Joel Ferris remembers the moment when he saw his dad in a new light, and decided to replace religion with ethics.
I grew up in a not-so-strict but very devout Presbyterian house. My mom was a quietly recovering Catholic, and my dad had been directing church choirs since his teenage years. Always ready with a quip or a pun or poignant observation, my dad could bring the house down in laughter or tears. As an armchair theologian, youth group leader and Bible camp counselor, he owned whatever room he entered. He was a legendary musical leader in the suburban ecumenical community. With flailing arms and emotive face, my dad could whip a choir into a frenzy or hush them to a barely audible whisper with his huge but gentle hands. He could pull sounds out of people that they didn’t know they could make. All at once, my dad was a superhero, rock star and teacher.
He had a protégé in the youth group leadership; a family friend, young teacher and simply great guy named Russ. Longtime cohorts in rallying young people to The Good Word, Russ and my dad were an evangelical Martin and Lewis. They made sure that the church kids got some joy and laughter to lighten the weight of their solemn lessons. They were a great team.
I was fourteen when my dad gave up his place within that church, and we moved from Pennsylvania to New Hampshire — that’s another story. Months later, Russ contacted my dad, saying he was coming north to see him with important news. I was excited to see Russ again, but Dad said that they had agreed to meet privately.
They met for lunch at a restaurant in North Conway. After a friendly meal, Russ told my dad that after a long, hard wrestling match between his heart and his soul, he had come to terms with and embraced the fact that he was and always had been gay. Russ told my father that he was the one person he knew would understand and stand by him. Before his parents, the pastor or his sister, Russ trusted my dad.
Instead, my dad, true to his Christian convictions, got up from the table, paid the bill and told Russ he could not support his lifestyle. My father, my hero and role model, turned his back on one of his closest friends because he was gay. He told me about it matter-of-factly at the dinner table that night.
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Even as a fifteen year old in 1984, raised in the church and trying to get a grip on my religion, I knew in my heart that what my dad did was wrong. I loved my father. He was my image of what a good father, a great man should be, the kind of man I hoped I could become: a bringer of peace and joy and love and patience, a true believer in Jesus’ philosophy. Unfortunately, it seems the question, “What would Jesus do?” was never answered by consulting the gospel. What Jesus would’ve done was rarely what actually got done.
I understand that he was a product of the time when he was born and the church he loved so much. A farmer’s son born into The Depression whose family relied on Sunday service to keep faith strong and to carry them through. My father’s faith and all his decision-making were guided by Jesus’ flesh and blood sacrifice to God as atonement for our human sins, and the belief that entry into Heaven could only be attained through Christ. In contrast, Jesus also stated that whomever lived by The Law of God will have guaranteed himself a place in heaven. That Law, interpreted by imperfect humans, puts homosexuality into the same list as blended fabrics and eating pork. My dad loved pork.
That line in the sand was drawn when I was a child. I knew it was an important moment the day it happened. I was too young, in that era and in that church, to understand what “gay” really meant, and why it would be enough to destroy a friendship. But it still hurt. It hurt to know that a great friend was gone, that my father had sent him away. I still think of Russ and can imagine the feeling of betrayal (for lack of a better word) that he must have felt.
That was the beginning of the end of my involvement with the church and, to some extent, my family at large.
I learned tolerance. Tolerance slowly became practiced acceptance. Eventually, I stopped practicing and grew into a vocal supporter of a person’s right to be accepted as a person first, free from the ravages of religious, political or perpetuated social stigmata.
I used to think this was a story about the struggle that newly uncloseted gay people had to face. Then, later, I started to think of it as an object lesson on the failing of the Christian church to truly embrace Jesus’ philosophy of peace, love, and tolerance. It wasn’t until my second child was born that I realized it was about my role model getting it wrong.
I always carry that day in my back pocket as a touchstone. Looking back, I can recount so many instances in which my father displayed what would now be considered questionable behavior. And I shudder to think that these are the lessons he taught me. Saying these things out loud is my version of daily affirmations. Reminders of who I am, what I stand for, and why I think the way I do. I slip up. I make mistakes. Everyone does. But I acknowledge and correct those mistakes, and I work on changing those bad behaviors. As a hetero dad, it’s vital that I teach my kids that EVERY human being is worthy of acceptance until proven otherwise.
I have dedicated my parenthood to being open, tolerant, fair, and, above all, honest with my children. I will not allow outdated lessons, ancient attitudes, or my treatment of others to ruin their souls.
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photo by gmeaders_ch / flickr
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I’m glad You found something you could use! I’m not an activist. Just a middle-aged dad trying not to screw up his kids’ brains any more than is necessary!
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Thank you, Kavin. This was my first time writing for the public, so we’re both first-timers! I’ll be writing more soon. Hope you get a chance to read.