Dear Son,

When you told me, a couple of years ago, that you were gay, I remember being surprised at my own reaction. I was kind of stunned, and maybe, just a little disappointed. I mean, don't most fathers want their sons to follow in their footsteps? I had imagined you being a writer, like me, although part of me hoped for a less volatile existence. The job description for professional dreamer doesn't always include the things we wish for our children, like security and avoiding the ugly specter of rejection. But I wasn't sure how I felt about you following in my footsteps as a gay man.

I've since grown used to the fact that you are who you are. And now I can look back with a wry smile at my initial reaction. A gay father is the last person one would expect to experience disappointment and shock when his son comes out to him. But I remember one of my first thoughts was, "Well, there go the dreams of dancing at my son's wedding." It's hokey, I know, but that doesn't change the fact that it was one of my initial thoughts.

A thought I did NOT have was, "Well, maybe that will change." It's amazing to me that as little as two summers ago, I didn't hold out much hope for watching you join up with someone special until death do you part. Oh sure, there was the possibility of a civil union, whatever that means. The prospect of dreaming about your kid's civil union just doesn't have the same cachet as imagining a wedding. Nor should it.

And now, here we are, on the brink of another summer, when the newspapers and airwaves are full of talk of gay people getting married. Only last month, gay people started to wed in Massachusetts (even though these weddings, legal as they are, don't hold the same power as a union "between one man and one woman"; one hopes that will change), and I began to think that maybe my disappointment at never seeing my son marry might not have been realistic.

So now I do what I can in the hopes that you will have the option of marrying one day. I speak out to family and friends, and try to convince them that the arguments against gay marriage are, at the root, hateful and discriminatory. I try to help them see that excluding a set of people from publicly declaring their love and commitment and enjoying the same legal rights as anyone else is wrong. I join groups like the Human Rights Campaign and DontAmend.com, all in the hopes that if we fight hard against right-wing bigotry and discriminatory legislation, you might have a different future than I have.

As you know, I tried the "one woman, one man" marriage thing (with your mother, whom I love and always will love) and, because of my orientation, it didn't work, with lots of people getting hurt in the process. While you're beyond the self-denial I went though, I'd like to make sure one thing you don't do like me is make the same mistakes.

Being able to marry the person you love and are sexually attracted to is a very logical hope I have for you. I don't think it's asking too much. You may choose never to get married, or your marriage may fail for different reasons. Or it may be just the sort of union I now have with my partner (whom I cannot marry, but gladly would), full of togetherness, commitment to one another's well being, and the choice we've made to spend the rest of our lives together. My hope for you is that you can find that kind of magic with another person…and that your own government recognizes your commitment and love…the same government that was, a long, long time ago, put in place to supposedly look out for your welfare, freedom, and happiness.

Of course, I hope that, when people start seeing that the fabric of civilization is not being ripped apart by gay couples running wild in Massachusetts, they will stop being so threatened. I hope that for myself, so that as I continue to build my future with my partner, we too will have the option of making a public, legal declaration of our commitment. But more, I hope it for you, the person in whose happiness and well-being I've always had the greatest investment. My life is probably more than half over; you're just beginning to make the journey. All I can do is continue to hope, to speak out, and to fight for the kind of future I know you're entitled to.

We always want what's best for our children. Your having the choice to marry, I know, is what's best.

Love,
Dad

Dear Dad,

When you told me you were gay, I couldn't have understood exactly what you meant; I was only five years old. After you had taken the time to explain it to me, the only thing I couldn't understand was why it was such a big deal to so many people. After all, you were still the same person you were before you had told me, with the same qualities--thoughtfulness, compassion, and gentleness--that I had come to respect and admire; and that I still emulate. In light of those virtues, my family's judgments of you as deranged and evil made no sense. Why they thought that pursuing what every human being needs--to love and be loved--was evil, I still don't know. I thought I would crack under the strain of their demands to either hate you or bear the stain of your sin, but I comforted myself with the illusion that this was some peculiar insanity of theirs; that in the wide world outside my grandparents' house everyone was rational and would see you the same way I did. I quickly learned that this was not the case.

In grade school I learned to be ashamed of you, if not inwardly at least outwardly. In a small Catholic school, the child of a single mother is an oddity, and the gossip and rumors about you started almost as quickly among parents, teachers, and clergy as it did among my classmates. When the truth found its way into the rumor mill, I learned what the world thought of you, and of me. It was bad enough that my classmates considered you diseased at best, worse that they thought of me as tainted by association, but the real betrayal came when parents, teachers, and clergy backed them up. At best they pitied me because of you; at worst they called me degenerate trash, or a mistake. It had been possible to stand up to the assaults from my family, but when a whole community turned on me, I caved. I denied the truth; I told people you had married a woman to try to regain some semblance of legitimacy. I told homophobic jokes, and used "gay" as an insult. It's awfully difficult to grow up ashamed of your origins; for a boy, a father is a map of the self. It only became more difficult as my own homosexuality emerged on a conscious level; my shame deepened.

Years later I have come to terms with all of this; I recognize now that homophobia is irrational, and on some level, insane. But looking back, I have to wonder how much easier it would have been to grow up the son of a gay man if people had valued the romantic love you had to offer instead of reviling you for it. That's why I get so angry now when I hear the champions of family values declaring that we cannot publicly recognize your love for the sake of the children. As a child, the only thing the ban on gay marriage protected me from was the feeling that I was a whole and legitimate person.

In the end though, marriage equality is not about the children. The simple facts that you want to marry, and that your marriage would not harm anyone, are reasons enough to allow it. This is a free country, and we are all better off when we are all truly free. I wish the best to you and your husband, and look forward to the day when everyone will recognize him as such.

Love,
Nick

Read an interview with I Do/I Don't contributors
Rick R. Reed and Nicholas Reed.

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"Father/Son"
from I Do/I Don't: Queers on Marriage
© 2004 Rick R. Reed and Nicholas Reed