And, if you haven’t figured it out by now, yes, I’m talking about this. If you’re the queer child of a conservative family, the burden falls to you, and only you, to spend years of your life on a therapist’s couch so you can learn how to effectively and mindfully interact with your abusers.

At this point, it’s hard not to look at any impulse to “reach across the aisle” as anything other than Stockholm syndrome. Do you know what they say about you when you’re not in the room? Do you know how hard they laugh at what breaks your heart? Do you have any idea how much they hate you?

They will bring assault rifles into restaurants, and the burden falls to you to determine if they are active threats or just standard-issue Trump voters. They will refuse to be vaccinated, and you’ll just have to make some hard decisions about your health if you choose to visit for the holidays.

If you are a queer kid growing up in a conservative milieu, it’s up to you to learn how to read the Bible in Aramaic. It’s up to you to memorize peer-reviewed studies of biology’s impact on sexual orientation. Your elders are never asked to grow or progress beyond “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

If you get this joke, you deserved better in 1992, and you deserve better now.

Good. It’s more expensive.

For me, it wasn’t even a conscious decision—more of a calling. A seduction, perhaps.

If you have even the slightest idea what I’m talking about, I’m so sorry. And you can be my friend.