To the Bravest Man I Never Met:

I know that you’re out there, tortured and silent on a field or court, in a weight room, or addressing the media in front of a locker. It must be painful in ways I can barely begin to imagine. Living as a shell amongst men you consider your rivals, your colleagues, and your brothers. Many of them share a dream with you, sacrifice and toil with you, celebrate and revel with you, yet openly shun and curse you without even knowing what they’re doing. You’ve found the will to accomplish all that they have, while carrying a terrible burden. You are strong and brave beyond words for achieving and maintaining your place in your league. You deserve the pay, the fame, and the opportunity to live your childhood fantasies. You deserve everything that you have, and we deserve to know you, all of you.

You’ve undoubtedly spent a large portion your life creating or perpetuating a lie to shroud your natural elegant truth. You’ve hidden both your lust and your love from the world. You’ve abandoned, stifled, or at the very least concealed your deepest connections to other human beings. You’ve been forced to question a huge portion of your identity, to be treated as an abomination, and for what? For the sake of crude locker-room humor? So the most masculine men on the planet can parade their sexuality? For road trip runs to strip clubs in a lonely effort to cast aside all doubt? So your willfully ignorant bigoted peers can spew hateful bile in the media, and face nothing more than a public scolding?

I know a part of you wants to show us that you’re not ashamed, that you aren’t weak. I know that deep down you want to expose us all to the beautiful complexity you present. I wonder what you tell yourself. That it wouldn’t be worth it? That you’d put yourself and your loved ones at risk? That your unaware friends, family, teammates and coaches would feel betrayed and never trust you again? That your congregation will turn its back on you? That you’d be throwing your career away? That you’d be defined by your decision to speak out? I don’t doubt for a second that any or all of these fears could easily manifest. Still, I know you’re out there, terrified of the enormity of your potential.

We need you.

As a nation, as a culture, as a species we need you. Our collective consciousness rests at the precipice between collectively embracing the full spectrum of our humanity, or retreating back to a polarized world of purity and sin. We need you to push us, drag us if you must. We need you to begin to reopen the wound so we can drain out the poison we’ve been ingesting for generations. We need to stop losing brother, sisters, cousins, sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, friends, classmates, teammates, and lovers to suicide, depression, and self-destruction. We need to stop accepting religion and pseudo-science as excuses for destructive hatred. We need you to do what Tiger and Michael wouldn’t. We need to stop trying to fix you. We need your truth. We need your voice. We need your image.

We need you out.

How can I ask you to risk so much? Who am I to demand that you give up your anonymity, risk your career, and face the collective hatred of every homophobic piece of shit in America? How can I possess the audacity to demand that you place yourself and all that you love in harm’s way? On what righteous ground do I stand? The truth is that I have no right to murmur these thoughts, let alone publish them in the public domain. Please know that if these words ever reach your eye or ears that like almost all acts of love, my request is as selfish as it is selfless, and for that and nothing else I am sorry.

Ultimately I am just a stranger, one of millions waiting to embrace you, and all that you could represent. I’m waiting to listen to your interviews, read your memoir, rock your bracelet, and chant your name. Waiting to tell our children about where we were when you came out to the world. Waiting to watch you run, jump, swing, throw, tackle, or shoot. Waiting to forget why we even needed you in the first place.

Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be waiting.

Humbly yours,

- Parker

Matt Parker was born and raised in the Hudson Valley in NY where he attended Vassar and Bard in preparation for a life in the classroom. Matt has taught in Japan, the South Bronx, and Washington DC. He currently teaches biology to ELL students at TC Williams High School in Virginia.