I
remember when we were in the car, and you were talking about your son, and how
you wanted him to be this way and not
that. What “this way” or “that” was, you never fully explained, but I
remember you emphasizing your point with a flimsy flip of your right hand. And
that flip spoke volumes to me, because in that one small gesture, you
summarized what it meant to be gay.
And
I remember thinking how difficult it must have been for you to even begin to
talk to me about this, considering how awfully hard it was for you to even say
the word. Instead you flipped your hand again and again, knowing that I would
know what you meant, because I knew where you were coming from, and because I
knew your son.
Maybe
you felt that speaking the words out loud would make them true. And you wanted
so much for them not to be.
And
I didn’t know what to say, or whether I should lie.
And
so I said nothing. I wanted to hold your hand to say that your son would be
more than fine, he is a decent, loving, caring human being who would no doubt
grow up to become a fine adult, and this,
this word you couldn’t even say, it doesn’t matter precisely because it doesn’t matter. In the
general scheme of things, it is the least important of the attributes your son
has been so blessed to be with.
And
I wanted to say that I know that you are only worried about him, because he
lives in a world that would no doubt think of him as abnormal, for a small
trait that differentiates him from everyone else. And that your worry only
underscores your love, but that it doesn’t change the fact that your son would
rather have your support because, at the end of day, it is only when he accepts
himself, and especially when the people he loves accepts him for who he is,
will he be truly happy.
And
I wanted to comfort you and tell you that you did not bring your son up wrong,
he is a beautiful person, and that he is simply who he was meant to be. You
could not have loved him more.
Instead
I remained silent, because, still, I didn’t know what to say, or whether I
should lie.
And
so we continued traveling, my thoughts a blur, imagining you in your corner,
worried about your son in the inadequate and sometimes terrifying world he has
to live in.
Photo
taken here.
