Vibrant, flamboyant colored pants have always been in my wardrobe. I don’t recall a time when they weren’t a defining part of me. They are, in a manner of speaking, a physical representation of my personality. It is probably because of them that most of my friends and family refer to me as the "girly one" or the "gay one," and while they weren't wrong about the latter, it always made me feel as if it made me inferior to everyone else; that just because I was a little different, I couldn't be what everyone else was. It wasn’t until I truly felt what it was like to be seen as vile and hated, that I understood what my goals in life are. During a trip to Fredericksburg, Texas for my rocketry class, I truly felt what hatred was. When we reached
