HIV, Homosexuality Challenged My Abuelo’s Notions Of Family

By Christina Rodriguez

My family and I are currently mourning the loss of my 74 year-old grandfather, who was the victim of a massive stroke late last month. He was the heart of our family, along with my grandmother.

The loss of my grandpa is not just an emotional event for us. We aren’t just sad that this family man is gone. We are sad because he was a wonderful man. A man who grew as he got older. He was born into his own large family and lost his parents at a very young age. He always wanted a family of his own and got one when he was blessed with six children and many grandchildren.

But it was his six children who would challenge his beliefs as they all grew into their own.

One son was born premature and not given proper care by the hospital, which resulted in his legal blindness. My grandparents used the money they won in a lawsuit on his behalf on themselves and the rest of the family, leaving my uncle to find his own way to college and marriage. Another son was a great student with scholarships and plenty of opportunity within their community. He came out as a homosexual in the 1980s and my grandpa didn’t know what to do or think. He tried to beat him into being “normal.” This uncle never wavered in his identity, and eventually, my grandpa understood that this was who his son was.

Later, each son found fulfillment and love. The homosexual son caught HIV on the way, before many understood what it was or what it did. But he has persevered with the support of his partner and his family.

The reason I dig up old family conflicts is that these conflicts profoundly affect my father’s entire family. It caused greater understanding of both physically handicapped people as well as those who choose to live the way they feel they were meant to, as members of the LGBT community.

When my uncle recently celebrated 20 years of living with HIV, my grandpa made a small speech before they cut the cake — an emotional, tear-filled speech similar to the other ones he’d begun to say during the holidays at mealtime. But this didn’t involve thanking God for his family or possessions. This one involved an apology — for not understanding, for not knowing what to do. It also included a declaration, which was that he could not be more proud of his son, or his choices.

I am mourning the only grandpa I ever knew. I am mourning the man who raised my father. I am mourning a man who was born in the 1930s and was raised to judge others harshly, but grew as an adult into someone we can all strive to be. A Latino whose eyes were closed, until his children opened them to the future.

Christina Rodriguez is an aspiring writer and editor living in Houston, Texas. She vents and ponders in her blog, It’s not a show and can be found on Twitter @csaenzrodriguez.

[Photo By Flavio@Flickr]