condescension. But I thought then, and think now, that it is tragic or unfortunate, or any one of those words, that the young lady, Miss Gabrielle Anwar, is indeed beautiful and lofty, but that I truthfully feel nothing about her beyond some reminiscent or faint sense of maternity or companionship; similar feelings I felt about dancers at the Irish dance academy I attended as a boy (specifically Sinead and Taylor). What stirs me more than anything about this film is the young Mr O'Donnell.
This post is for the benefit and remonstrance of those of you who stupidly think that there is no such thing as homosexuality. It is true that you can only speak significantly of actions as being homosexual, and repeated actions lead to a homosexual lifestyle, but the dream remains. And I suppose the dream is an extension of some underlying problem. Do I bear the brunt of the idolatry of this post-Christian society? Who knows.
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