Surprise, My Gay Dad is Sexist!
I’d always thought that my father’s homosexuality meant he was a card-carrying progressive, but a close-quarters vacation together unveiled the misogyny that’s bothered me my whole life.
Illustration by Whitney Salgado
The best part of the safari was when our guide, Themba, stopped the jeep in an open field and said in his deep Xhosa accent, “Let’s take a break.” We were weary from riding on rough terrain, tearing through trees and the adrenaline that comes when being face to face with animals that could kill you.
My husband, Keith, and I took my dad on a safari to celebrate his sixtieth birthday and ten-year victory over cancer, and his double knee replacement, and the fact that he didn’t need surgery on his veins anymore, and the recovery of the wound on his leg that took three years to heal due to his leukemia and bad circulation. We were still working on his fractured ankle.
Themba passed out wine, beer and Amarula, a South African liqueur, to me, my dad, Keith and the five strangers who were staying at the Vuyani Lodge with us. It was fall, so we were bundled in khakis, scarves and sweaters. We stood around breathing the crisp evening air, sipping our beverages and …
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