Larry Benjamin. Wordsmith. Writer. Author.

  As #BlackHistoryMonth draws to a close, I want to share Part 2 of who inspires me. Like my mother you won’t recognize his name, you won’t find his name in history books, but his name is forever engraved on my heart. He was my dad, Ray O. Benjamin. A Korean War veteran, carpenter, husband, father, he taught me it takes more strength to hold your tongue than to loose it. I never heard him curse or even raise his voice. He taught me that family comes first. Always. That being part of a family sometimes requires sacrifice that doesn’t feel like sacrifice. I remember the great Black Out of 1965. We were little kids. Mom was home alone with us. Dad was on the subway on his way home from work. Once he was off the train he proceeded to walk home by the light of the moon and matches. He walked from Brooklyn to the Bronx. Once he got home, he climbed twenty-one flights of stairs in the dark to reach us. Opening the door, moonlight told him he climbed too far, was on the roof. When our Au...

Max as reluctant to let Dad go as we were. I remember the accident as if it was yesterday. I had been living in Washington, D.C. for three years. That particular morning, a Saturday, I was running late for work. It was a gray, wet morning at the edge of Winter. Heavy rain, like molten white gold, fell from an aluminum sky as I blazed along at 80 mph. A gray car merged onto the roadway from the right, then proceeded to move into my lane without signaling. The car was moving so slowly it looked like it was moving backwards. I pressed the brakes hard, pumping steadily with increasing pressure, my right hand tight on the gearshift ready to down shift. Realizing collision was inevitable, I glanced at the speedometer: 60. The impact sent my little car spinning towards the concrete divider separating west-bound traffic from east. The world seemed upside down. I remember thinking, I’m going to die and I never got to be friends with my father . I glanced up at the sky, oddly unafraid,...

“This Thanksgiving is special,” Micah said, once they’d admired the turkey and seated themselves. “It’s the first time in I don’t know how long we have all been together for Thanksgiving. In a way, this takes me back to the beginning of it all, when the four of us declared ourselves a family. Even during the years we drifted apart, we remained a family. “We never say grace—heck, none of us is religious—but I think, before we eat, we should each say what we are most grateful for. I’ll start. I’m grateful for the three people at this table.” Calvin paused in carving the turkey and said simply, “Second chances.” Skye, perhaps predictably said, “My stupid, romantic heart that wouldn’t let me stop loving Reid.” Reid reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Micah had to prompt Reid. “What about you, Reid? What are you thankful for?” Reid pulled his glance away from Skye, and looked at Micah. He indicated Skye sitting opposite him, and said, “I’m grateful for w...

Today at 10:31 a.m., my dad closed his eyes for the last time. When he did, a part of me died with him. I’ll accept your condolences but please check your religion at the door. And don’t talk to me of your God and His wisdom and mercy. Not today. Not today. I believe in God, I do. But not today. Not today. Today, I feel He abandoned me and my father when all I could do was hold his hand and rub his head and tell him I loved him; when all his doctors could do was increase his pain medicine and escalate the frequency with which he received them, and swab his mouth with plain gelatin to make up for the water he could no longer drink, the food he could no longer eat. The first time I, went, alone, to visit dad in the hospital, I arrived in his room while he was still downstairs in radiation. A nurse walked in and asked who I was. “I’m Larry, his middle son.” “Oh, you’re the one who lives in Philadelphia!” “Yes, how did you know that?” “Your dad talks about you. H...

My Dad, Ray I love my Dad. That’s probably not an unusual statement. But when it’s a gay son talking, there is often some history and work that went into making that a true statement. I love my dad. I saw him two weeks ago when I drove up to visit. I hadn’t seen him in about a year and I realized how much I missed him. When I was younger, my relationship with my dad was… strained . I think part of it was my own resistance to him, thinking he didn’t like the idea that I was gay. So for some years in there, I kept my distance. That changed one rainy Saturday morning in 1988 when I was racing to work outside of Washington, D.C. I was doing 80 when a car merged onto the highway in front of me. I would guess it was going about 40 miles an hour. I slammed on the brakes. I was going so fast and the other car was going so slow, it actually looked like the other car was moving backwards towards me. I’d decreased speed to about 60 at the moment of impact. My car started spinning...