Andrew and I did something unusual tonight: we actually went out on a work night and enjoyed a screening of Gus Van Sant's latest masterpiece, Milk - the biopic of gay activist Harvey Milk, played by 2009 Oscar contender for lead actor Sean Penn.
Prior to this film, I've never heard of Harvey Milk and now I feel like I am the better of it. I feel fortunate that I've had, for the most part, an uneventful coming out experience in my teenage years. True, there were the few pricks who tried and failed to make my life in school hell; they were more like a nuisance - kind of like getting crabs - than anything threatening - like terminal cancer. Not that I've ever gotten crabs.
But the liberties I've experienced have come on the heel of the persecution of many before me, and I often took, and feel like I still take a lot for granted. But I'm not going to go down that sentimental route, other than to say, that I think the best and simplest way to stand up to it all is to just live your life truthfully and proudly; and by doing so, hopefully inspire others to do the same.
The moment that made me choke up during the film was thinking about my dad. My mom actually came out for me. She claimed that a speech I wrote for Grade 9 somehow crawled out of the box in my closet all the way to her dresser top. Yeah right. Either way, it was a blessing in disguise that she snooped.
My Dad didn't take the news so well. We just didn't talk about it. During my senior year in high school, I began working as a freelance journalist for one of the local gay newspapers in Toronto. I was so proud of seeing my byline and wanted to share it with my parents. Then my dad told me that he didn't want me writing for the newspaper anymore, because homosexuality was wrong. My dad then spewed out such a hate-filled speech filled with the usual stereotypes - including espousing that AIDS came from gay people.
I still remember that fight so vividly in my head. I completely lost my temper and threw the TV remote across the living room and it smashed against the hard wood floor, breaking open and the two AAA batteries rolled out. I picked up my jacket and stormed out of the house, nearly 11 p.m. on a school night.
I stomped down the street onto the main road and kept walking for almost half an hour, unable to come down from my volcanic furor. I called my cousin and ex, who took me to a bubble tea shop where I vented. I must've gone home at 2 in the morning. I didn't speak to my dad - or my mom - for over six weeks.
The point of sharing this story is that when my dad passed away earlier this year, not only did he acknowledge, love and accept me for who I was - but he openly welcomed and accepted Andrew as a member of our family and as my boyfriend. He didn't do this overnight, or even after the fight, but over years.
I still laugh when I recall how Andrew used to visit for the weekends from Waterloo and sleep in my room. My dad would stand in the hallway and shout, "Andrew can sleep in your sister's room." (Sa had moved out). We just ignored him, until he got used to it. Andrew, of course, sucked up the best way anyone could to my dad: by buying him lotto tickets.
I remember a conversation my aunt had with me, alone in her van, one time during my university years, when she told me that a) she knew I was gay and b) that I had to give my parents time to accept it. It was not just an adjustment for me, but for them as well. She said that it was going to be an educational process for everyone.
And I think that's the most powerful message of the film, Milk: the power of building bridges through education and time. At the end of the day, I think all parents will love and accept their child for whoever they are, as long as they are genuine, truthful and open about how they live their life. It just takes time.
I started to cry in the theatre tonight, as I thought about my dad and how he - in his seventies - changed his long-held prejudices, views and attitudes about life and other people's lifestyles. Who said change can't happen? It just takes time and a genuine willingness from all sides to look at things from every angle.
