By Russell Etherton
Dear Dad,
June is a hard month for me. It’s a time when the world reminds me that I’m getting older, and the signs of adulthood become more apparent. Suddenly, being in my thirties means taking naps before nights out (also, why go out when you can be in bed by 9:30 p.m.?), turning down the radio in the car to focus, and realizing that “back day” is no longer just an intense workout at the gym but a day dedicated to complaining about back pains. It’s a bittersweet reminder of the passage of time.
For me though, June holds more weight than just the signs of aging. It’s your birthday, just five days before mine. Remember how we used to share those birthday parties? The excitement of blowing out candles together, the joy of opening presents side by side. When did those shared celebrations become distant memories, replaced by separate paths and fading connections?
And then there’s Father’s Day, a day I’ve often overlooked and failed to honor properly. I would blame the postal service for the card that never arrived, but the truth is, I never sent it. Father’s Day became a reminder of the complexities and distances that grew between us—a reminder of the unspoken conversations, the questions unanswered, and the fatherly advice that I yearned for but had to figure out on my own.
There were so many things you didn’t tell me, so much I had to navigate without you. I turned to Mom for advice on many things, but some experiences were uniquely son-and-father territory: the lump on my balls that turned out to be a pimple, the art of shaving, or the anxieties I faced in PE class, not due to body dysmorphia but the fear of my body’s reaction to the other masculine figures I would inevitably encounter. These were moments when I needed you, not just as a parent but as a mentor and someone who would help shape me into the man I am today.
Our relationship was a tapestry of complexity, to say the least. As a gay son growing up, I found myself grappling with how to forge my identity within the vast and audacious world you inhabited. I was figuring out how to receive your love and acceptance while, at the same time, starting my own journey of self-discovery, learning how to love and honor myself. But there were no blueprints for you and me, no role models to emulate. I was a gay kid from the South, striving to find my voice and carve out a life that authentically reflected who I truly was, and you were you—set in your ways, the disciplinarian, and always gone for work.
My small world offered glimpses of acceptance, places where I could find solace and understanding. Still, there was no manual, no how-to guide on building a relationship with someone who didn’t understand me—and perhaps, who I struggled to understand in return. It all amounted to an absence of understanding that created a palpable emotional distance between us.
The chasm of distance between us seemed to widen with each passing year. Countless micro-instances contributed to the growing emotional and physical space that separated us. Forced interactions strained with unspoken tension, your absence becoming an unwelcome companion, phone calls effortlessly sent to voicemail, and birthdays unacknowledged. Then, of course, there was the unraveling of your marriage. It was an ugly divorce that cast a shadow over our already fragile connection and forced me to pick a side. And when life led me to a new place, physically and emotionally, it felt like another step away from the possibility of bridging the divide that had plagued us for far too long.
Wouldn’t you agree that we played father and son really well? Or perhaps well enough to convince our extended circle of family, friends, and distant relatives that we had it all together? Through the years, Facebook became the stage where I carefully orchestrated the narrative, providing you with the talking points needed to proudly share about your son’s accomplishments and the life I was crafting for myself. I showcased the jobs I landed, carefully selecting ones that would make you beam with pride when boasting to others. I shared photos of faraway adventures, each image proclaiming, “My son is well-traveled, cultured, and has his shit together.” It was a meticulously crafted story, a testament to the success I was determined to achieve in your eyes and in the eyes of our family.
But social media, for all its illusion of authenticity, is already a well-curated tale. Behind the polished facade, behind the picture-perfect posts and glowing updates, there was an untold story—a story of struggle, of the rough unfolding of my identity, and the missteps and hard-earned lessons learned “the very hard way.” You were shielded from the depths of my journey, the emotional rollercoaster that accompanied my path to self-discovery. The vulnerability, the doubts, and the moments of fear were carefully kept hidden from your view, woven into the fabric of my existence but never exposed.
Looking back, I realize that by shielding you from my vulnerable moments, I deprived both of us of the chance to forge a deeper, more genuine connection. Our relationship became a performance, a carefully choreographed dance of appearances. But the price paid for this act was the absence of true intimacy and the unspoken truths that lay dormant beneath the surface.
Ten long years passed before I reached a point in my journey where I finally let go of the weight of others’ opinions and expectations. It was a gradual process, marked by moments of personal enlightenment—a phrase that, despite my distaste for it, aptly captures the moment of change in my life. This transition marked the turning point between the person I was before and the person I am now—a person who embraces my journey wholeheartedly, acknowledging its valuable lessons and cherishing the growth and healing that have taken place.
I discovered a newfound sense of self-worth, independence from the need for societal validation, and an unwavering commitment to my own authenticity. I learned to honor my truths and resist the need to mold myself into the image that society expected of me. This newfound confidence extended to my relationship with you, my father. I began to understand and empathize with the challenges you faced in relating to me—a gay son in a world you might not fully comprehend.
You, who had never ventured beyond the borders of Kentucky, a state that often undervalues diversity and the complexities of human experience. You, who likely never had the opportunity to develop meaningful relationships with openly gay individuals or explore the depths of the LGBTQ+ community. You, who were raised in a family that rarely shared emotions or vulnerabilities and kept their indiscretions locked away, untouched and unspoken.
Through my own journey of self-acceptance, I discovered the capacity to accept you for who you were, understanding that your limitations stemmed from a lack of exposure, knowledge, and guidance. I let go of the resentment that had built up over the years, recognizing that you never had the chance to experience the transformative power of personal enlightenment. No one had offered you the tools or the roadmap for such a profound shift in perspective.
For a decade, I withheld from you even a glimpse into my authentic self, denying you the opportunity to understand who I truly was and how to love and accept me. It was a defense mechanism, borne out of fear and the wounds inflicted by past disappointments. But as I grew and evolved, I realized the importance of extending compassion and understanding, not just to myself, but also to you—a father navigating a world that often left you ill-equipped to bridge the gap between us.
June is a hard month for me. Despite all the growth, learnings, and empathy that have blossomed within me, I find myself stuck. When you died not long ago, the opportunity to create and cultivate something beautiful was lost. It’s unfortunate because I wonder if you ever sensed my reservations in our relationship. Did you expect a birthday or Father’s Day card, or had you resigned yourself to the annual theatrics? Maybe I was the one making it difficult, unknowingly building walls to protect myself.
I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry for the moments we missed and the connections left unexplored.
I use you as an example now—an example of the importance of loving bravely and honestly, of not shying away from the difficult conversations that shape tomorrow and all the possibilities that lie ahead.
I love you. Thank you for being all that you could be for me.
Happy Father’s Day.
