Looking back through the years to the summer of 1982, it occurs to me that up until then, I had not been my true self. I don't mean to say I was hiding any damning secrets, or that I felt I had to conform to the wishes of others; I simply hadn't fully opened up to who I was as a person yet. I was just floating like a leaf in a stream, bobbing here and there without much purpose or direction. I was young and innocent, knowing very little about the challenges, the choices, and the blessings of the real world.
The summer I spent on Brokeback Mountain changed everything for me. It was as if I had been born with all my organs in the wrong places, functioning, but not properly aligned, and the events that transpired during those three months shook me hard enough to cause them all to fall into order. I was like a kitten fluttering its eyelids for the first time, or a newborn foal taking its first wobbling steps. Not only did I see myself in a new light, but also the people closest to me. I learned lessons that I realized so many would miss out on.
I've never told this story before. Not in its entirety, anyway. Those who were involved may remember fragments of it, the parts that had to do with themselves specifically, but none of them know the whole truth. No one has ever understood how deeply I was affected.
I write it all down now, because I have a daughter. My daughter is fifteen, beautiful, and unsure of herself. She is unaware that I watch her struggling, wishing she would just let it go. She hasn't figured out that I love her too much to want her to suffer as she makes herself do. I want to show her that she is not the only one in our family to face conflict, and that she can rise above it, if she would just close her eyes and follow her heart.