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When I was twelve, I remember bringing my bright pink skateboard to the skatepark. I stepped onto the concrete and everyone stared at me, watching me like hawks. Some boys laughed at my high voice, saying, "Why do you talk so gay?” and “Why do you dress so funny, you queer?” One remark, “Skating ain't for fags,” sent me home faster than a hare on fire. I want the next lonely kid who shows up to an unwelcoming place – even if they have a pink skateboard – to feel like they can find a family to call their own.

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