"There was a time, lost in the maze of a new city, when my mom's daily call was a lifeline. 'Where are you?' she'd ask, her voice a warm blanket across the miles. It was a constant in a world of change.
My father, the life of every party, was a stark contrast to my introverted self. One night, at 18, I nervously adjusted a flamboyant shirt before heading out. 'Where to tonight?' my dad asked, ever curious. When I mentioned the club's name (a place with a rainbow flag proudly displayed), a flicker of surprise crossed his face. 'Isn't that a gay club?' he queried, a hint of amusement in his voice. Nervousness coiled in my stomach, but his next words disarmed me. 'Do you have a problem with it?' His simple 'No, no problem,' washed over me like a wave of relief.
Three years later, in his hospital bed, a well-meaning nurse assumed we were brothers. Dad, weak but firm, declared, 'No, they're boyfriends.' In that moment, his acceptance resonated deeper than any words. As his time drew near, he offered a simple yet profound message: 'You're my son, and it doesn't matter what you do in the future, just be good.'
His love, like my mom's unwavering support, are the treasures I carry forward, guiding me with the same warmth as her daily calls."
