February, 1991. The first night on the ship, I wore a cobalt velvet jacket with a shawl collar, stonewashed jeans, and a necklace bearing three tiers of iridescent orbs, an unintentional nod to the disco ball that would cast the ballroom in a glittering glow.
Though I was a novelty in my father’s world—there was only one other family with children in the Pines that I knew, and they were a straight family—the beach community offered a freedom that I did not possess in my regular life at a Brooklyn private school where classmates threw around the word “fag” without a second thought and where I worked vigilantly to hide that my father was gay—and that he was sick.
On the ship, I was adored, fawned over. The men would comment on my golden-flecked wavy hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and lithe limbs. They asked about my makeup. They complimented my clothes. As a young teen beset with the usual amount of discomfort and insecurity about my changing body, handsome men noticing my looks was a welcome boost to my burgeoning sense of womanhood.
I came upon the ship’s gift shop, a small square space filled with toiletries, candy, mass-market paperbacks, and trinkets. A statuesque young woman in a uniform two sizes too large stood behind the register. I felt her eyes on me as I moved along the shelves. “You are here by yourself?” Her accent was French, and her words had the quality of being tossed lightly through the air. “I’m with my father,” I replied. Her name was Claire.
We didn’t stay long at the disco. My father tired easily, and one of his legs, increasingly riddled with Kaposi’s-sarcoma lesions, courtesy of his dwindling immune system, was bothering him. We went to bed, and I lay awake with the unease that comes from letting fear win out. I went back to see Claire the next day, and the young man from bingo was standing right there in the gift shop. He and Claire were friends.
Awesome read, thank you emilyziff
🤢
Melancholy, but poignant. Some children go their entire lives not understanding their parents, and only feeling misunderstood. His honesty especially at that time was a gift… even if she didn’t recognize it at the time❤️
Children just get in the way of my erotic lifestyle 🤡
All are welcome?! Gay cruises are the most debauched body shaming events
Such a beautiful memoir. 🙏🏾
Gay lifestyle is not for kids!
Are they married now?
الله ينتقم منهم
Beautifully written, evocative 👌👌
Wonderful article.
this is a beautiful essay, thank you!
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