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50 some odd years ago, a young man was coming of age in his conservative Christian family in a small town in Colorado. They probably didn’t seem conservative actually in that small town, as regular church attendance and an attitude of general adherence to biblical doctrine were relatively common - both for the time period and location. In fact, the church was the community, it defined the family. Covered dish dinners and weekend picnics with other church families were probably the norm.
By all accounts, life in the family was generally happy. The parents had a solid and loving relationship - one that would be counted as unusually good by close friends and family who remembered the couple lovingly at silver and golden anniversaries before mourning the loss of the patriarch. The family was comfortable economically, partly attributable to a careful budget and the rest to hard work and luck. The two boys, four years apart, while not exceptionally close, were amicably friendly.
Of course, the oldest son, as he entered his adolescence was expected to find the general bumps in the road experienced by all adolescents…. an awkwardly developing body, the intermittent worry of feeling left out and trying to fit in. But somehow, for this young boy, it was even more difficult. A constant feeling of not belonging road his coattails wherever he went, and the years passed by with more awkward moments than most that age experience.
Dating for this young man was never easy. There wasn’t the glib and happy feeling of “first love” - or a sense that he couldn’t stop thinking about a coveted young girl. It was all nerves - the feeling of having a blindfold over the eyes as one tries to navigate an unknown country… not speaking the language, or knowing the customs, and finding only failure, running into the brick wall at every turn.
Nonetheless, the young man persisted along, leaving his small town and pursuing an education, and eventually earning two masters degrees. Finally, meeting a woman with whom he felt comfortable, beginning a family with his own daughter and son.
As happens for all young people becoming adults, the man expanded his realm of experience. He traveled, visited with others, questioned the beliefs he’d been raised with, coming back to many of them, but along the way developed his own sense for who he was. Within this time of discovery came the slow awakening of an always known, but never recognized, truth. The man was gay.
Together with his wife, he faced the truth. The pain experienced by both is generally unaccounted for… left buried somewhere, and maybe for good reason. Yet together they made a decision to move forward, spending the next 15 years much as they had spent the previous several - as good friends, as husband and wife, father and mother… raising the two children in the family each had envisioned, but without the traditional marital relationship. They didn’t divorce, only acquired twin beds. They shared a room, many glasses of wine and good discussions, parented equally and carefully - putting their children ahead of what must have been their personal sadness and sense of loss.
The son and daughter of this man grew to be teenagers before they ever had an inkling that their family was “different” from other families. In fact, the peace and calm within the house, the even-keeled parenting, and the obvious friendship between mother and father taught them that maybe their family was better.
The “difference” finally came to light, towards the end of the children’s own adolescence. As all children do, they traveled, questioned, and eventually accepted their family - coming back to the idea that it had been a happy place to grow. The man and his wife, successful in the raising of daughter and son, eventually divorced, allowing each to search for their own romantic happiness, but remained close friends. The son and daughter succeeded in school and their respective careers, began families of their own, contributed to society in their unique ways. The man retired, and found joy in living near his grandchildren, contributing his love, time, and attention to the now young and growing family in immeasurable ways.
Proposition 8. This is my final appeal as the vote draws near, and this time, it’s personal.
I am the daughter of that gay man, this is the story of my father, the loving “Bapa” to my children, and one of my closest friends.
My dad wasn’t the traditional dad in many ways. He never enjoyed sports, never tossed the football with my brother - didn’t throw down a beer out
