We were halfway up a mountain when I knew it was time to spill.
It was my first year of high school. I’d been going through this process and I thought ‘I have to tell someone’.
My dad was a deep thinker. He laughed a lot and he could ace any TV quiz show. But he never went on one.
But coming out to him was still the most nerve-wracking thing I’d ever done.
It was a spring day and my brother, my dad, and I were trying to climb Mount Anne.
It was hard going and my brother started feeling sick so we left him behind.
Being the determined people that we were, my dad and I kept going. It was just the two of us.
First I asked him about childbirth, I’m not sure why. He said “It might be painful but it is the most amazing thing you will ever experience”.
And then I said “I don’t think I want kids”.
He told me I’d change my mind when I met the right guy.
Even though my dad was very open-minded the voice in my head whispered worries, without an off switch.
“Alright”. He spoke softly, “You’re allowed to like whoever and you will always be my little girl”.
After a second he asked if it was because I didn’t want to give birth. I remember punching him before hugging him tightly.
We never made it to the peak, there was too much snow.
But I have never felt closer to my dad than I did that day.
That was two years ago. He is the only person in my family that I have talked to directly about my sexuality.
Last year he passed away suddenly in unknown circumstances. He had just turned 50.
I only wish for a couple more seconds with him to say “thank you” one last time. But I will always have that memory of him — accepting me exactly as I am.
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