Gay brothers, I sometimes fantasize about a group of us meeting regularly as 16-year-olds, led by a respected gay elder, and that we’d be visited weekly by mentors who talked about all aspects of gay life, from celebrating the feminine strengths of our male brains to the various ways men make love with one another. And we’d learn our history of contributions to the cultures in which we lived.

When I was a young man, it didn’t occur to me to be grateful for my life. Maybe it was because I imagined everyone else had the same life as mine, and my focus was on succeeding, but I’m not sure at what. As a gay elder, my days start and end with gratitude, not forced or feigned, nor because I believe that if I don’t say “Thank you” now that I’ll pay for it in the next life.

Since reading “Great Expectations” by Dickens, the character Miss Havisham has represented a person who can’t let go of the past, nor the grievances they engender. She’d been left at the altar by a devious fraud that forever haunted her feelings on love. She left everything as it was on the day of her nuptial, including her wedding cake. Spiders and mice eventually ruled her home.

Normally, when corresponding with someone new, I’ll sign off, “With best wishes.” The second e-mail is signed “With warm regards.” The third exchange moves to “With warmest regards,” and finally, I write, “Love, Brian.” This shakes some people up because the word “love” represents so many feelings, from “I like you a lot,” to “We’re at a very intimate level.”

A friend wrote about a conversation she had with her son regarding the differences between Catholics and Southern Baptists. She told him that Catholics aren’t allowed to read the Bible.

All they got from me today was a dribble. It is what it is. They told me it was okay; that it was enough.