Among the many reasons my family marched in Saturday’s Boston Pride Parade is the following interaction with my son:
“Are you ready to go to the parade?” I asked that morning.
He didn’t smile. He stared up at me from a nest of blankets on the floor. “I’m worried.”
“I’m worried there won’t be a Sunday.”
His voice trembled. My eleven-year-old kept looking at me, waiting for what I would say. And because we’d had a similar conversation the week before, I knew he wasn’t concerned about the opinions of other kids or parents—or anything that had to do with gay identity. He was scared there would be another bombing.