My mom never outright told me that my Papa was gay.
In the early 2000s, it wasn't a typical dinner table conversation, even in California.
We often drove down from Los Angeles to Laguna Beach, where he and his partner resided. Until the age of 8, I assumed he was my Papa's friend, with whom I also got to spend quality time. They would take me to my favorite candy store, and we'd walk along the pier to look at the sailboats with their springer spaniel named Flower.
As we drove back one evening, I had a sudden epiphany that altered my perspective. From the back seat, I exclaimed, "Are Papa and Orson like Mitchell and Cameron from Modern Family?" The TV show had quickly become a barometer through which my third-grade brain understood most things at the time, but this was the first instance where I felt a direct correlation to my own life. My mom said yes, and suddenly, I became curious.
A couple of years later, Proposition 8 to ban gay marriage was on the California ballot. With the help of my politically active parents, I understood the gravity of the situation at 14 and rejoiced when it was struck down. Just one year later, in 2014, the Obergefell v. Hodges decision ruled to federally legalize gay marriage; my Papa and his partner got married within days of the decision, along with thousands of other queer couples across the country.
The Supreme Court’s decision in 2014 lit a spark in me, and then, fast forward to the 2016 election, that spark erupted into a flame.
I became fervently involved in organizing. Throughout college in Georgia, I volunteered my time to local, state, and national campaigns, including Senators Ossoff and Warnock's and the Biden campaign. I ultimately went on to work for the Stacey Abrams 2022 gubernatorial campaign. Even before I really knew who I was, and how I intimately related to my Papa, I felt a need to fight for the queer community, especially as we were coming under attack.
Throughout my experiences, I held my Papa at the forefront of my mind, alongside thousands of others across our nation. I understood that if we do not elect those to champion the LGBTQ+ community, there will be severe consequences. Yet despite my political activism and our constant time spent together, this only came to the forefront of our shared conversations when I confronted my own queerness this past year.
I knew so much about my Papa. He is a retired dentist with a raging sweet tooth. He is a Bridge instructor and a talented pianist. A grand one sits in the center of his house, and he and my dad often take turns playing when we visit. But, it wasn’t until I came into my own queerness that I truly gained perspective about his life and the trauma that he endured growing up as a gay man in this country.
A few years ago, I slowly began to understand that I was bisexual. It took me 23 years to come to this realization, an additional year to say it out loud myself in an empty room, and another two years to come out publicly.
It was excruciating, but what made it all the more painful was thinking about how my Papa had to do this for decades with far higher stakes.
I've made so much progress this year by coming out to my friends and family and meeting my girlfriend. I thank those like my Papa for trailblazing the road before me. And this summer, I finally introduced my girlfriend to my Papa and his partner in a full-circle moment.
They are both reserved guys, so it shocked me when they began to talk with me in a new way without hesitation.
As we sat on their deck overlooking the Pacific on a hazy day, I heard stories I had never known of him in my 25 years. Stories of fear, loss, and survival during a time when being openly gay could mean social ostracism or worse.
He detailed an experience where he hid in the bathroom of a gay bar as the police raided and arrested individuals for being their authentic selves. His two close friends were arrested and lost their teaching licenses and, as a result, their jobs. He had to continue to live a closeted life for fear of losing his dental license. My Papa explained the confusion and horror as many of his friends started to drop dead from an unknown illness that soon became known as the AIDS crisis, which left his community at the forefront of blame, shame, and being treated as a national pariah.
Through these stories, we sat together, reflecting on the past and the uncertain future. When Papa turned from his own story to mine, he spoke candidly about his fears for my generation, expressing a deep worry about the current political climate and the potential erosion of hard-won rights. "I don't want you to live through what I had to," he said.
ANDREW HOLBROOKE/Corbis via Getty Images
This newfound closeness with my grandfather is bittersweet. On the one hand, I am grateful for the deepened connection and the mutual understanding that now defines our relationship. His experiences and wisdom are invaluable to me, and I cherish the stories he shares. On the other hand, it is profoundly disheartening that we are united by a fear that history may repeat itself.
Reflecting on our conversations, I am filled with urgency and responsibility. We cannot afford to be complacent. The rights and freedoms we enjoy today result from tireless activism and sacrifice.
This conversation was a severe wake-up call that these freedoms are not guaranteed. It is my job and everyone’s collective responsibility to actively work to create a future where no one has to live in fear because of who they are. And this starts with electing leaders who will protect us this election cycle
Ultimately, my grandfather and I are bound not just by familial ties but by a shared vision of a world where love and acceptance prevail over hate and discrimination. My Papa's life story is a testament to the enduring strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. It is also a poignant reminder of the fragility of progress.
Gillian Gurney (she/her) is a Los Angeles Native turned New York City transplant. She works in political PR, and spends her free time running on the west side highway, hosting dinners with her friends, and obsessively playing the NYT games. @gilliangurney
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