My daughter at Gay Pride after Orlando

Reflections* by Tracey Thorn** published on the weekly website International (Italy) on 11 July 2016, freely translated by Diana Corsini

When i wasguest editedr of the programTodayOf BBC Radio 4, a couple of years ago, one of the topics I proposed was "young people and the internet" and in particular the way in which the internet can represent a great help for teenagers who are starting to know themselves and look for friends and allies. The idea was born from the experience of my daughter, who declared her homosexuality at 15, but had already found an online community that offered help, support and friendship.

When I was a teenager, I didn't know anyone who was gay. Or rather, I knew it but I didn't know it. A friend of mine had a boyfriend with whom she was always in crisis, and when he came out years later, I understood why. At the time we didn't talk about these things, nor did we ask each other many questions. We sangGlad to be gayAnd we thought we were very far ahead, when we knew nothing at all.

My children, on the other hand, know everything and have taught me a lot, especially in terms of theory and terminology. I was still convinced that I was very ahead, but I discovered that I was 53 and that I was far behind. They were the ones who happily dragged me into the second decade of the 2000s, while I squinted and dusted myself off, as if I had just woken up from a long sleep.

It was an absolutely happy experience, on both sides. A teenager who declares her homosexuality in a welcoming family. A brief hug and a few tears, because I didn't realize it (“Your gay radar doesn't work, mom”), and laughter at the clues I hadn't caught (“All those evenings spent watching the Eurovision Festival together, and you still didn't understand it?”). It's not that I thought one of my kids couldn't be gay. It's just that I was still their mom and didn't realize they weren't kids anymore.

Way back in 2007 I wrote a song calledAZ, about gay teenagers who are bullied at school, a kind of retelling ofSmalltown boyBy Bronski Beat, who I had always loved. But at the time my teenage daughter wasn't bullied at school, she lived happily ever after and no one had anything to say about it. And I thought: “It's wonderful. What a fantastic time we live in.". They went to Pride together – gay, straight and bi – wrapped in flags and with rainbows painted on their faces. We were taking photos and celebrating, and I kept thinking: “What a fantastic time we live in. Long live the present!”.

But then there was Orlando. Oh God, Orlando, that hit me like a slap in the face, leaving me broken and in tears: I felt like a fool for having forgotten that there were still people out there who might want to harm my beautiful, intelligent and witty daughter, who loves science and Ru Paul. Had we been living in a dream? Were we wrong? We just wanted to enjoy the good news, that's all. Freedom, rights. Taking basic things like getting married and having children for granted. Everyday life: nothing to be grateful to anyone for.

How is it possible to know and not know things at the same time? How is it possible that our desire for change leads us to delude ourselves that change has already occurred? Of course, I knew there was still a long way to go. But there is knowing and knowing: you can know something on a rational level and know it on a visceral level. Love makes you strong and vulnerable at the same time. The people you love are the chink in your armor where the blade penetrates. And Orlando was a big blade.

“Four dead in Ohio”, sang Neil Young, in a dirge for the students killed at Kent State University in 1970. And that song keeps coming back to me, albeit with different words. Fifty dead in Orlando. What did one of the text messages sent from the Pulse bathroom, the place where the massacre occurred, say? “Mom… I'm trapped in the bathroom… I'm going to die.” Mom. That's where the blade sank. And today I say goodbye to my daughter – 18 years old now, but still my little girl – who is going to Pride for the third time, but this year with a different state of mind. Watchful. Cold and determined.

I'm readingThe argonautsBy Maggie Nelson, a book about same-sex marriage, non-binary gender identity, family, motherhood and above all love. And I stumbled upon this sentence: “Sometimes, we need to know one thing many times. Sometimes we forget and then we remember. And then we forget, and we remember again. And then we forget". I promise to never forget again.

* This article was published in the British weeklyNew Statesman.

** Tracey Thorn is a British musician and writer. He was part of the duo Everything But The Girl.