In praise of male friendship

I grew up in a small town about a hundred kilometres from Vancouver. Surrounded by hobby farms and forests, I spent much of my childhood swimming in lakes, building forts and riding my bike. Gay people were barely spoken of in my family, and were rarely, if ever, encountered. It’s hard to overemphasize how culturally isolated things were in rural B.C. in the 80s and early 90s. This was before the internet, and our TV could only tune in to about eight channels, and only if the weather was clear and the antenna was adjusted just right.

I was raised in an Evangelical Christian home that took it as an absolute that being gay was something outside of the will of God. Gay identity and gay culture were mythical things that happened in faraway cities. My family had its own sins to deal with that were somehow more permissible: alcoholism, divorce, drug addiction and abuse, which made our home a very turbulent place to grow up.

At 22, my girlfriend and I got pregnant. By the time I was 27, we were married with three children, and I was living a busy life, raising kids and trying to get my ducks in order to be a good father, a good husband and a responsible adult all at the same time. Our friend group was small and made up of people like us, young heteronormative couples raising kids.

Open to something new

After 20 years of a rocky and, at many times, beautiful marriage, I found myself divorced, single and living in East Vancouver. My children were mostly grown. My mindset had evolved and become quite progressive, but my exposure to gay people and queer culture was still fairly limited.

I met Lucien at a backyard concert at a mutual friend’s house in the summer of 2021. It was a time when people were just emerging from the isolation of the pandemic and were excited to connect again. Lucien was gay, an artist and singer with a bright, open personality, and we hit it off while chatting between sets.

I mentioned I was fresh out of a relationship, and he was also heartbroken over a recent breakup. We made a plan to meet in that well-intentioned but rarely actualized way. Because he didn’t have many straight guy friends, he was a bit apprehensive, and it took running into each other a few more times for a plan to solidify. Finally, in December, we met at a downtown Vancouver pub for a beer, and there was an easy and instant connection. We just seemed to get each other.

Deeper friendship

Soon after, we started spending most days together. We went on trips, listened to records, sang at the top of our lungs, and talked about our hopes, dreams, heartbreaks and family histories. For a year and a half, we were inseparable. We even called our bond a “romantic friendship,” which was understandably confusing to those around us. A couple of my friends and colleagues warned me to be cautious, as someone was bound to get hurt. When one of us started dating someone new, people would ask, “How does that make you feel?” But we were never confused. We just felt a deep and unique connection, a sense of safety and comfort. We would walk home arm in arm after shows down Union Street, sit together on the couch in my apartment, travel together on road trips and hug goodbye. We shared a bond that went beyond what one might see as a stereotypical male friendship. What we offered each other was not really the fullness of a romantic relationship, as I was straight, and he was gay, but it was more than palling around.

Male culture

Lucien introduced me to his gay friends, who quickly became my friends. While some of my best friends are men, I have never really felt at home in male culture. Being a creative and sensitive person, I struggled with fitting into the masculine archetype: men relating to each other with bravado and emotionally distant façades.

But among these new friends, I found a new way to embrace a more holistic way of being a man. We talked about feelings and ideas, and were comfortable showing verbal and physical affection. I remember being so moved when, at a gathering, we were all checking each other’s outfits before going out dancing for the evening. It was so refreshing to be among men who could be sweet to each other and emotionally supportive. Growing up in the punk and metal scene, I mistakenly thought that being masculine meant wearing mostly black and having a hard, emotionally reserved persona. My friends have since taught me that I can wear colour and be expressive, even flamboyant, without threat to my masculinity. Through their encouragement, I have discovered that embracing my feminine side allows me to be a much more authentic man and father. I can be my whole self and have a deep sense of belonging that does not require me to play an insincere role.

Human emotions

This transformed the way I fathered my two boys. My stepfather raised me to be tough and disconnected from my emotions. Sadly, I took on some of those traits when raising my own sons. My experience of spending time with my male friends taught me that this is a shallow and one-dimensional way of being masculine. It is okay to be tough, as the world can be a hard place and requires us to be emotionally resilient at times. But it is also important to experience and express the full gamut of human emotions. It is important to model examples of masculinity that can be sensitive, vulnerable and emotionally expressive. We all have much to learn about how to be fully human and how to allow others to flourish, too.

I have heard so many of my friends’ stories of coming out, often involving painful experiences such as bullying, family disappointment, self-loathing and suicidal ideation. One friend tearfully told me his coming-out story while we waited for our order at a restaurant. He knew from a young age that he was different from the rest of the boys. He had felt a deep sense of shame and wished he could just be “normal.” Coming from a religious family, he had prayed that God would make him straight, but to no avail. Growing up in a prairie town that was quite conservative, he did not feel free enough to come out until he graduated from high school and moved to Vancouver.

Being yourself

The feeling of finally being able to be himself and to discover a new normal was so freeing for him. Hearing him speak of it reminded me of the freedom and elation that religious people describe when finding God. I could relate to some of his story, seeing parallels to my own struggle with my broken, judgmental family and feeling like I never really fit in.

Evangelical Christianity taught me that gay culture was an attack on family values and should be feared. I found the opposite to be true. My gay friends taught me to love more openly, and to draw a wider circle around who we call our family. They taught me that romantic love does not need to be tied exclusively to our sexuality. After spending time with my new friends, I have come to understand how important and even life-saving it is for people to have safe spaces and to have pride in who they are. I have been shown such kindness and acceptance. My gay friends are a blessing, not a curse, and have so much insight to offer society, families and men.

Through all of this time of discovery, I would constantly ask myself what it was about me and my nature that had prevented me from being gay. Is it my religious oppression that has held me back? Or toxic masculinity? I loved Lucien and my new friends so much that I wanted to be part of the team. If being gay or queer is only determined by what I do sexually, could I just try being gay?

Being an ally

I had experienced an awakening, and I wanted to contribute to the queer culture that I found so welcoming. If I could choose to partner with one of these wonderful gay men, I might have, but it’s not that easy; it just isn’t a choice. Still, I have become a deeply empathetic and passionate ally, and in that way, I am now and forever a part of their team.

As an art teacher in a Christian high school, I now see myself called to help create a safe space for students who might be struggling with issues around sexual orientation and identity. I am reminded that Christ always stands with the marginalized and oppressed and against those who stand in judgment. Today, Lucien and I are both in happy relationships, but we still see each other often and share a deep friendship that has taught me so much.

From Lucien, I learned what it means to love, to be faithful and to be a man.