Father, mine and someone’s
Today, six years after losing my dad, I’m sharing my coming out story again. This is also a reminder that we can make connections that take us back to these special moments. I danced with a gentleman several months ago who was too young to be my dad but reminded me of my father in many ways. I hope his children know how awesome their dad is.
He wouldn’t have danced with me, my father. The day he gave me away, I told him we were only having dinner, not a full reception. Ours wasn’t a traditional wedding anyway, so skipping the father-daughter dance wasn’t a big deal to me.
Dancing wasn’t the only thing he wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t have read my screenplays, but he’d happily watch the movies once some Hollywood director ripped apart my words until the idea behind them was all that remained. He would laugh though. No matter what we were doing so long as it wasn’t dancing, he’d laugh with me. A quiet all-knowing laugh that would leave me wondering if my laugh didn’t quite hit the rhythm of the joke. And he’d talk with me.
He’d ask questions, wonder where my life was, where it’s going, and what I needed from him to reach my dreams. He’d listen to my…
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