When I have a kid, I'm going to tell him about Sunday. I'll tell him about a massacre that was carried out by people who hated his dad. I will tell of this day. How a sadness crept into our lives that Sunday morning as word reached our hearts: 20 dead, then 40, then 50. The dust settled and it was 49 dead, 53 injured, and even more in grave condition. And he will know this. He will remember this tragedy. Their names, their faces, their stories. We will remember this day. A day when a man decided he wanted to end the lives of a group of people for absolutely no good reason. 

We have always been forever the outsiders. Finding hope and camaraderie in our clubs because that's where we could be safe. Creating our own worlds, our own languages, our own art forms. Holding onto one another. We danced together, we loved together, and we died together. And through this, some of the greatest works of art came into being. This is what we gave to ourselves, and to the world. And onward we would go, and progress continues, and we say "We don't need the clubs. We don't need safe havens anymore. We can hold our lover's hand wherever we want." And then something like this happens. And we realize how important these spaces are. We realize that the fight is not over. How we must continue to give, continue to donate, continue to reach out, continue to band together. And we realize that hate doesn't go away just because a few laws got passed. A closed-mind doesn't magically open just because the court says so. And we look at the 200 anti-LGBT bills that have been brought to light this year alone. No. No, the fight is far from over.

I will tell my child of this day because she needs to know. She needs to know that there is hate in the world. But there is also love, and hope, and magic, and smiles, and memories, and moments, and beauty, and truth, and wonder. She will know that to combat this hate she will reach out a hand to someone different than her. To look out for her friends and to fight for injustice. And that there may be a time or two where someone may speak of her dads as less than. And she will know in her heart that these arrows will not puncture her armor, break her soul, or wound her spirit She will know that she is loved. That LGBT people of this world are just as equal, and just as beautiful, as everyone else. Even more, she will know that she has an entire community in her corner.

Sunday will never be forgotten. The men and women who walked through those doors to enjoy life and escape the day, they will never be forgotten. And those men and women are still dancing. They are dancing in the afterlife, wherever and however they please. Because my kid will know one thing more: that you cannot stop us. You cannot stop us from living how we want.

Yes, my kid will know of this day. He will see the progress that was built out of this tragedy. The hope that was gained from this loss. The power that galvanized this movement. And that world that he is born into will be different. Because when tragedy strikes, the only way to respond is to move forward. To break the bonds, forge new laws, and come together as one. He will know that this happened. The power of a people - as one, as a movement, as a revolution.