I was always afraid of becoming like you, Uncle Bernardo. I was terrified that I was going to grow old alone, like a depraved man who screwed everyone and at every social gathering turned into a madwoman. You, great-uncle Bernardo, became the epitome of what I hated. The hatred for what you "represented" began when my grandmother told us how you used to dress up every time you drank; unlike "real men", you dressed your body in boas, sang the most rosy Juan Gabriel songs and flirted with men. "She was going crazy. That's what drove him to ruin", I remember quite clearly these words my grandmother used to say every time she talked about you. I was eight years old when I started to listen to all this.

"La Guirnalda" was one of my uncle Bernardo's favourite songs.

My grandmother was not the only one to make such comments. My aunt Claudia and her husband also took advantage of any family party to make fun of your gestures.The way you talked and the way you walked. Despite being a brilliant lawyer and having been at the top of a state institution, you had to ask my aunt Claudia for help when you saw that the world turned its back on you, all because you were queer. My aunt came to you, allowed you to live in one of her houses and, in fact, let you manage it, because it was very big and the rooms were rented out. I remember that at one of the family parties, Gabriel, my aunt's husband, got drunk and started imitating you. Everyone laughed and told him that he lacked your characteristic "fag cry" and that he should try to "split" his hand more. This was the second time I reaffirmed that I didn't want to be like you.

The third was when I was nine years old. My dad saw me playing with my sister's barbies. and all I could do was escape to my room. Don Esteban, my dad, was banging so hard on the door I thought he was going to break it down. I crawled under my bed, hoping he would get tired. However, his fury that I had closed the door made him say a thousand absurd things: "Now what? I'll take him to school tomorrow in a skirt.... Shall I lend him his sister's clothes? Shall I change his name? Will you follow in Bernardo's footsteps? Shall I ask him to rent you a room in his aunt's house? As the frozen floor of my room touched my cheek, I thought that I was to blame, that expressing my identity was a sin, that I couldn't for fuck's sake grow old and be like my uncle Vicente.

The fourth time was when you visited us at my house. I was going out in my bathrobe, when my mother, very anxious, said to me: "Put something on quickly. Your uncle Bernardo is coming here and I don't want him to see you like this. What I thought was that you were going to rape me, that you were going to see me with desire and that you were depraved. I went quickly to my room, put on some very loose jeans and combed my hair. I went out to the living room and with tremendous eyes of concern my mother said to me: "Don't kiss him on the cheek. Just shake his hand. I nodded and waited with great fear for you to arrive. My legs were shaking a bit, I was trying to sit properly so that my crotch wouldn't show, I was testing in my head to make my voice thicker so that you would notice that I was a "macho man".

After waiting 15 minutes, you arrived. I heard the doorbell ring, stood to open the door and exhaled. Seeing me all grown up, the first thing you did was hug me, kiss me on the cheek and say, "I'm so happy to see you, son. I'm so glad you're doing so well. I was stunned because my mum had told me not to kiss you. However, I never saw that "monster" I had been warned so much about. I hung out in the living room for a while and then went to the bedroom, typical 13-year-old pubescent behaviour.

After almost an hour of chatting, my mum told me to go out to say goodbye "to uncle", to you. You hugged me so warmly again and wished me much happiness; you told me that you hoped life would bring the best for me. That was the last time I saw you alive. As I grew older, I realised that my taste in men was undeniable. I prayed, begged and pleaded for this "taste" to go away; however, it never did. At first, I thought I was fighting against something that was wrong inside me, something that was never meant to be. I thought of all those horrible words that were said to me at school and, above all, the taunts and comments from those who were gay targets like you, Bernardo. For a long time I thought it was the fault of those who were "noticed", those who threw away feathers and did not leave their "gay stuff" to their private lives.

Today I ask for your forgiveness, dear uncle Bernardo. As time goes by and I approach my adult years, I realise that the people I don't want to resemble are those who discriminated against you, all those who made fun of you. More and more I understand that you were not the one to blame for all these "jokes".The culprits were their prejudice, their lack of empathy and the insistent hurtful comments that made fun of your homosexuality.

Today I want to thank you because I recognise myself in you, because I lived through many of the things you lived through, because my "queerness" was also mocked, because I am a being who only wants to love... Today, at 28 years old, I want to say that I admire you, thank you for your courage and for the example you gave to many queer people in my family. Today I end this letter with one of the best phrases I have ever heard from LGTB activists and which I dedicate in your honour:

"Our greatest revolution will always be in their families. They will never be able to erase us.

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