Every Father’s Day for the last decade, I’ve spent the weekend celebrating Denver’s PrideFest with my chosen family. In 2016, with the help of the City of Aurora and the astonishing team at
OUT FRONT Magazine, I took the next steps and founded
Aurora Pride. It remains one of my proudest moments, both personally and professionally.
I believe with all my heart the nature of love is service, and over the years, I’ve served on boards dedicated to empowering queer-owned small businesses. I’ve had the honor of representing
OUT FRONT at every Pride festival in the state of Colorado. In short, my love for the LGBTQ community runs deep.
Unfortunately, I never felt I could share my achievements with my father. Like many of you, my relationship with my family has always been complicated. Forty percent of homeless youth identify as queer, yet they represent just 7 percent of youth in America.
I was never kicked out of my childhood home. Rather, growing up in conservative, rural America, I felt compelled to leave. Like the overwhelming majority of young queers, high school was punctuated with nightmarish bullying, the occasional after-school brawl, and a deliberate effort to be at home as little as possible.
As queers, the trauma of growing up looms large in our adult lives. For many, it may never be fully resolved. In my heart, and with years of my life spent in therapy, I’ve felt a rising need to address and strengthen the complexities of my family dynamic. Yet, for as many years, I felt unready to raise the spectre of my past. No matter how difficult, it was a matter of when, not if, we’d speak.
Speaking on the phone with dad, as we tend to do once weekly, the matter of Father’s Day came up.
“Are you coming for Father’s Day this year?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” I responded, “It’s the same weekend as Pride in Denver.”
I heard, immediately, the hurt in his voice, “
Pride was canceled this year. I saw it on the news. If I don’t see you this year, I’m going to be really upset.”
I left the conversation with an acute recognition of the pain on both sides. Ready or not, divine timing was presenting us with an opportunity to grow. Very little about 2020 surprises me anymore, but what followed was not only surprising, it filled me with newfound joy.
To be clear, these dialogues are not, nor will they ever be, easy. Frankly, they shouldn’t be. However, from coast to coast and in every household with queer family members, the next step in the LGBTQ revolution is seeking not only to heal the divisions between parents and their children, but to also listen, understand, and see our parents for the people they are. We must recognize that, just as we are flawed, they were flawed as they raised us.
Far from the city, I sat at the dinner table with my sister, stepmom, and father. I nervously raised the issue of our phone call. I felt ready to vomit.
For anyone ready to have this conversation with their parents, start with a growth mindset. This is, above all else, a constructive, productive dialogue. Acknowledge the past, and see it for what it is: the past. We cannot take it back, nor can we spend our desperately short time on Earth wasting another minute on regret.
“Dad, I know that you and I are so different in many ways. We’re also similar in more ways than either of us will admit. You’ve done so much for me over the years. You’ve given me my work ethic and shown me real strength,” I started. “However, my therapist has encouraged me to open up about the past with you. I’ve often felt at odds reconciling the 80 percent of myself that I’m so proud of with the 20 percent of myself I feel safe sharing with you.”
Related article: Heinzesight- Talk is Cheap Strangely, he wasn’t fiddling with the cutlery, as he often does. He listened attentively as I recalled some of the things which stuck with me the most. Sitting in silence, his expression revealed a complex and wide-ranging mix of emotions. My biggest fear, that I may be gaslighted or abandoned, never came to pass.
“Pride, for my community is like our Independence Day. Although the physical festival may be canceled this year, we gather to remember things like the Pulse shooting, the AIDS crisis, Matthew Shepard’s murder, and Stonewall. It means a lot to me. Growing up with you was … hard. High school was a nightmare and, if I’m being honest, I’ve spent much of my life avoiding you or editing myself when we’re together. Our relationship now is better than ever before, but 10, 20, 30 years from now, I want it to be even stronger.”
I held my breath after the words came out.
“Buddy, I am so proud of you. You’ve done amazing things. I know Pride is important, but in the last 10 years, I’ve never seen you on Father’s Day. It’s the one day of the year that matters to me, and you’ve never been there. It hurts. I just don’t want to rock your boat. So, I don’t say anything.”
His courage was humbling. We’d never spoken like this. I’d also never acknowledged my own absence in the family. In that moment, after so many years of avoidance and carefully chosen words, I felt heard and seen. But also, I was hearing and listening. My father, a man I’d never felt I could introduce a boyfriend to, was present in this moment. More than present, he was proud. Of me.
I know that many of us will never have the chance to share such a vulnerable moment. Sometimes, the hurt runs too deep. But for those who feel ready, surrender to being surprised. Before my sister and I left his house, he said something new that I’ll never forget.
“Hey, Christopher. Reading is fundamental.”
