My dad is gay.
It is usually after I have known you for a little while before I will say those words to you. Sometimes it’s our first long conversation, when people go through the whole “Where are you from; what do you do; where’d you grow up?” script that everyone in the world receives once they are old enough to attend any social events. And it’s after I say that that the real questions begin. Keep reading »
My parents had been married for five years when they had their first child, a boy named Nathan. It was the fall of 1974 and he was born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a congenital bone disease you may have heard referred to as “Brittle Bone Disease.”
My mother was told she should institutionalize her baby, but instead my parents brought him home and learned how to care for him. I can’t imagine all that they must have gone through – they were 26 years old with a baby who was critically ill. There are pictures of Nathan in front of the Christmas tree in his bouncy seat, looking pretty happy, with splints on his arms. He lived to be eight months old and then, in June 1975, on Friday the 13th, Nathan died. Keep reading »
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