From as far back as I can remember, self-confidence, and feeling a general sense of pride, has been a challenge for me. As a skinny kid growing up in East Vancouver, I was vaguely insecure and slow to make friends. By the time I became a teenager and became aware that I was gay, the sense of feeling different or “other” did nothing to improve my self-image.
When the mid-’80s hit, and I was at an age where coming out as gay was even a remote possibility, the AIDS crisis was full-blown. This increased the homophobia in the world, and in the home I shared with my family– not to mention my insecurities and fears. I didn’t come out as a gay man until my late 20s, and I did not do so with a sense of celebration or liberty, but with fear and uncertainty. Feeling a sense of pride about myself as a gay man was still a long way off.
In the new millennium, I did some hard work with a fantastic gay psychologist who helped me significantly in unpacking and understanding my fears and feelings. This increased my need to connect with other gay men, so I decided to be brave and open myself up to as many coffee and/or dog-walking dates with eligible men as I could fit into my schedule. The bar scene wasn’t my thing, so this seemed like a good way to go, as I am fairly confident in a one-on-one setting. My thinking was that every date could be a) a friend, b) a romantic connection, or c) a fascinating and eye-opening experience. I used a pre-smartphone online dating service called Lava Life, and I let everyone in my life know that I was open to being set up for blind dates as well, even if the only reason that they might think that me and the other person would be a match was that we were the only two gay men they knew. It was a busy year, which ultimately felt like a series of job interviews. But by the end of year one of my power-dating marathon, I was lucky enough to have met Drew, the man who would become my husband.
At the time, he was living life as a hippie on Pender Island. We connected online, by phone, and eventually in person. A few months later, he moved to the Lower Mainland, and we saw each other regularly. He was handsome, kind, funny, smart, and a good kisser. So, why was I dragging my feet? I told him directly one night that I had no idea why I wasn’t in love with him. After some mutual tears, a week’s time, a huge bouquet of flowers, and a lot of personal introspection, I realized that I was sure that he, like most gay men, would deceive me, hurt me, and disrespect me in some way. This came from a few past experiences, but mostly some homophobia that had built up in me over the years, via my parents, and possibly TV & film. It shouldn’t take the approval of friends to convince me to give him a fair chance, but the unanimous approval of him from my social circle was highly influential. From that point on, I jumped in with both feet, and not a day has gone by when I wasn’t sure that I made a great choice. Choosing to be with this wonderful man is the best decision I have ever made.
Drew and I were very much in love and wanted the same things out of life and out of our relationship. This marked the first time I felt a sense of pride as a gay man. A big part of that was my joy at having found someone whom I loved and wanted to be with, and who loved and wanted to be with me, too. I felt proud to let the world know who my wonderful partner was, and that we were together.
A few years later, we were married and were lucky enough to welcome a newborn baby boy to our family. We were very visible wherever we went, and this felt amazing to me. As a family, we were as out and proud as we could be – we were part of several documentaries about gay dads, and also a real estate reality show on HGTV. We spent the next 15 years or so living a fairly heteronormative life, and tended to surround ourselves with couples with children. We therefore had very little contact with the gay community.
About five years ago, when our now-teenaged son wanted very little to do with his dads, and we were called upon to do much less parenting, we decided to address the fact that we had almost no gay friends. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but I was really craving having people around me who I could relate to on many more levels than I do with my straight friends. It was both exciting and scary, but I felt very motivated to find my place in the community. I dove in headfirst, finding connections through social media, and then through the gay softball league, and ultimately, socializing at local gay bars. I found, and still find, that it is difficult to make new friends in Vancouver’s gay community. However, I feel a real sense of gratification being out and about in the village or where queer people congregate, and to be able to greet numerous people whom I now know. It’s a great feeling that I never really imagined I would have access to, and I have to say: I love it. People who know me will tell you that when I am out, I tend to be chatty as hell, love to connect with folks I don’t know, and that I occasionally turn my flirting all the way to eleven.
Feeling a sense of pride as a gay man was a long process, but I finally feel comfortable in my skin. I welcome any and all opportunities to connect in the community, and to tell anyone in the world who I am. I feel no regret about not doing this sooner, as my journey is my journey, and I believe things are meant to happen when and how they happen. I wouldn’t change a thing.
During the last few years, I have prioritized challenging myself to do things that are not in my wheelhouse and that I could not have imagined doing just a few short years ago. Some of these include telling you my story right now; go-go dancing at parties while wearing very little clothing; singing karaoke at Pumpjack; and being a back-up dancer for my softball team’s drag queen at the annual WESA pageant.
Part of the pride that I feel comes from being a tiny part of a long history of brave people who have risked their lives and livelihoods to fight, and yell, and scream for the rights that I have and benefit from on a daily basis. I did nothing to earn the right to marry my husband, to start a family with him, and to live in a city where we can comfortably hold hands in public — except, come of age at the right time. I take none of this for granted.
Pride was a long time coming, but it feels fantastic. Being with my husband built me up and continues to do so to this day, after almost 23 years together. How I feel about myself, my general sense of happiness, and how much joy I am able to experience, have increased decade over decade.
As an older-than-middle-aged man, I will passionately resist becoming a crabby old person whose worldview becomes more and more narrow with time. I will continue to be open to new connections and experiences, and travel, and do it all with Drew by my side.
I can’t wait to find out what happens in the next ten years.
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