PRIDE

PRIDE

Pride is something that can both bring people together and be divisive. This thought came to me last night as I was contemplating things in my life. I’ve thought about how both are true in my life. Pride…there’s the pride that draws groups together, such as American Pride or even gay pride. Then there is the pride that divides friendships and friendships.

As I think about it, I have a lot of pride in my life. I am proud of who I am, I’m proud of being a gay man. I’m proud of being a part of the family that my chorus provides. I’m proud of the people of the accomplishments I’ve achieved. I take pride in the fact that I have come so far in my life, despite obstacles I’ve faced.

Yet, on the other hand, there’s the pride that has destroyed so much. It’s about this pride that I must write tonight. It’s my own pride, my own unwillingness to break down barriers, to admit fault, that has built brick walls in relationships—specifically my relationship with my parents. It’s something of which I’ve written a great deal, and it’s something about which I think on a daily basis. Yet, it is my own pride, my own fears that keep me from being the bigger man, to stop pointing the fingers of blame, to break the silence. The last time I saw my parents was March, 2006. That’s a very long time.

I suppose my pride comes from resentments that I’ve allowed myself to nurse along the way. I know that those two individuals who brought me into this world did the best job they knew to do when they were raising me. I know that the hurt that my mother provided me through actions of which she may not have even been aware were, perhaps, unintentional. Yet, in my pride, I find it hard to find forgiveness. I find it hard to let go. It’s unimaginable to me that I would ever have a close and abiding relationship with my parents. Even when I was living at home, we didn’t have a lot of interaction. I was very much a loner, and they very much nurtured that.

Here’s my confession: The truth of the matter is that my pride has hurt two individuals who gave me the greatest gift I’ve ever received. Life. I am praying that somehow, some way, that I will find the courage that I need to write my parents, with love and from the bottom of my heart. I’m praying that I can let go of petty, foolish pride and find even an ounce of love and forgiveness within myself. The other truth of the matter is that while my parents are still young—not even in their 60s yet—they aren’t going to be around forever. There will come a day when I am called to their side as they are making their exit from this world, or after they’ve already made their exit—and what will be left? Certainly, only the knowledge that I didn’t do anything to make amends in the living years. While I feel like a stranger to them, and have for the majority of my life, I imagine the emotion that will hit me as I look down at their remains in their caskets and think “Damn you, foolish PRIDE.” So, will I let Pride bring some sort of resolution to my family or will I allow that foolish pride to drive a wedge farther and deeper than it has already gone? I pray with God’s help I can decide the right thing to do.