Finding Hope in Minneapolis
By Jamie Valentino
Perhaps I was naïve to think the risk of a natural disaster could make the federal government pretend it still held any regard for human life.
Browsing: Here’s My Story
Blog Posts
An Iconoclast in the Gay Community
By Scott Holleran
As I came out and years went by, I learned that romantic realism as an approach to life is marginalized in gay culture by cavalier bitterness, sarcasm, scorn, and regret.
The Village That Sustained Us
By Geoffrey Newman
My closest friend, partner, husband—someone I care for deeply—has struggled with heart disease for many years. We’ve been together for more than five decades..
My Three Weddings
By Charles Davis
We’d been following the groundbreaking story, but I was still surprised when Mike called me at work one afternoon, saying breathlessly, “We’ve got to get down to the County Building …
Throwaway Human
By Zhana Liner
Mine is not a singular case. It’s not a one-in-a-million freak accident, easily dismissed with a simple, “Tough luck, my friend; you should play the lottery sometime.”
What about the children?
By T.C. Kraven
“What about the children?” As an adult, I’ve heard this question countless times. It’s been asked at any moment when opponents of equal rights sought to cling to their versions of normalcy.
In the Right Bathroom
By Charnice Nelson
Once I tried pulling my oversized shirt tighter and arching my back slightly to emphasize the fact that, yes, I have curves. It seemed to make them more uncomfortable than the lineup on my fade.
Becoming Daddy
By Steven Favreau
But beneath that exchange is a deeper craving: to be seen beyond the cutout shape that fits someone else’s fantasy, to be granted an inner life as textured as…
Hope Can Be Found in the Gayborhood
By lenny duncan
My parents had no language, or means, to love a kid who described their gender as “angel” to their dad because that was the only non-binary being they could think of.
My Aunt Alice
By Jon Kinnally
My shirt caused a bit of a stir and I was quickly sent home to change. I lived close to the school, so walking home wasn’t a problem. But that day it was. I felt humiliated; it was my first walk of shame.