Normal

Three years before my uncle Marlin died of AIDS, I was born in suburban Fort Wayne to a successful surgeon and all-star homemaker - the stuff "normal" dreams are made of.?

Growing up, I availed myself of every opportunity that life of privilege afforded me - academic, athletic, professional.

My resume has a list of achievements held in pretty high regard by a lot of people: Ivy League, varsity athlete, Summa Cum Laude, Wall Street promotions, board member, start-up founder.?

I've found a calling in lifting up others that the current system all too often leaves behind. And I'm daring to dream, every day, of ways technology can better serve us as human beings.

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When Marlin was 24, he found the love of his life - Allen. They met at a party in Kokomo, both happened to tag along with a friend. They ran into each other again at a bar in Indianapolis a few weeks later and let fate take over.

They were both phenomenal teachers that loved working with children. Allen worked in Lafayette and Marlin in Indianapolis, but they compromised and found a home together halfway between their jobs. They both had a new commute, but it was far outweighed by having each other.

Marlin was widely regarded as the best accompanist around - he could look at any sheet of music and just start playing. He also loved clothes - he and Allen both had overflowing closets from indulging at Neiman Marcus any chance they could.

Marlin played piano at church every Sunday. He was in a book club with a group of coworkers and a gourmet club with a large group of gay friends. He loved to dance and travel.??

When he got sick in 1990, he and Allen were caught completely off guard. My mom rushed to the hospital when I was 1 month old thinking he might die from pneumonia.?

Marlin held on for three and a half more years with the support of an amazing network of friends, coworkers that covered for him as much as they could, a devoted family and most admirably, an unwavering committed partner -- A partner that had been diagnosed as HIV positive at the same time. So he cared for Marlin while anticipating the same fate to start affecting him any day.

Allen has been HIV positive for over 30 years, has been undetectable for over a decade (his viral load is so low that he cannot transmit the virus), and his current partner of 20 years is HIV negative.

Last year I sat down with Allen 1-on-1 to talk about Marlin for the first time ever.

Every story and every question seemed to always come back to the funeral - it was nothing short of a jubilant celebration of Marlin's life. There were flowers everywhere, the space was overflowing with loving people, the church choir was joined by the gay men's chorus and the air was filled with his favorite music.

I was expecting Allen to shed light on the awful discrimination and hardship they faced - but he mostly remembered Marlin for the joy they shared - in spite of it all.

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My mom and her twin brother Marlin were born in 1957 and spent their early years in Normal, Illinois. The youngest of 7 to a Baptist minister, they moved 10 times before graduating high school and their mother made every article of clothing they ever wore.?

Marlin loved musical theater and became a professional pianist. Sometimes he was heckled with “fa--ot” when he walked on stage in a crowded auditorium for a recital or walking around his own college campus.

He lost his job as an elementary school music teacher after his HIV status was outed and was ostracized by some medical professionals and family members who were afraid – while the life slowly left him over the course of a brutal and debilitating disease.

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10 years after Marlin died of AIDS, I went to confirmation at church and heard how being gay was a choice, a sin, an evil to be avoided and punished.

I heard kids getting made of fun of in school for possibly being gay. Even though it was barely discussed, I understood how painful my uncle’s life and death was for being gay.

The reality is that joy was completely left out of my narrative of my gay uncle as a kid - in my mind, he was bullied because he was gay and died an agonizing death because he was gay.?

And the further reality is the pain Marlin experienced externally became what I experienced internally.?

I grew up hearing the taunts of "fa--ot" in my own head just as loudly as Marlin heard from others.

I've faced my own internal battle with anxiety for almost two decades. I've set my mind to achieving some pretty audacious things in my life, but nothing will ever be harder than learning to love myself – even while I have grown to live out loud as a proud and outspoken gay man.?

I have learned to celebrate and rejoice in myself, not despite being gay but because of everything that I am.

In Marlin’s death, and that of so many other young people in the 80s and 90s, we taught acceptance at best and fear at worst, leaving a wake of pity and/or resentment for yet another generation to embody.

It's no one's fault and it's everyone's fault.

If we can't celebrate the things that make us different, why would we expect to be anything but divided?

If we preach tolerance of others, aren’t we really saying they are still less than some arbitrary standard, but that we’ll put up with them anyway??

The truth is, we can all do better as a community and as a society. It's within our power to prevent these cycles of trauma that are robbing us all of our full potential.

We are all survivors under the surface. We are all different in some way. And we have the ability to lessen the burden of survival by lifting up each other's joy.?

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I'm riding my bike 275 miles from Boston to NYC in September in honor of Marlin for Cycle for the Cause: The Northeast AIDS Ride. If you'd like to support or learn more please check it out here.