Michael /

“I remember the last time my dad said he loved me. I was in the 6th grade and we were leaving from my first day of school. My parents left Cuba 15 years before homosexuality was no longer illegal. Growing up in a house of traditional Cuban refugees, it always seemed unspeakable to me that I would be gay. I didn’t even know it was possible to like boys until later that year when I got my first crush. I suppose he had suspected for a while, but WHEN he found out I had a boyfriend for the first time, when I was 15, we didn’t speak for 6 Months then we buried it. The second time he found out, I tried to kill Myself by taking a bottle of opioids, and the third was when I came out to him and he told me he would rather be dead than “hear my News,” that if any of my grandparents were alive, they would die all over again in anguish, and that he would not help me financially if I was to make such a choice. I dated women for 7 years, even to the point of having a fiancée, just to make him happy. It’s taken all my being to keep trying to salvage whatever love might be harvested deep down inside him. I still hope one day he comes around, but for now, I am stuck with some more bills and memories of the man who drove me home the last day he thought I was worth loving.”

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