Page 56 of Josh’s Play

“You’ve found yourself again, kiddo. Love of the game? You’ve always had that. Drive? Determination? Check and check. But you’ve got your passion back, son, and that’s why you're having an amazing season, and that’s why you had a record-breaking game last week, and that’s why the Buffalo Blizzard are going to scoop you up before someone else comes knocking.”

My knuckles rapping on our wooden table was an automatic response.

“So, care to tell me what’s changed?”

I shoveled one bite of pie in my face and then another, trying to decide what to tell my dad. With one glaring exception, I’d always been fairly honest with my parents. I realized in that moment how foolish I was to think that if I stayed in the closet, my being gay wouldn’t matter.

In some ways, it felt like it hit me right then and there like a bolt of lightning as I picked over a rhubarb pie, but in other ways I knew I had been unwittingly building up to this moment from the day I twisted my ankle.

Dad was right; my being gay, my being allowed to be gay was the thing that mattered because hiding it had been the true distraction. Being someone I wasn’t had been exhausting work. Being myself was what would allow me to truly soar.

I led with, “I think we’re gonna need a PR person, and a lawyer.”

“We’ll work it out, son. They work on commission, and if we need to find some money up front, we will.”

We ate pie quietly for what felt like forever. The words were simple. It was a short sentence, but it took a long time for me to get it out. I thought about Josh, out and proud and free. And then I thought about what my dad had said, about a kid too young to have worries while he raced around the ice. That kid deserved to be free too.

“Dad, I’m gay.” He set his fork down, the words coming, I think, as a surprise.

“Oh.”

I was in a rush to get it all out after that hard part was done. “I get that it's not the Dark Ages anymore, but I don’t think I can come out. At my school, people just are who they are. They date who they want to date. And I wish that could be me, but I don’t see how that’s possible. I want the NHL more. And I’m not … I mean … I don’t see myself as some activist or trailblazer. That’s not who I am. I wish I could just be me, and that would be that. But I’m not naive. If I make it”—I knocked wood again—“There’s no way me being gay wouldn’t be a thing.”

I had started out strong but ended with soft disappointment in my tone. I thought about Josh. At least his being a player meant that I didn’t have to worry about having a relationship, no matter how much I wanted one.

“I think … I mean … I’ll be too busy to date, or whatever. So it’s not really an issue.” We sat in silence, me staring back down at the pie, Dad staring at me. “I don’t want to be out.” I tried to sound sure, but I could hear unnaturalness in my tone. With actual confident honesty, I concluded, “I just wanted you to know.”

My father put his hand over mine and squeezed tight. “Don’t give up on finding love, Campbell.”

Of all the things I’d said, he’d focused on the part about my not dating. “We pay attention to the NHL around here, kiddo. Hockey players certainly find time to date and marry and have families. Don’t dismiss that, son. Don’t you dare think you can’t have that, because you’re gay or for whatever reason. You can have a job, even that job, and a life as well.” My dad was getting a little worked up, and I loved him for it.

“Dad.”

“No. Listen to me, son. You think you’re going to be so busy but look at you now! Getting good grades, helping out around here, working at the rec center, and delivering pizzas all summer. Do you know what your job is going to be in the NHL?”

I interrupted my dad to rap my knuckles on our wooden tabletop again. “Might be. What my job might be if I were to possibly, maybe make it to the NHL.” I looked at him pointedly, and he rolled his eyes but knocked on the table at the same time.

“Your job is going to be to play hockey! That’s it. And I know that’s a lot, but compared to what you’re doing now? It will be …” I glared at him.

He tapped both of his fists on the table. “It might, maybe, sort of, if the heavens light up and the moon is in the seventh house, leave you with a little free time.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“That’s because you’re too superstitious to think of it at all! I guess I get the ‘staying in the closet part.’ I hate it, but I get it. But just because that door needs to be closed on your public life doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have a private life. I know you think you’ll lose your focus, but that little boy, flying around the ice like hockey was coded in his genes? He deserves to find love.

“So, I ask again? What’s changed, kiddo?”

Dad and I talked some more before getting a few hours of sleep.

Way too early the next morning, we all converged in the kitchen for a quick breakfast before heading out to morning chores. My mom opened the refrigerator.

“What happened to this pie?”

My dad came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck as she stood up straight, holding it.

“It was really good, honey. Cam and I couldn’t resist.”

“We were talking, Mom,” I said, taking the pie from her. Dad grabbed it from me and divided the remainder into five pieces. I pulled plates from the cabinet and put them on the table.