My Father’s Mug
My father opened his apartment door and held out a coffee mug. “It’s a beautiful cup!” he said. “You need to take it.” I wheeled my suitcase into the guest room. “Take the cup!” he said, following behind. I told him I didn’t need it. After three days of him continually offering “the cup,” which was really a mug, I accepted. It was a thank you gift he had received for donating money to a prominent L.G.B.T.Q. organization. I never came out to my father, but I finally understood: He knew and was proud of me. — Lori Horvitz
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