When I was younger my parents, as most parents do, would ask me and my siblings what we wanted to be when we grew up. We were a group that felt destined for greatness, so our responses reflected those dreams with future aspirations to be things like an astronaut, a world-famous actor, a global pop star or a professional wrestler, to name a few. The answers usually changed up a bit among my two brothers and sister.
When my parents would ask me my answer never faltered. “I want to be the president of the United States,” would be my reply. When they tell the story it is always in this cutesy way with an awkwardly high-pitched voice. When I look back I remember standing in a Superman pose with my balled-up fists on my hips and an American flag cape blowing in the wind.
As we got older our career choices became a bit more grounded. My older brother became a police officer. My sister dreamed of becoming a mother and teacher, both of which she is. My younger brother, who is in the restaurant business, has many dreams and aspirations which he puts together in an annual “to-do list” that includes things like skydiving, wrestling an alligator and learning how to ride a unicycle. He calls it his bucket list, our mother calls it the reasons she gets gray hair.
I became a writer, which I started pursuing in high school and I still love being, but my dream of becoming the president didn’t start to seem unattainable until I was in my early 20s. I enlisted into the U.S. Air Force in 2001 and less than two years later met a guy, then called my mother to let her know I was gay. Nothing in that snippet from my past disqualifies me from trying to live out my dream to be your next POTUS, but when you come out as any of the letters in the LGBTQ alphabet there are these unspoken realities that become part of your life.
In the early 2000s, living under the law known as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” I assumed I would never have to worry about getting married or having kids or being president because gay people just don’t get to do those things. We do get to ride on amazing floats in Pride parades and hang out in the best clubs so I was all ready for that, but having the “traditional” American life seemed like something I traded in to live authentically as myself.
In 2007, I decided not to reenlist in the Air Force and see, for the first time, what being gay as a civilian was like. A few years later, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was repealed and a few years after that same-sex marriage was made the law of the land and LGBTQ couples were making and adopting babies. I started to see a more accepting country grow in place of the one I served under in the military.
With all the advancements we have made, there was still one box left unchecked and it was a big one I was fairly certain I would never see in my lifetime. Then I started hearing about an openly gay, military veteran who is the mayor of a city in Indiana who was thinking of running for president of the United States—Pete Buttigieg.
After I learned how to say his name properly, it is pronounced Boot-Edge-Edge, I learned as much as I could about him. He graduated from Harvard and Oxford, is an Afghanistan war vet, speaks seven languages, plays guitar and piano, and is a happily married gay man.
I attended a viewing party in Orlando April 14 when Mayor Pete officially announced his candidacy and the room was electric. The energy, excitement and support around Buttigieg makes me stop and think what a Mayor Pete running in the 80s would have meant to a young kid who may not have yet realized he was gay but knew he felt different. Or what a Mayor Pete running in the 2000 election would have done for closeted gay Airman who was just trying to serve his country. I can tell you that for a near 40-year-old openly gay veteran who is worried about the state of our nation, Mayor Pete gives me hope.
