It was three days before Christmas in 1999, and even though I was never raised to believe in a divine being or anything divine other than a good time, I felt something so miraculous, so wonderfully strange, and so connected that I had two choices of what to take from this experience. I could casually say that what happened was merely a series of remarkable coincidences. Or, I could say that there is so much more in heaven and earth than in each of our philosophies.

I was struggling along 14th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues, carrying a mirror, six feet in length and three feet wide. This was going to be a gift for my girlfriend – something I knew she would like, based on some of our previous conversations. I had one of the Chelsea frame stores design it with an ever-so-slightly stressed mahogany and gold frame. I was dragging this beast of a reflective surface like a condemned man hauling his own execution device because the car I had ordered to pick me up had failed to arrive.

The plan was simple enough: I would make it to the apartment, hide it perhaps under the bed, and then return to the theater for my evening performance of “What the Butler Saw,” a British farce from 1969. I didn’t have much time to spare, and struggling down the street with this delightful, yet crippling weight, had me living my own farce, albeit less witty, but mirroring (haha) the physical degradation. I was trying to calculate how long this was going to take. Normally, I could walk from the 14th Street and 8th Avenue subway stop to home in 10 minutes, but I was probably walking at a quarter of the pace, maybe slower.

Now that I was doing the calculation, I realized I didn’t have the time to do this. A slight suggestion of panic began to settle in. I couldn’t leave the mirror on the street. I could try to catch a regular taxi, but in 1999, most taxis hadn’t yet been supersized to the ones we have all come to love, so I could wait for one to arrive, but it wasn’t something I could rely on. I was most assuredly in a pickle. That’s when I heard a voice. “Do you need help?” The mirror was so large that I couldn’t see who was speaking. And then she appeared—a woman, smiling warmly beneath a set of soft plush reindeer antlers. I thought I had momentarily entered the world of Narnia or OZ, but this, of course, was Manhattan, so why not?

“Um, sure, but where are you going?” I asked.

“Horatio Street, but I don’t mind going where you’re going,” she offered as though assisting sweaty, panicked strangers with oversized gifts was her full-time job.

“No way, Horatio Street? That’s exactly where I’m going. Which address?”

“114 Horatio.”

“You’re kidding?!” This was growing into something fantastical and bizarre, but perhaps this is how murder documentaries start, I thought. She seemed nice enough—smiling, polite, utterly unfazed by the fact that she was helping a random guy drag a massive mirror across the city.

“That’s where I live. Do you live there?”

“No, I’m dog-sitting for a friend for a week.”

“Wow – I can’t believe my luck. Thank you so much. Pleased to meet you. I’m Nick.”

“You too. Claire.”

We each took one end of the mirror and began walking at a regular walking speed, smiling and enjoying the spirit of neighborly Christmas. It wasn’t long before I asked what she did for work. She told me she was writing a book. This was interesting to me. As an actor and screenwriter, I was especially curious. She told me she was writing a book based on her family. Okay – hold that thought. I remember this moment and new coincidence distinctly; it was as if I knew that she was going to say that, and that every moment that followed was no surprise because I had entered this fantastical realm like something so astonishing, like when a molecular cloud collapses under its own gravity, causing nuclear fusion to form a star.

Another way of saying this is that if human ears could perk up like a dog, mine most assuredly perked up. I was also writing a story about my family – a screenplay, to be exact. So, now, these coincidences between us were beginning to take on those kinds of levels that can make you feel a higher consciousness of life. I asked Claire what it was about her family that compelled her to tell the story. She explained that her family was “alternative.” Ah, yes, 1999—a time when calling someone’s family “alternative” was the polite way of saying “not the nuclear model you’re used to.”

“Your parents are gay?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “Actually, I was the first child born to two moms through insemination.”

Cue record scratch. “Oh?” I said, fighting the urge to laugh. “What year were you born?”

“1976,” she said, clearly expecting applause.

“You’re not the first,” I nearly shouted. “I am. 1972.”

When you hear expressions like “time seemed to stop” or “it seemed as if we were the only people on earth,” you can imagine what that is or what that feels like, but when it happens, it’s exquisite. The air seemed to sparkle; I felt touched by something rare and lucky. How could this have happened this way? If we had met in a bar, at a party, at a friend’s house, or any number of social events, then it would have been extraordinary enough. This, though, this weird sequence of moments was thrilling and wonderful. It turned out that Claire was the first child born to two moms in America, and I was the first child born to two moms in the UK.

So here we were on both ends of the mirror, having walked from 14th Street and 7th Avenue to Horatio Street and Hudson with two more avenues to walk, frozen for a moment staring at each other and smiling like we had taken all the happy pills. I can’t remember much after that moment. I know we made it to the apartment. She helped me hide the mirror under the bed, and I made it to the theatre on time. We became friends. She was, in fact, the first person I had met who had gay parents. I was twenty-seven years old and had, up until that moment, never met anyone else with gay parents. She also introduced me to the organization for Children of Lesbians and Gays Everywhere (COLAGE). I became the New York City chapter leader alongside Claire and was the other kids’ granddaddy, considering I was about ten to fifteen years older than everyone else. Looking back, I still marvel at the ridiculousness of that day: a mirror too big for cabs, a reindeer-antlered savior, and the uncanny symmetry of our lives.

Was it fate? Divine intervention? Or just Manhattan being its usual absurd self?

Nick Hetherington is a policy advocate and community builder committed to economic justice, grassroots power, and global engagement. A former screenwriter and theater producer turned political science scholar, Nick recently completed his B.A. at the Colin Powell School for Civic and Global Leadership at the City College of New York, where he was a Leadership for Democracy and Social Justice Fellow and a recent participant in the Semester in D.C. program.

Nick’s path to public service is anything but conventional. In earlier chapters of his life, he voiced characters for Nickelodeon, produced critically acclaimed theater, and co-founded a real estate business that helped repurpose Lower Manhattan’s office towers into accessible housing after 9/11. But it was his time at LaGuardia Community College—where he served as Student Senator, peer advisor, and Salutatorian—that reawakened his passion for justice, equity, and transformative policy.

Since then, Nick has interned with Senator Kirsten Gillibrand, drafting support for transportation projects and researching community wealth-building strategies; organized tenants in Harlem and Staten Island with Citizen Action, and most recently completed over 500 hours at CARE, where he mobilized nationwide grassroots advocacy to protect U.S. humanitarian aid and led congressional outreach across 19 states during a historic policy battle.

Nick’s work is driven by a belief in the power of storytelling, collective action, and inclusive economic systems. Whether navigating Capitol Hill, coaching first-generation college students, or building cross-sector partnerships, he brings integrity, creativity, and purpose to every role. He lives in New York City with his wife and best friend, Soo Kim, and is always looking toward the next horizon—grounded in gratitude, guided by justice.