Y'all know about my parents and my trauma.
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Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping It does make me smile to hear you had a person like that in your life, and a safe space he created.
Sorry for your loss.
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Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping Wow I so want to create something like that
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping what an amazing person he was! The opposite of a narcissist.
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping thank you for sharing. Reading this, I too am glad Brian was in your life. 🫂
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping I'm sorry for your loss. This was such a moving tribute to someone who, it sounds like, really deserved one.
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping My condolences
️🩹 Thank you for sharing, the world needs more people like Brian and it's poorer now for his loss 
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
During the funeral (I watched the stream), one of Brian's kids shared how, when he was in highschool, the only curfew rule was, "If you're not going to get home before 11, call." Whenever it was Brian who answered the phone, he would simply ask:
Are you drinking alcohol? No.
Are you smoking? No.
Are you doing drugs? No.
Are you carousing with promiscuous women? No.
Have fun!That gave me a good giggle. Not only was it classic Brian, but also because these days I hang out with a lot of promiscuous women. 🤭
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping I am sorry for your loss – and happy to hear that you had someone like Brian in your life. I'm sure, on his own way, he contributed significantly for the "little girl" staying alive and blossoming so that she could, one day, when it was finally safe to do so, come out. And I am sure if there is some kind of existence after death that Brian is looking down on that little girl with happy tears in his eyes.
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping thanks for sharing with us what this person meant to you
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping What a beautiful person.
I'm glad you had that refuge in your childhood. -
During the funeral (I watched the stream), one of Brian's kids shared how, when he was in highschool, the only curfew rule was, "If you're not going to get home before 11, call." Whenever it was Brian who answered the phone, he would simply ask:
Are you drinking alcohol? No.
Are you smoking? No.
Are you doing drugs? No.
Are you carousing with promiscuous women? No.
Have fun!That gave me a good giggle. Not only was it classic Brian, but also because these days I hang out with a lot of promiscuous women. 🤭
@faithisleaping sounds a bit like my dad's "if you're not in bed by midnight..... come home"
-
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping
Sorry for your loss and for you not having had time with him as you are now 🫂> The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation.
Sounds like my grandma
Now that my grandpa died, she's going to be pretty lonely because most people only put up with her for his sake :x -
Y'all know about my parents and my trauma. I talk about it a lot. What I haven't talked about much are the few safe spaces or safe people I had as a kid.
One was my uncle LeRoy. He DID NOT put up with my dad's bullshit. His and my aunt's house was a Dad-free zone. Enough so that my dad was physically uncomfortable there. And when us kids came to stay over New Years every year, Uncle LeRoy would do his best to spoil us and show us his favorite movies that Dad wouldn't let us watch and just generally try to just let us be kids there because he knew we didn't have that at home.
The second was Brian. He and his family moved to one of the nearby towns when I was finishing up middle school. They homeschooled their kids as well and somehow his wife got connected with my mom to help get her plugged into the local homeschooling community. Their oldest two kids were about the same age as me and my oldest sister and we became fast friends. Sometimes we paired off "boys" vs girls (at the time, genders matched up) and sometimes it was the four of us. Our mom and their mom also became pretty close.
But my dad didn't like Brian and Brian didn't much like my dad, either. Why? Because Brian knew he was full of shit and probably also how emotionally abusive he was. Compared to my dad's anti-intellectual young earth creationist, alternative history, conspiracy bullshit, Brian had most of a PhD in nuclear physics and a seminary degree. He'd dealt with guys like my dad before and he knew what was up.
But he loved us kids, especially my oldest two sisters and I. He practically adopted us (and would have if something ever happened to our parents). And it must have happened quick because I honestly don't remember a time when they were in our lives and he wasn't like a second father to us.
At the time, I don't think I fully appreciated that. I was just happy to finally have friends my age. Our moms were besties beck then, too, so we got to see each other quite a bit even though we didn't go to church or school together. They even lived close enough that we could ride our bikes back and forth during the summers, giving us a sort of autonomy we didn't have with other friendships. When I got my driver's license midway through highschool (you could get a license at 16 where I grew up), suddenly the four of us could do anything together. We'd go to the movies, church youth group, or even just run back and forth to each other's houses. Everyone would pile into the little red Mazda and I'd drive.
The last time I saw them was in 2012 or so. After the kids graduated, Brian and Mrs. P— went to Liberia to be missionaries. They were back in the US and we went to see Brian preach at their old church. (My dad HATED it. It was a LITURGICAL service.
) It was nice. We got to see them and maybe their kids again. (I don't remember.) But I haven't seen them since. We just sort of lost touch. Then, two weeks ago, we got the news that Brian died in a vehicle accident in Liberia. Today is the memorial service at their old church, 12 miles from my parents house by bicycle. I'm not there.
When I was a kid, I don't think I really appreciated who Brian was to me or the impact he had on our lives. He was just my best friend's dad, ya'know? Those are the relationships that are ever-present in your life but you never think about. He was just always there.
But thinking back, Brian's impact on our lives was immeasurable. He created something no one else could: A space that was simultaneously safe for us (away from dad's bullshit), that our parents considered safe (we were hanging out with a pastor's kids), and that was accessible. Not only could we bike back and forth but the relationship was such that I could show up unannounced and just ask if their kids were around and then hang out for a few hours. I think it bothered Mrs. P— a bit when I did but Brian never cared. And if we ever needed to chat, his office in the church across the street was always open to us.
As a kid, safe spaces were at a premium because our own house wasn't one. My parents were ever-present and their bullshit rules and their judgement were inescapable. But when our friends were over, mom knew to leave us alone and just let us have fun for the most part. (I think she was afraid to be overbearing towards her kids friends. I'm not 100% sure. I just know she gave us more space when they were around.) And when we were over at our friends' house or at the church, we were even more free to be ourselves.
But probably the best place you can see it was when our two families did things together. It didn't happen that often—usually it was just my mom and Mrs. P— or just us kids—but we'd sometimes go to the lake together as families or things like that. When we did, my mom would chat with Mrs. P—, my dad would talk to Brian, and us kids would do our thing. Totally normal two-family dynamics, right? Well... Yes and no...
The thing about my dad (or one of them, anyway) is that he ALWAYS has to be the center of attention. He's loud and unnecessarily opinionated and if he's in the room, he dominates the conversation. Brian wasn't just talking man to man or father to gather. He was taking one for the team. He was occupying my dad so the rest of us could enjoy ourselves in peace. No one wanted to talk to my dad (he's an ass), including Brian, but Brian would take that role on himself so the rest of us didn't have to. I know now that that's what he was doing now because I've done that myself as an adult. Someone has to entertain him so that everyone else can have a good time.
I also watched as he gently pushed back on my dad's bullshit. No, the world doesn't work that way. Yes, there's actually evidence for that. No, that gotcha argument doesn't hold. Actually, there are lots of different angles to that theological point with valid arguments and yours isn't the only one that makes sense.
He never actually broke through, of course. Abusive idiots like my father don't actually care about truth. They just care about people agreeing with them. But Brian tried. My dad was never the kind of guy he would be friends with or even bother with for that matter. But he loved us kids and so he did what he could.
But maybe the most beautiful thing has only come out in the last two weeks as I've reconnected his kids, my highschool friends. It turns out Brian was cool as hell and has been a huge supporter of their own queer journeys. If I'd still been connected to him the last 5 years, he would have been behind me 100%.
Looking back, this doesn't surprise me. Not one bit. He was always cool. In his office at the church, he had this framed copy of the 10 commandments that his daughter had made as a calligraphy project and which she had accidentally numbered with Riven numerals instead of Roman numerals.
He didn't care. He just thought it was quirky and fun. He said it was one of his most prized possessions. What mattered to him was not that it was beautiful or correct. What mattered was that his daughter made it and he loved that it accidentally captured a candid moment of her childhood, a little piece of her personality.And that's the kind of dad he was. Unlike mine, whose goal was to control and manipulate us, Brian celebrated his kids. And he celebrated us, too. I have no doubt in my mind that if me or my sister had made something like that for him that it would have found a spot in his office, too. He loved us like we were his own kids.
My last two summers of highschool, their extended family wanted to do RAGBRAII, a big bike ride across the state of Iowa, and they invited me to come along. For that week, I was a part of their family. I played cards with grandma and got teased by the uncles. I got picked up by Mrs. P— in the camper when my legs gave out half-way through Wednesday and I couldn't keep peddling and needed a break. Those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
How do you calculate the influence of a person like that on your life? In trans spaces, we often talk about the "What if?" but it's usually in the other direction. What could my life have been if I'd had to fight less bigotry? But what would my life have been if Brian and his family hadn't moved to town? I shudder at the thought. His family and especially my relationship with his kids is one of the few bright spots in that part of my life and my childhood as a whole. Shit was dark back then but with them, I could be myself. And unlike my uncle, who I only saw once a year at most, the safe space Brian created was a place I could go almost at will.
And I cannot tell you how much it has healed my heart to know that that safe space would have been safe for the little girl as well. There's so much of my childhood that is just... missing. Holes in my memory or things my brain has blocked out because of trauma. And especially during those years, so much of what I remember is longing for something I couldn't have. I'm still afraid to explore highschool. Those memories are too important, too formative, too precious to allow a disastrous truth to destroy them. And yet I know there's so much pain in that part of my life as well. It feels like behind every surface memory of a happy family is some hidden, terrible truth. I didn't want those good memories to be destroyed as well. When it comes to those friendships, I'd rather live with a happy lie than a terrible truth.
But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Not about the, anyway. Not only was Brian cool but his kids (my friends) have turned out cool as hell and well. We didn't talk much after highschool and I lost touch with them entirely by the end of university. (In retrospect, I think a lot of that was because all four of us got the fuck out of that town and never looked back. As much as I've lived in fear of what might be hidden behind those friendships, I can't blame them if they had some of the same reservations, especially with how brainwashed I was and how much of my dad's bullshit I parroted back then.) But now, thanks to Brian's passing, we've had the opportunity to reconnect and do so on our own terms and as our authentic selves. It's hard to know where things will go from here—childhood friendships are weird like that—but I'm hopeful.
I'm sad for Brian's passing. It hit me harder than I ever expected it to. I've spent the last two weeks sobbing. It kills me that I can't be there today. Even though I know it wouldn't be a great highschool reunion exclusive, I wish I could be there to give them a hug and cry with them.
But in his passing, Brian gave me (or left me?) a beautiful gift. More beautiful than I could have imagined. He gave me back a piece of my childhood, a piece he's been holding safe for me this entire time.
@faithisleaping I'm so sorry for your loss, but glad he was a part of your life. (hug)
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