When I was in the second grade, on one of the weeknights that we’d spend at his apartment in the west end of town, my dad sat me down and said he had something important to tell me. He started by bringing up a friend of his who I had met a couple times.
“You know my friend Tom?,” he asked.
I nodded.
“You know how I’ve told you he’s gay?”
I nodded again.
“Well,” he said. “So is your dad.”
There they were. Words that changed everything.
While I imagine this conversation meant more to my Dad than it did to me at the time, I’ve spent the last 30 years feeling its gravity.
Being gay and out was not a thing where I grew up. At school, kids threw the word faggot around in the hallway and called anything they didn’t like “gay.” At church, adults talked about God’s disdain for “that kind of lifestyle.”
It didn’t help that nobody in my family was comfortable with homosexuality either, nor that Dad exuded so much of the self-loathing he had been raised to carry.
I was ashamed and afraid. My father, the most important man in my life, was not welcome as he was. His identity was dark, a risk. There was something about him— and, by extension, me—that I needed to keep hidden.
Did I fear that there’d be physical violence if someone found out? No. Not really.
But was I scared that it would mean being hurt in other ways? That people would ridicule or reject or not love me?
100%. Every day.
This is a heavy weight for anyone to bear, let alone a little kid.
Fast forward to today, and a recent news story takes me back to a familiar dance. In a county not too far from my home, the school board just approved what’s known as a Don’t Say Gay rule, which means that teachers aren’t allowed to start conversations about sexuality with students.
On one hand, I know someone who spent elementary and middle and high school and college and beyond hoping for this exact thing.
Yes. For the love of God, don’t say gay. That sounds just fine to me. Let’s keep this whole thing under wraps, shall we?
On the other, there’s a need that runs deeper than that. I can still feel how desperate I was for an adult in the room to reach out and affirm me.
Hello out there. Do you see me and what I am holding? Do you love me? Do you think there’s something wrong with me?
I’ve been thinking about all this as I’ve watched Pride Month unfurl. For whatever reason, this year’s rainbow flags and “happy Pride!” posts are casting an old question in a new light:
How did Dad’s being gay shape me?
I could write a hundred different answers to that question. One might be about how his being different played a role in me marveling at just how big the world is, and how I’m grateful for that. Another might be about admiring the courage it took for Dad to be honest with himself and others. One more could be a reflection on the dissonance you feel around the notion of “living your truth” when your dad’s effort to do so unleashed years of turmoil on you and your family.
Among my most immediate answers to that question, though, is this:
Throughout life, I have struggled with shame, fear, and low self-esteem. Up and down my history, I have chosen self-preservation rather than curiosity and confidence. I have made myself small and felt on edge around people because deep down I have been scared that they might expose me for all of my unworthiness.
How can I not think that has something to do with all the time I’ve spent being terrified of something so close to my core?
It is a tremendous battle, this fight to be in love with yourself. It is not easy to shake the nagging sense that if you could just be a tad different, then you’d be ok. Anyone who has walked this path, even a single step of it, should take a lot of pride in what they have overcome.
I am going to venture a guess—just playing the numbers, really—that my specifics are very different from your specifics.
Can you hear yourself in my words, though? Have you ever wanted to cover up what you came from? Is there something that shaped your life by way of you being afraid of it?
I am not a gay man, and I don’t claim his experience. Not exactly.
It’s just that I know, very well, what it is that we are celebrating in June.
Please help this reach the right readers
I know my siblings and I aren’t the only kids of a gay parent who came out late in life, but I can’t say I’ve actually met many others. We’re a relatively rare breed.
If anything I write on this topic helps someone else feel solidarity on this subject, I’ll have served my calling.
With that, please consider sharing this post. You can do that by sending out the web link to this post, forwarding the email, or clicking the button below.
Want to write together?
I teach writing classes called You Have a Story, where the idea is to give you space to write about anything and everything that matters in your life. It’s low-stakes, beginner-friendly, and cathartic.
Registration is currently open for the following groups:
Mondays, 3:30-5:30pm EST – 6/26, 7/3, 7/10, 7/24, 7/31, 8/7
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About my work
If you’d like to know more about my motivation behind my sharing and where I see all of this going, I recently updated this publication’s About page with more on that.
Finally, a special thanks to Katharine and Brent for your help with editing this one. I appreciate you both very much.
Much love, and happy Pride.
- Jonathan
This story calmed me, reassured me, and has help me become a better teacher. Thank Neeley you a bad ass writer. I’ll start commenting more how much your writing means to me.
What a beautiful, powerful, resonant share, Jonathan. And what gorgeous writing. Thank you.
I'm queer and grew up in place much like you did, where no one was that. At least not safely.
To quote you back at you, this. So much this:
"Throughout life, I have struggled with shame, fear, and low self-esteem. Up and down my history, I have chosen self-preservation rather than curiosity and confidence. I have made myself small and felt on edge around people because deep down I have been scared that they might expose me for all of my unworthiness.
How can I not think that has something to do with all the time I’ve spent being terrified of something so close to my core?"