They say you never quite outgrow the place that raised you. For me, that place is Beaumont, Texas—a small Gulf Coast city known for its pine trees, petrochemical plants, and a kind of humidity that doesn’t just hug you but bear-hugs you like an overly familiar aunt. It’s the kind of town where the high school football games are treated like the Oscars, Sunday morning church outfits could rival the Met Gala, and everybody—and I mean everybody—knows your business. Growing up as a gay Black boy in this working-class haven wasn’t exactly easy, but it was definitely educational. And not just because I aced Sociology class.

Beaumont didn’t just give me roots; it gave me survival skills, authenticity, and a well-honed spidey sense for knowing when someone’s lying. (Trust me, there’s no one more skilled at faking sanctimony than a nosy church Deacon.) This is the place where I learned to navigate humanity in all its messy glory—a lesson that, to this day, shapes the way I approach relationships, love, and the great, unpredictable rollercoaster that is life. Let me take you on that journey, with some wisdom sprinkled in for your own romance and self-discovery toolkit.

The Kitchen Epiphanies: Where Love Starts with a Simmer

In my house, the kitchen was command central, and love wasn’t expressed through fancy words—it was ladled into gumbo pots, folded into peach cobblers, and simmered in a good pot of red beans and rice. My mama didn’t do long-winded lectures about emotional vulnerability, but she sure would tell you how you were “too grown” while cutting up onions at lightning speed. My father? A man of few words unless LSU was losing a game, but he could fry a catfish fillet so tender that it practically apologized for its own demise.

What does this have to do with relationships? Everything. Love, Beaumont-style, taught me that small acts of care—a hot meal, an unspoken understanding—often speak louder than grand gestures or 1,000-word texts. Too often, we overlook the quiet ways love shows up because we expect some cinematic fireworks scene, when in reality it’s often that person remembering to pick up your favorite snacks at Target even though you didn’t ask. Take note.

Lesson learned: Look for the small, consistent signs of effort in a partner. Relationships aren’t built on declarations; they’re constructed brick-by-brick, with the mortar being little acts of kindness. And y’all, if they make you a plate without asking—keep them.

Porches, Paces, and Patio Gossip: Slowing Down in a Fast World

Some kids grew up on playgrounds. I grew up on porches. Porches in Beaumont weren’t just architectural features—they were stages for daily dramas where aunties pontificated, cousins exaggerated, and neighbors silently made note of whatever “so-and-so” was doing across the street. It was lowkey like the “Real Housewives,” but on a porch swing and without the champagne flutes.

Here’s the thing about porches: They teach you patience. Out in Beaumont, life moved slow, and observation was everything. Folks rarely said outright what they meant, but between a long sip of sweet tea and a deliberate pause, you could learn the tea and the lesson if you listened closely enough. In a society that seems obsessed with instant everything—instant love, instant replies, instant validation—I’ve carried that Beaumont slowness into my adult life, particularly when it comes to dating.

Lesson learned: Take your time. Don’t rush intimacy, commitment, or connection. Ask questions and listen to the answers, not just with your ears but with your gut. Sometimes the most important thing someone says in a relationship is what they don’t say.

Church Pew Observations: Love in a Call-and-Response World

Ah, Black church. A place of hymns and paradoxes. Growing up in a Southern Black Baptist church is like being enrolled in an advanced course on human nature. You see it all: the fakery, the sincerity, the unspoken rivalry over whose child sang better in the youth choir. And then there were those moments of offering plates getting passed around, reminding you that love and sacrifice often come hand-in-hand.

Church is where I learned that people are complicated—that they can be loving, flawed, judgmental, and generous all in the same breath. It’s also where I saw how people’s expectations, particularly around gender and romance, could weigh you down like a cheap choir robe in July heat. For a gay kid like me, church was both a space of community and conflict, of belonging and yearning to fly away. But even now, as someone who doesn’t attend regularly, the lessons linger.

Lesson learned: People will try to mold you into their idea of who you’re supposed to be, but true love—whether it’s self-love, platonic, or romantic—will never require you to split yourself into parts to fit someone else’s expectations.

The Refinery Glow: Struggle, Sacrifice, and the Truth About “Hard Work” Love

Beaumont’s economy is fueled by oil and gas, and the refineries dominate the landscape like oversized Lego sets. My dad worked long hours at one of those plants; his hands smelled like crude oil even on his off-days, but he always walked into the house humming Al Green tunes like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I think there’s a lot of refinery wisdom in relationships. Love, like oil, is valuable because it takes effort to retrieve, refine, and maintain. But hard work shouldn’t feel like suffering. I grew up watching my parents balance frugality, exhaustion, and teamwork, learning that love didn’t mean 50/50 all the time. Sometimes it was 80/20 because one half was just too tired to carry much weight, and the other took up the slack out of care, not obligation.

Lesson learned: Effort doesn’t mean martyrdom. Healthy love isn’t about grinding yourself into dust for someone else’s comfort—it’s about a give-and-take that grows both of you into something you couldn’t be alone.

From Flirting to Forever: How Beaumont Shaped My Toolbox

If Beaumont taught me anything, it’s that connection is about more than the superficial stuff. People will always notice the gloss first—your cute smile, your sharp wit, your Instagram aesthetic. But the roots of real connection? That’s in showing up, paying attention, and being authentically yourself in both your brightest and most unfiltered moments.

For those navigating today’s chaotic landscape of love, past and present, here are a few distilled truths from a small-town kid who’s learned these lessons the hard way—and sometimes, the hilarious way:

  • Stop performing. In dating and relationships, it’s easy to over-curate yourself, to be the “perfect” date or romantic partner. Instead, offer the real you—quirks, odd hobbies, messy parts and all. If someone gets it, they’ll stay.

  • Ask the questions that matter. Forget "What's your favorite dessert?" (unless it’s peach cobbler, in which case, marry them immediately). Ask, "How do you handle disagreements?" or "What's something you're working on emotionally?" This isn’t a job interview, but it is an emotional investment.

  • Don’t settle for potential. My mama used to say, “Don’t pick tomatoes off a green bush and expect ‘em to be ripe tomorrow.” People will grow, or they won’t—but loving who they are now is what counts.

Home is Where You Build It

Beaumont raised me, but it didn’t define me. And that’s the magic of the places that make us: They give us the tools, the scars, the jokes we can’t explain to outsiders, and the love languages we still use today. Wherever you’re headed in your own romantic (and personal) journey, don’t forget where you came from—and don’t be afraid to rewrite the story if it no longer fits who you’re becoming.

Because love, much like life, is about building something that feels—if not perfect—like home.