David was funny, intelligent and interesting but most of all, courageous. Growing up gay in the small city of Thunder Bay wasn’t easy, but you never would’ve guessed it if you were lucky enough to have known him.
My big brother never tried to hide who he was. Quite the opposite, in fact. While many of his gay friends kept their closets carefully guarded, David smashed through his before the 80s were even upon us. Mom often recalled how she would find him trying on my sister’s dresses before he was four years old. He was handsome and could turn heads in a suit and tie, and just as many when he did drag. Being his little sister was an adventure, and the good memories full of laughter and fun certainly outweigh some of the darker undertones from a society that didn’t care to understand him.
David had a passion for art and was a talented artist. Red was his favourite colour, and he had a cat named Erte. He played the violin and the oboe. He loved the royal family. He loved collecting stamps and Wedgewood. He loved Blondie as much as he loved Bach. He loved his eclectic friends, and he loved his family.
David was my brother and he was also my best friend. He was 28 years old when he died of AIDS in 1987. I miss him terribly, and the pain of losing him still lingers. My admiration for being proud of who he was remains steadfast after all these years. David lived loud, was loved fiercely, and took a piece of my heart with him when he let us.