katieelu15

I’m still learning how to stop apologizing
for all that I am; I wear my skin like a blanket
that’s never been able to keep you warm enough
and Mom always used to say if you stay out in
the cold, you’re gonna get sick, I don’t want you
getting sick, please, don’t get sick of me.

I’m wearing out my I’m sorry’s like my
dignity’s on clearance but please hear me, they’ve
got me mislabeled. I’m not trying to sell anything, I’m
just trying to keep you around. And I know that the sound
of the same syllables over and over can become like your
favorite melody ruined by your alarm clock telling you to
wake up to nothing ever changing, but I’m trying,

and I’m afraid of what happens
when the music stops playing.

I hope my I love you’s never stop making
your heartbeat do pirouettes along your ribcage.

I hope my sadness doesn’t replace my name
on your Caller ID, I hope that you remember that
this isn’t me, that my genetics fell on a fault line and
my happiness fluctuates on the days of the week, but I
still love you with every tremor in every earthquake of my
universe. I love you when I go away; when I am nothing
but tired eyes and chapped lips and empty, and empty, when I
force you to cradle my missed calls against your cheek because
I’ve adopted an impediment in positive speech, I’m sorry. I’m
sorry that we had to drive back to the house on Tuesday when I
forgot to take my pills, and I’m sorry that I’m not up for going out
tomorrow, I’m sorry that my mind wanders sometimes when you
tell me about your day, I- I do want to hear about your day,
I am so sorry

and yeah, I’m still learning how
to stop apologizing, baby, but I still love you, so hard.

Mainly, I’m just –
mainly, I’m just sorry
for being selfish enough to ask you to stay.

"Why Your Depressed Lover Keeps Saying Sorry" -Valentina Thompson (via theseoverusedwords)
scream-at-the-skies

Dear Hypothetically Gay Son,

You’re gay. Obviously you already know that, because you told us at the dinner table last night. I apologize for the awkward silence afterwards, but I was chewing. It was like when we’re at a restaurant and the waiter comes up mid-bite and asks how the meal is, only in this metaphor you are the waiter and instead of asking me about my meal you said you were gay. I don’t know why I needed to explain that. I think I needed to find a funny way to repeat the fact that you’re gay… because that is what it sounds like in my head right now. “My son is gay. My son is gay. My son is gay.”

Let me be perfectly clear. I love you. I will always love you. Since being gay is part of who you are, I love that you’re gay. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the idea. If you sensed any sadness in my silence last night, it was because I was surprised that I was surprised. Ideally, I would have already known. Since you were an embryo, my intent has always been to really know you for who you are and not who I expect you to be. And yet, I was taken by surprise at last night’s dinner. Have I said “surprise” enough in this paragraph? One more time… surprise!

OK. Let’s get a few things straight about how things are going to be.
Our home is a place of safety and love. The world has dealt you a difficult card. While LGBT people are becoming more accepted, it is still a difficult path to walk. You’re going to experience hate and anger and misunderstandings about who you are out in the world. That will not happen here. You need to know with every fiber of who you are that when you walk in the front door of your home you are safe and you are loved. Your mother is in complete agreement with me on this.

I am still, as always, your biggest defender. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re any less capable of taking care of/defending yourself. That said, if you need me to stand next to you, in front of you, write letters, sign petitions, advocate, or anything else, I am here. I will go to war for you.

If you’re going to have boys over, you now need to leave your bedroom door open. Sorry kiddo. Thems are the breaks. I couldn’t have girls in my room with the door shut, you don’t get to have boys.

You and I are going to revisit that talk we had about safe sex. I know it’s going to be awkward for both of us, but it is important. I need to do some research first, so let’s give it a few weeks. If you have questions or concerns before then, let me know.

That’s enough for now. Feel free to view this letter as a contract. If I ever fail to meet any of the commitments made herein, pull it out and hold me to account. I’ll end with this: You are not broken. You are whole, and beautiful. You are capable and compassionate. You and your sister are the best things I have ever done with my life, and I couldn’t be more proud of the people you’ve become.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Thanks to a few key Supreme Court decisions and the Marriage Equality act of 2020 you’re legally able to get married. When I was your age, that was just an idea. Pretty cool huh?

Dear Hypothetically Gay Son | John Kinnear for Ask Your Dad  (via gaywrites)

This dad is amazing for this. This will be me with Sofía.