Dear Son,
I choose
not to name you, because coming out to the world beyond your family is your
decision to make, and we know you will make the decision when you feel it is
right, comfortable and the right step for you to take. But I want to make this
letter public, because I have something to say that goes out to everyone in the
world that is willing to listen.
Orlando became
a tragedy overnight for those that lost loved ones. It became a hashtag for
those that are outraged enough to spare a thought online. It became another
reason to be angry for those that are wronged over and over again on the same
journey. What happened in Orlando is a reminder, that such hate crimes happen
everywhere, and that it shouldn’t take inertia on our part and a massacre for
us to wake up to the truth. That, to me and to many parents like me, makes it the
grimmest reminder of all.
People are
angry. They are confused. They don’t know why it happened, or how it could
happen. I mean, we are a free country. We talk about a free world. We are
raised to believe that we can chase our dreams. We grow up thinking that this
is the truth – that we can and should be who we are, and shouldn’t back down
for anyone. But the trouble, my dear son, is that even those who choose
violence think that this justifies their choice to be violent. Sadly, innocent
people pay the price for that.
What do I
tell you today, son? That the times that I told you that you could be anything
you wanted to be, that the times that I told you that the world was your oyster
– I was not telling you the truth? Or that every time you tell me you are going
out for a drink or to watch a movie with your friends, there is a deep rumbling
tsunami of fear building up inside of me? Do I tell you that there is a lump in
my throat when you call, as I hope that you are not calling with distress to
report? Or do I tell you how it feels to be relieved of the pain at the end of
each day, when I see you walking in through the door at home?
You are
fifteen. Three more years until school becomes college. Three more years until
you leave home. Three more years until I will wait to hear your voice on the
phone, telling me that you are fine.
What I’m
going through is not something I face alone. And this has nothing to do with
you, son. You are a bright, wonderful and beautiful boy, and you will always be
your father’s and my star. It doesn’t matter to us that you are gay. It doesn’t
matter to us that you spent a year questioning faith enough to even refuse
gifts on Christmas. It doesn’t matter to me that you hate broccoli, but you can
somehow eat that awful plate of kale salad and still ask for more. What matters
most to us is your safety. And because of that, what matters to us is that
there are people who don’t think you deserve to live, or if you do live, to
have a happy and peaceful life, because of your sexual orientation. And that
worries me.
Today,
they’re in your life in the form of seniors and juniors who think that it’s
cool to wear hatred on their sleeves. Tomorrow, it’s these that grow up to
enable hate, and to allow that hate to turn into something so vile and inhuman,
that taking lives seems so easy for them to do.
I started
writing this letter three days ago (June 14, 2016). It took me until today
(June 16, 2016) to finish it. I stayed up last night, thinking about you. And
it struck me then. Why should you live in fear? Who is anyone to decide that
you don’t deserve to live? Who can tell you what you do with your mind, your
body and your sexual orientation? Only YOU have the right over yourself, and
only you should be the one to decide what your life should be like.
This is not
just a letter to you, but to every parent and every child who identifies as
gay. You, just like everyone else, deserves to live and live a life of dignity,
with the freedom of choice that is inherent in you. You, like everyone else,
have hopes and dreams, ambitions and goals. You, like everyone else, deserves
to live.
Pride is more than a word for us. It is about personality, it is about standing for who you are, and by extension, who we are. I take PRIDE in being your mother. I take PRIDE in having been born the day you were born. I take PRIDE in every moment of your life that we have shared together.
And that is why, when we celebrate pride, I will celebrate you – like
I celebrate you every day.
With love,
Your
mother, Sam.