Coming Out to My Father

Explorations of a Law-School Dropout Turned Marketing Ninja

My neighbor, The Philosopher, joked that my public debut last week—in which I, Sam Huang, pronounced across global cyberspace that I was a law school drop out—officially marked my “coming out.” It’s not the typical “coming out” story you hear on the news. But the analogy I draw hearkens to a story we’ve all encountered before: some gay teenager going out on one of those horrible monkey acts like American Idol to discuss all the lurid details of his sexuality while too scared to make that same revelation privately to his parents. The public can love or hate him all it wants, he thinks, but the real fear is the power his parents will still wield over him when they’re six feet under ground.

I shared across the cyberspace my decision to leave law school when I could not even tell my own father. The brainwashing had begun early. In the Asian American household, the doctors and lawyers are the treasured children. Have a kid in law school at a prestigious institution and you can be the craziest schizophrenic in the community because at least you’ll be sitting comfy in that kid’s palace when all the other parental losers are alone in nursing homes. Thankfully, my parents never followed that cultural creed too religiously. But that prideful way my father got whenever he spoke of his “daughter the lawyer” got me every time. It’s the reason why you all became my confidantes first.

I wrote my “coming out” story, and the response I received was phenomenal. Friends who I had not seen or heard from in years began contacting me. A cherished, decade-long friendship that I had killed because of my own juvenile hot-headedness is now, at least in my wishful thinking, being rekindled. And just a week ago, I would have probably agreed with your stereotype of lawyers as the necessary scum of humankind. But those future lawyers with whom I had endured one of the most psychologically intense traumas in my experience (i.e. first year of law school) were far from that. They were kind, supportive, and in some instances painfully earnest regarding their own self-doubts about their chosen career paths.

The outpouring of grief also pained me. A Twitter contingent of divorce lawyers entered into a series of regretful exchanges about not leaving the profession sooner–with all the appropriate hashtags and within the 140-characters-count limitations of course. I received emails written in the fervor of life crisis from lawyers stationed at some of the most top-tier, white-shoe law firms across the country; they were the most preeminent lawyers in the country, but happiness had eluded them.

Those were the stories that hurt me, just as much as they inspired me.

The day after my public coming out, I finally came out to my father that I had dropped out of law school. I could have waited months, even years to tell him. From my past experience, most likely a year or so. But I was compelled; the spirit of the crowd—of the readers–moved me.

So now my father knows. He won’t have a lawyer for a daughter.

I have heard many comments from readers calling my story “beautiful” and “inspiring.” But in my honest belief—and please, just think about this for a second—it’s the other way around. And here I enter once again into the dangerous realm of cornballisms; this is where I shut down, frightful, panicked, uneasy by the thought of showing any hint of intimacy with you. I hope you understand my circuitous way of saying thanks for helping this woman-child come out to her father.

My next piece will feature my conversations with the living legend David Morgenthaler, one of the fathers of venture capitalism in the U.S.