I can probably count the number of truly serious conversations I’ve had with my parents on one hand. However, I suppose that by conversation, I really mean those dialogues - you know, the one where the conversation isn’t just one sided and I actually have something to share and reciprocate with them. One conversation that I’ve replayed in my mind over and over the last few days happened not too long ago.

Just coming back from my friend’s house, I remember waffling back and forth between a story that he had told me about how he had brought a gay friend over to his house one day, whom his parents quickly dismissed and uninvited into their home.

Growing up side by side by this friend, his story immediately sparked a new curiosity within me. It was also around this exact time that I came across the realization that my conservative, Catholic parents and I had never had a conversation about homosexuality. That night, I came home, walked up the stairs, and found my dad sitting at the dining room table, casually reading the news. It seemed to me then that this conversation was fated, was destined to happen.

"Hey, dad? What would you do if I brought a gay friend home?"

I remember with vivid clarity the sincerity and vulnerability behind his response. He slowly adjusted from his seat, inching closer to me at the adjacent chair, and said, for what seems to be the first time since I was born: I don’t know.

It’s probably safe to assume that for my parents, the issue of homosexuality had never quite come up in their lives. In many ways, this was to be expected. We lived in the crux of conservativism in the heart of the Bible belt. Before then, they had lived in a land across the Pacific, where homosexuality was considered mythical at best.

My father took another sip from his cup of tea and set it down in front of him. As I sat next to him, I studied his face and I imagined all of the inner cogs in his mind twisting and churning to produce an answer. I could see his frustration with not giving a hardline response, with not knowing an answer. Staring at the cup in front of him, he took a breath.

"I don’t know, so I can’t judge."

Today, as I look back upon this conversation, I find myself in more admiration of my dad than previously before. A few years has passed since this particular conversation and perhaps nothing about my wisdom or maturity has changed. Yet as people begin to question the latest news, both in general and to me, I can’t help but feel moved by my father’s words that day and he willingness to admit his own shortcomings and weaknesses. He was strong to admit his vulnerability. He was even more strong to be sure not to let his vulnerability hurt others.