This post originally appeared on October 11, 2021—National Coming Out Day.
My dad turned 21 in Cuba in March of 1970. He was there with the Venceremos Brigade, a US-Cuba solidarity movement that still exists today.
He came back to the States to Urbana, Illinois, where my mom was finishing high school.
To say they fell in love would be a stretch, but they did leave for New Mexico and got married. My dad finished up his degree, and I was born a few weeks later.
We soon moved to San Diego. My parents divorced before I was two.
There was this small problem: my dad was gay.
He knew he was gay since he was a kid, but there was no way he was going to come out, so instead he married a woman and had a kid.
I don't know when and how and to whom he came out over the years, but I imagine it unfolded based on all kinds of factors and contexts and relationships.
I know he didn't come out to me until I was 14.
Which changed my life forever—initially (I once thought) for worse, but ultimately for better.
I can never know what it's like to have to choose how and when and where and to whom to come out to. But I can imagine it's scary every single time.
So today, on National Coming Out Day, let's remember that the spaces we create and the language we use matter.
We never know who's in the closet wondering if it's safe to come out and be their authentic selves.