Dear Dad,
Remember that time you searched my whole room and found nail polish and thought I was sniffing it to get high? I wanted to have colorful nails. You didn’t believe that. Remember that? Well I do, and it hurt. Remember that time when you found those pictures of shirtless guys and told me “this” would ruin my life? I do, and it hurt. Remember that time afterwards when you brought it up and when I started crying, you laughed at me? You told me that I was “too young” to know who I was. I was fourteen and I had known I wasn’t straight since I was twelve. Do you remember that conversation? I do, my friends do. It hurts to this day. Remember that time you walked in on me kissing another guy and you literally threw HIM out of the door? I do, and so does HE, and it hurt. Remember that fight we had where I screamed at you that I didn’t want to go to “that church” anymore? The only thing you said was “why,” you had the most incredulous tone. “Why wouldn’t our God-loving son want to attend another Catholic fag hating sermon?” I remember that, my brother does, and it hurt. Do you remember how The last two sermons I attended were on the weeks around the Supreme Court decision and they both were condemning “the homosexuals?” I do and it hurt. Do you remember how I stood there gaping at you? I know I hadn’t brought it up in a year but it certainly hadn’t gone away. I do, they do, and it hurts Do you remember reading my journal? The last piece of privacy that I had. You thought I wouldn’t notice the fact that it had moved shelves? That the only thing I had left to confide in had moved completely? Because I remember that. And it hurts. I remember your faces when I told you I was going to Sadie’s with a girl. They lit up. It crushed me. I was disappointed. My parents still believed that a part of me was made up, a phase. Do you remember finding my tumblr and how you insisted on telling me how I’d never get a job if someone found this. As if I’d even consider working in a place that cared who I liked. Do you remember that? Do you remember me telling you “I’m gay Dad” and you telling me how I “actually” felt as if you knew better than I did? Do you remember that I’m gay? My friends do, My brother does, HE does, They do, I do,
You don’t. And it fucking hurts.
I’m crying loud enough to make the cats wail and the dogs howl.
