February 25, 2011, at the Starbucks, Castro District, San Francisco
My heart. It breaks at errors in judgement, at errors in parentage. When you needed your father most I let you down. In my confusion I took a position, a popular position.
"Do Something" pulled me from my afternoon slumber. "Do Something" meant action and this order was only used to meter out physical intervention.
I made a decision. A decision to "Do Something" and I did the wrong something. You had made a decision. Young men of all ages make life decisions, you had made yours. "Do Something", and I blocked your way, your passage from your home. "Do Something", and I restrained you, a desperate act to stop what I believed would be a brash act, a mistake. "Do Something", and my arms were around you, a last desperate hug, a last attempt to keep you with me, with your family.
"DAD", you cried. The most heart wrenching cry I have ever experienced. "DAD, let me live my life." "Do Something", I was jolted to reality, your release assured, knowing errors would be made, and lives would be lived.
"Do Something", I was once again compelled. I did something. I stepped aside, opening your door to the next stage in your life.
I was made a coward, weak and unable to direct my young ward to a correct and proper path. Who are we to choose your path, I thought. Who are we to make your decisions. You are a man, a man with all the responsibilities joined to that title.
I was a man, made impotent in the eyes of "Do Something" yet suddenly made whole and proud of my life, my blood. My son set out to "Do Something"!
Forgive me son!
Life has changed. My impotence turned to dignity, a chance to take charge on my terms.
A call of despair, my son is hurting. Years of taking your path with your partner vanish without explanation, without understanding.
"Do Something", you partner compels me. Your son, he is hurting, he needs you. A last act of dignity from a waning love. He cared enough for this act.
"Do Something", I come to you, to be with you, once a feeling of impotence. This boy of mine, this man, has grown. He is in sorrow, he is in pain. Do I hold him, or simply listen, do I discuss practical matters? These are new uncharted waters for me. I just be, be with you, and then leave. I wonder, did I "Do Something", did I make a difference?
"Do Something", and we depart, our dignities intact, on a journey of healing. We turn our outlook to our futures. We share relationship. We share dreams. We share sorrow. We share family. We share brotherhood. We share manhood.
"Do Something", and you have. You lay down your life's plan. Your stock is understood. Your path is clear. Your pilgrimage to the Castro reaffirms a step in your foundation. You "Do Something", you inspire confidence, you hearten my own future.
Your life will be better Scott-free. You are proud and assured, surrounded by family of love. I again release you, without restraint, and with confidence, my boy a man, my son, my family, my friend.
I am proud of you son.
