Steven LaChance Blog

I haven’t had too much luck with godparents. In fact, there is only one I still talk to.

I remember introducing Rick to one of them shortly after we were married. The response was not “Hello, nice to meet you.” It was a cold, very pointed: “You must be Rick.” The homophobia became apparent very quickly. Even my parents recognized it because we talked about it afterward.

The truth is, the problem with most of my godparents, much like much of my family, is they never really took the time to know me. They have no idea the life I have lived, the responsibilities I have carried, the career I built, the losses I survived, or the work it took to become who I am.

One of them once said to me after I was offered a television interview for one of my books, “Your older brother is the best writer in this family. He should write books.” This judgment was based on a paper he wrote in a college English class that got an A and apparently still needed refrigerator validation well into his thirties.

By that point I had already written two bestselling books, one of which many people now consider a classic in the paranormal field. But sometimes, to certain people, accomplishments simply do not count the same once they decide who you are supposed to be. That realization stays with you.

I look back now and realize I spent years trying to be respectful, kind, and present for people who never truly saw me at all.

The definition of a godparent is not simply someone who stood beside a baptismal font for a photograph decades ago. It is someone who chooses to know you. Someone who sees you. Someone who protects, encourages, and loves you as you become who you are.

A godparent is supposed to help guide a child through life, not spend that life dismissing them, comparing them to others, or reducing their worth because they do not fit someone else’s expectations. Some people never even tried.

And when quiet homophobia enters the room, it becomes painfully clear that certain versions of you will never fully count in their eyes no matter what you achieve. That hurts. Of course it hurts.

But age teaches you something important. Titles do not create family. Love does. Respect does. Presence does.

The people who truly matter are the ones who show up honestly, without conditions attached to your humanity.

I still speak to one godmother because she chose relationship over judgment. The other two? Distance became peace. And sometimes peace is the healthiest thing you can give yourself.