Dean paused, sipping his beer. “I’ve never told you this, but I’m very involved with the San Francisco LGBTQ Center for homeless youth. I donate several times a year and volunteer my time whenever I can. Nearly half of the homeless youth in San Francisco are LGBTQ. That means there are almost 2,500 homeless gay youth in San Francisco.”
The Castro Center was one of several LGBTQ Community Centers and shelters throughout San Francisco. The Castro Center, or ‘The CC’ as the locals called it, was the first place Dean visited when he moved to the city. And after seeing the good work they did for the community—counseling, mentorship, support, and shelter for homeless youth—Dean knew it was the right place to support when he became successful. He volunteered and provided any financial support they needed. It was his hope, with his time and his money, that no queer kids ever had to struggle the way he did.
And it seemed to be working.
With Dean’s resources, They were able to expand their operation in The Castro and open three additional centers across the area. Homelessness in the LGBTQ community was at an all-time low in the Bay area, thanks to the residential facilities provided by The CC, a fact Dean felt immensely proud of.
Dean motioned to the screen. “The three boys in that video are from the center. I wanted to show them that working can be rewarding and fun. So, I hired them for my video and set up a trust for each of them.”
“They’re homeless?” Colton asked with a concerned look on his face.
“They’re gay and homeless.”
“They look so young.”
“They’re all fourteen years old.”
“Jesus! How did that happen?”
Dean shifted on the bench to face Colton. “My parents kicked me out when they found out I was gay. I was sixteen.”
“Holy shit, Dean!” Colton gasped. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Yep. I mean, they were nevergreatparents. Their only concern was their jobs. Their kids were just trophies that they could display whenever they wanted.”
Colton nodded. “Yeah, I can totally understand that sentiment. Sometimes it felt like my brothers and I were paraded around by our parents like show dogs.”
“My grandmother was really the only loving parent I had. She died when I was thirteen. After she died, it was an empty family life. There was no love, just what was expected and a whole lot of going through the motions. I realized I was gay when I was fourteen, but I waited two years to tell my parents because I was scared how they would react, what with them being so over-the-top religious. Sure enough, my fears were correct. I told them, they stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then they quoted some Bible verses at me and told me to get out and never come back. So, I did." Dean paused and took a deep breath.
All Colton could do was stare, dumbfounded, as Dean continued.
"It was a rough time, no doubt, but it made me the strong, resilient person I am today. So there’s the silver lining. Unfortunately, my story is not that unique. So many kids are thrown out on the streets when their parents find out they are gay. Or their family life is so toxic, they run away. Then those kids make their way to places like San Francisco, or New York City, because they know they are welcoming havens for LGBTQ people.”
Dean let out a slight huff. “But when they get here, there are very few resources or opportunities and they end up on the streets. So many turn to prostitution or dealing drugs to survive.It breaks my heart every time I go to the center, to see all that potential. Those bright, smart kids, just wasting away or ruining their lives.
And now, whether it was God’s grace, or fate, or whatever, somehow, I’ve become successful. I’ve made so much money, it would take me ten lifetimes to spend it. Now I understand that this is my purpose in life, to do everything I can to help these kids.”
Dean felt the emotion spreading across his face, the tears welling in his eyes. Colton must have noticed because he pulled him into a bear hug and squeezed him tight.
Dean sighed and melted into Colton’s hug.God, does this feel nice.
Dean pulled himself together and sat up straight. “See the blond kid?” He pointed at the paused video on the screen. “His name is Aiden. He is an amazing young man. He reminds me so much of myself. He loves sports, he really loves music, and he’s just a sweet, kindhearted person. So, I’ve decided to take him under my wing. I’ve been working with him on music, guitar and piano mostly. I’m even toying with the idea of becoming his guardian. He’s never going to want for anything. I’ll make sure of that.”
Dean had first met Aiden at the CC. He had donated a large number of musical instruments and agreed to lead a series of "jam sessions" with the kids.
That first session, Dean had scanned the room of happy, lively kids. Well, they were all abandoned or runaways and had been on the streets, which meant they had all seen some shit. So "happy" and "lively" were probably not the best descriptors, but they were at least engaged. Dean's eyes landed on a lone kid sitting slumped in a chair in the back of the room. While the others were chattering and seemed excited about playing music,Aiden sat as still as a statue in his chair. He seemed to be completely shut down.
Dean began his music session by introducing the kids to each instrument, as many of them had never played. During his spiel, he would occasionally catch Aiden watching him then dart his gaze back to the floor when he was caught. Dean had each kid pick an instrument and begin playing around. He grabbed a guitar and dragged a chair to sit next to Aiden.
"Do you like the guitar?" he asked, and was met with a glare and the smallest of nods. Dean took the opportunity to begin strumming, hoping for the slightest breakthrough. As he continued to play, Aiden's gaze slowly moved to watch his fingers on the strings.
"Would you like to try?" Dean asked.
"I don't know how," Aiden murmured quietly after a long pause.
"Well, that's the best way to learn something. Just try it." Dean smiled and offered the guitar to him.
As he extended the guitar toward him, Aiden flinched and looked as if he would bolt.
