Fri. October 2, 2026
CHICAGO, ILL. -
By Michael Oboza, Special to GoPride.com
During my last year as a volunteer photojournalist, I am grateful to share space to help give people in our community their flowers for being wonderful people and for their awesome contributions. I'm grateful to help acknowledge, following his father, a second generation self-taught photographer. Thank you Harold Di Vito for your time, your own legacy and sharing your art.
Harold Di Vito stands quietly behind his camera, a second-generation photographer following in the exact footsteps of his father. Capturing the world through a lens is an art passed down through family, but Harold’s own story holds layers far deeper than the portraits he takes. It is a journey that began with the heavy weight of silence and spans continents, decades, and the quiet resilience of an immigrant’s life.
Growing up, the world demanded a mask.
"Life was stressful. Always trying to hide the real me. It was a learned attitude that I think many LGBTQ kids are pressured to adopt as we discover growing up that some things are not right. I could not tell the world who my high school crush was because I knew that that was not normal. I knew I would not have the support of my family and friends if I had come home to introduce a boyfriend to them."
The geography changed, but the early attempts to navigate a double life remained complicated.
"Back in Venezuela, while I dated two women, I was going to LGBTQ bars. So, dating women did not work."
The truth could only stay buried for so long before finding its way to the surface, often in quiet, guarded moments during university years.
"I recall that my first emotional experience with a person of the same gender was in college back in Venezuela. And that had to be hidden from my family and also my straight friends. Which is interesting because I did not have any LGBTQ friends. Probably because many of us were closeted."
A new chapter beckoned across the ocean, offering distance rather than immediate freedom.
"After college, I came to the United States. It was not better in North America. It was different."
That difference eventually brought an unexpected turning point, one that would anchor the next twenty-five years of his life.
"One of the parts that were different was when I met my now husband. It was unexpected how we met, and I loved every minute, even after twenty-five years."
Settling into his new life in the Chicago area, Harold’s professional path intersected with profound history. Working as a young architect placed him right in the middle of a deeply moving project.
"While in the United States, one of my first jobs was working as a project architect for the Holocaust Museum in Skokie under Stanley Tigerman, and it was an emotional journey because we met with a survivor of the Holocaust."
Standing in those rooms, surrounded by history and survival, the young architect recognized reflections of his own internal landscape.
"As an immigrant at the time, working there was a reminder to myself of my own intersectional life journey and challenges."
The path to self-acceptance rarely moves in a straight line, carrying its own dramatic weight, telenovela and all.
"It was not like coming out transformed my life into a rainbow-filled experience. I strongly believe that we all carry with us traumas and scars due to not being able to be ourselves for so long. Some experiences were left on hold. We could not connect, emotionally or physically, with anyone in a romantic relationship."
Today, looking back through the lens of experience and art, Harold offers simple, hard-won wisdom to anyone still finding their way:
"Come out early. No matter what. It is our lives, and only we can live them."
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