“I think you’re gay. That’s okay. You’re my son, I love you.” – Vogue

Going to Harvey Milk High School in New York was the first time that I felt a sense of community—where there were people who were like me, people who understood what I was going through. It was created as a safe haven not just for LGBTQ students, but for any kid who might feel uncomfortable going to a regular school. I was part of the first graduating class 21 years ago, and on the very first day of school there were people protesting outside—you had to walk through the protests to get to class. It was insane.

Before that I was a good student, but I got bullied, so I would cut class a lot. My mother was a ballet dancer and I was raised in Brooklyn watching only operas, musicals, and ballet, so it was difficult for me—I didn’t have the same references; I didn’t talk like my classmates. Plus I was super skinny, tall, and frail.

Courtesy of James Garland. 

I knew I was gay from the beginning. I remember telling my mother in junior high school, maybe when I was around 15 years old. Of course I didn’t want to tell her, so I wrote a letter. In the note I explained to her that I thought I was bisexual. I left it in the kitchen for her, then ran back into my room. She came into my room and said, “I think you’re gay. That’s okay. You’re my son, I love you.”

The Harvey Milk school shares a space with the Hetrick-Martin Institute, which is an afterschool program to support LGBTQ youth, and this was especially helpful for kids who’d been disowned by their families. Many of them lived in group homes; some even lived on the street. It made me appreciate my mother and my family because they were always so supportive.