A Love Letter to my Mexican Father From Your Gay, Brown, Son

By Joe Cruz

I was a junior in college when I decided to fully love my messy self. Before I embraced

all the magic that was within me, I lived in the comfort of the closet. I’d say it was an

easy living, but lying about a part of myself to make you comfortable was never easy.

Luckily, being the nerd of my family provided a safety-net answer to the dreaded “y la

novia?” question I would hear from literally everyone and their mother at gatherings. But

behind that painfully awkward smile was a longing to let you and everyone else know

that I was harboring a secret. This secret would ruin the honor I worked so hard to

achieve. It would shake the title I inherited as the first grandson born into a family of

granddaughters who was expected to keep the family name alive. I can assure you that

the name will be passed down to my children as well as to my husband. To the man I

choose to love unconditionally and unapologetically. What I have learned

from the endless stories you have told me about failed girlfriend after failed girlfriend and what guides my short-lived gay love-life: trouble comes when you don’t fully accept someone

for who they are and where they’re at in life. Even though the burden of being brown

and gay weighs heavily on my shoulders, I’ll stand up tall against the other side

because that is how you taught me to be. You travelled from the motherland with little

belongings, but brought with you that deep seeded machismo and love for women,

which you worked so hard to pass down to me. It was out of love for me, but I never

knew how to vocalize this rejection of straightness in a way that wouldn’t expose my

secret. You’ve hear me say it before, but I’ll say it again for the people in that back; Dad,

I like guys. And that phase is here to stay.