My Dad was an honest, simple person. People liked and trusted him. He was 90 when he died. That was over 20 years ago. I'm 75 now and more than ever I appreciate his kindness and virtue. When I was a young boy I thought he didn't like me. My mom and I loved each other, but my Father was emotionally unavailable and I interpreted his detached behavior as a personal rejection. He never complimented me or indicated in any way that he even liked me. I know now that he did like me. He just didn't know how to show it.

I grew up in a small town in Oregon in the late '30's and I tried to conform appropriately and behave like a "man". I was "momma's little angle" and a bit of a sissy. I hid my gender-confusion, trying to be as masculine as possible. Dad was disappointed in that I didn't care for hunting, fishing and attending ball games with him. In those days no one talked about "sexual identity".

When Dad was about the age I am now, he visited me in San Diego. At that time I was teaching and working on my Masters degree in Human Behavior. As usual, when we were together, we only talked about cars and the weather. I longed to have a heart to heart talk with Dad, but he was incapable of relating to people in that manner. He wasn't interested in my friends or career.

On the last day of that visit I finally came "out" to my Dad. I was driving him to the bus station when I nervously announced: "Dad, I'm gay". I anxiously waited for his reply. I believe he may have mumbled some acknowledgement ... perhaps a "hmm". Or maybe he said, "ya don't say" (another one of his standard responses). With great difficulty I pursued, "Do you know what Gay means?", I asked. There was another long period of silence. Finally he said: "Well, I recon it has to do with a fella likin another fellow". I was actually surprised that he understood. I swallowed and just went ahead and said, "What do you think of me being Gay?" ...(SILENCE) ... then he said, "... well, it ain't in the scriptures". It was the end of that discussion and we never again talked about my alternative lifestyle. It wasn't the way I wanted it to be. To this day I choke-up at any mention of intimacy between a Father and Son.

After that visit I wrote him several letters telling him how much I loved and appreciated him. Many years after he passed away my sister found a box of letters in her attic that belonged to Dad. There were about a dozen that he had saved from me. All of them were my letters of appreciation. I'm so glad that I wrote those letters. Only once did he write any acknowledgement and in that letter he stated that I shouldn't put him too high on a pedestal because he might fall off. But the fact that he saved only those very personal letters makes me think that he did like me after all.