“My name is Skyler Shaw,” I began, my voice slicing through the silent room. “I’ve been the captain of the Tampa Bay Lightning for three years, and I’ve been playing professional hockey for seven. I lovethis game, I love this team, and I love this city.”
I paused, scanning the room again.
Still no hostile faces, only confusion and intense attention.
So far so good.
“I’m also in a relationship with someone who makes me happier than I’ve ever been,” I continued. “Someone who challenges me to be a better person, who supports my career, and who I’m falling in love with more every day. That person happens to be a man.”
The silence somehow got even deeper.
Reporters’ mouths fell open.
I could feel the shock radiating from the room.
But I didn’t see disgust.
I didn’t see anger.
Only surprise.
“I wanted you to hear this from me, because authenticity matters, because living honestly matters to me, and because representation matters to all of us.” I looked straight into the camera again. “I know there are young athletes out there, maybe hockey players, maybe players of other sports, who are struggling with questions about their own identity. I want them to know that youcanbe exactly who you are and still pursue your dreams. You can be gay and play professional hockey. You can be differentand still belong.”
Someone in the third row was scribbling notes.
“I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of my relationship. I’m proud to be a Bolt. This community, the Tampa Bay area andeveryonein it, means the world to me. This team means the world. My boyfriend means even more.” I straightened up, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. “Now I’m happy to take any questions you might have.”
The silence continued for another beat.
Then another.
Then every hand in the room shot up at once.
Here we go. This is where I find out who these people really are.
“Skyler, when did you know—”
“Cap, you mentioned a boyfriend. How long have you been—”
“Skyler, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up my hands. “One at a time. Yes, Maria?”
Maria Gonzalez from theTampa Bay Timeswas sitting in the front row, her recorder already running. “Cap, when did you first realize you were gay? Was this something you struggled with?”
The question was direct but not cruel. Maria was a consummate professional.
“I wouldn’t say I struggled with it, exactly,” I said. “All I know is that I fell for someone amazing who happens to be a man, and everything else sort of worked itself out from there.”
A dozen more hands shot up.
A dozen more questions about being gay and dating and whoever the mystery man was.
Still no hostility that I could see.
Just curiosity, which I could handle.
A dozen more questions fired at me so fast I felt like I needed to duck. They were personal, deeply so, but none held even a hint of animosity or anger or negativity. My confidence grew with each answer—and with each subsequent question born of little more than curious interest in the hometown captain and his recent revelation.
