As LGBT Pride month is almost over, I thought I would write a post about some of my favorite experiences at Pride celebrations. I started late in life, which I regret. I didn't go to my first Pride until I was 26 (bordering on ancient in gay culture) and I wish I had more queer friends when I was young and closeted and terrified that my family would disown me who might have taken me to a Pride parade or a club where I could see that I was not alone and that being who I was is not something to be ashamed of. Alas, I've always been shy, so I myself might have worked against that at that age. But since I've started going again (my first was in 1996, my second in 2002, and since I marched in 2013 I've vowed never to miss one again), I've grown to love Pride parades for everything they represent. A willingness to be free to be yourself. A sense of community. A sense of empowerment. And lots and lots of love. Yes, to detractors it can sometimes be seen as simply a bunch of half naked men and women prancing and shouting through the streets. And not that there's anything wrong with that. But it is also so much more.
1) My very first Pride was sort of like a coming out all over again for me. I was in a relationship at the time. The longest I've ever had as it turns out (4 years). But I'd never quite been out holding hands with my partner in public amongst like-minded people before. It was to the Philadelphia Pride parade with a bunch of his friends and it was a lovely day. Its a very different experience going to Pride with your partner, just as Philly Pride is very different from New York City Pride. I imagine every city has its very own charm and party scene. But there was something extra special about sitting on a stoop watching glorious floats and bands and marchers pass by while holding my boyfriend's hand. Everytime I go to Pride I'm reminded what it felt like to be queer and twelve and to think that you're the only gay person on the face of the planet. That's part of what makes the celebration so powerful. Even if you don't feel like you have an actual "community" for the rest of the year, just for that 1 day you definitely will. You feel like you are part of a family, and that these people will have your back. Imagined or not, it can be very intoxicating.
2) For whatever reason, my boyfriend never wanted to go back to Pride, so while I was with him we never did. And since none of my friends gay or straight particularly like Pride (and still don't sadly) and I was a little too reserved to go on my own like I have now vowed to do, I didn't go back for quite some time. Six years, in fact. I had broken up with my boyfriend and I was single and on the prowl. That makes it sound like I was shagging everything in sight, which couldn't be farther from the truth. But I was definitely looking and flirting, as I do all of the time now. I have broken gaydar and sometimes flirt with everyone, but at least I dip my toes in, you know? I was hanging out on that particular Sunday with my friend David from work. He was married, but still eager to have fun and his husband decided to stay behind and get some work done. We weren't even going into Philadelphia for Pride. In fact, when we arrived we were amazed at just how busy the city was. We were simply looking to go on a pub crawl and get blotto. But Pride turned out to be an unexpected surprise. Though we missed the actual parade, the city was still teeming with queers looking to party when we got there. We started the pub crawl with me drinking some vodka cranberries, but that quickly progressed to shots and beer and whatever else was available. By the third pub and god knows how many drinks, I was starting to black out. I'm usually very good at knowing exactly when I have to stop and switch to water or soda. But that night it caught up with both David and myself way too quickly. I blacked out for a while, though I remember having to stop so that Dave could throw up into the street, thankfully not in a pub or on anyone. When I came back to my senses it was dusk. Still fairly light but obviously several hours after we had begun our crawl. David and I were sitting on a brownstone stoop somewhere in Center City and a queer block party was apparently going on all around us. I looked over at David who had his head in his hands and did not seem like he was doing well. I was holding a gray guinea tee in my hand which smelled of Calvin Klein cologne. I didn't know how I had gotten it. When I asked David, he began to recount this story which I was very sorry I had missed. "You don't remember?" he said. "You were flirting with this hot guy and you told him you wanted his shirt. I don't know if that's because you just wanted to see him shirtless or because you really did want it but you were both drunk so he gave it to you and you took it." I was incredulous. But smiling with glee. "Was that in the pub?" "No it was here in the street." "And did he just walk away with no shirt on?" "Yep." It was just so far from something I would ever do. As I'm overweight I don't like taking my shirt off in public so if I wasn't swimming it would take somebody needing a tourniquet really bad for me to do it. I admired this hot dude that I couldn't remember right then. There was something incredibly cool about flirting back with someone and allowing them to take the shirt off of your back. Needless to say, neither of us was in any position to drive back home. So David had to call his husband to come and pick the two of us up. Thankfully, he wasn't angry about it instead mocking us mercilessly on the ride home. I stayed over their apartment for the night and I remember having to go to work the next day still hung over and hurting bad. But I wouldn't change a thing. And I still have the guinea tee tucked away in a box somewhere. I just wonder if it still smells like Calvin Klein.
3) My next Pride was a new city and a very different situation. I had been going to this monthly group, Gay Geeks of NYC, for a few months, and I was enjoying playing the trivia games and trying to make new friends. They were planning to march in the parade, and they were asking for volunteers. I decided to do something very out of character for me and march with them. Out of character not because of anything relating to me being gay but simply because I was extremely shy and don't like people looking at me. But in this case there would be a LOT of people looking at me. Its a totally different deal to actually be in the parade. You have to get there pretty early so the city is still waking up around you and you're already in prep mode. Also, you have to be prepared for the heart and the beating sun. I burn like a lobster so I had to reapply suntan like twenty times that day. You also get a sense of just how big and sprawling the parade actually is, something you don't necessarily see when you stand in one location watching it go by. It is a massive operation. And everyone has to work together. Occasionally certain groups will stop to perform so then you have to stop and stand there with everybody shouting at you and cheering for you. I was not used to that, but it felt wonderful. The parade ends in the Village and its so strange one minute you're marching with a procession surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of people and then all of a sudden you pass a point and the procession disperses in all different directions but you're still surrounded by the thousands of people all cheering. It is quite the experience. You also get a front row seat for the hate-filled protesters that periodically mark the parade route, something you don't necessarily see when you don't move from the same spot watching it on 24th Street. People led by a priest in full robe and collar, holding up signs with crosses on them that say ridiculous things like "GOD HATES FAGS" or "ADAM AND EVE NOT ADAM AND STEVE". Its a sad reminder that though it is your day to be proud and free, not everyone appreciates your right to celebrate it.
4) This same year, I was heading home. It was still early. Sadly I don't have many slut friends who wanna shame our way home with wanton sexual abandon. I never have, so I am usually going home while it is still light out. I was in a blistering hot subway station, sweating profusely, waiting to top up my Metrocard. The line was long and people were aggravated because the machine was working very slow, if at all. On a normal day, there would probably have been a ton of curses thrown back and forth. But it was calm yet. There were two straight looking jock types in front of me. They looked like the kind of boys who would taunt, torture, and beat me up in high school. All american, tall, skinny but buff. I'm not sure if the memory of being taunted in high school showed on my face, but while the one dude filled up his card, the other turned to me and said "Hi." I must have been alarmed. This was the city, after all. People are not always striking up conversations with strangers. And I didn't know what to expect. Perhaps there would be more taunting because of the rainbow stickers somebody had patted on my cheeks several hours earlier. After a few seconds, I managed to say "Hi." back. A few seconds passed, and as if he could sense my uneasiness, he said in a much warmer voice "Happy Pride, man." And then he leaned in and kissed my cheek and gave me a very warm hug. "Happy Pride." I said back, and then when his boyfriend finished at the machine they walked off hand in hand leaving me with a big stupid grin on my face. It was a potent reminder that being judged a lot of the time does not give you license to judge others, and also that people can surprise you sometimes. And also that life is sometimes full of these sweet little memories that make everything better.
5) Last year's Pride was memorable because for the first time I was going to take part in some of the other festivities that go on during the weekend besides the parade. On the Friday night before, they have a massive concert on the pier. That year, Sir Ian McKellan and Sir Derek Jacobi were going to attend as they were both Grand Marshals of the parade. As was one of my music crushes, Steve Grand. Not to mention Adore Delano (whom I knew as Danny from American Idol as I don't watch Drag Race but you gotta love him). It was an extra special year because a short time before, the federal marriage equality law had been passed. I was surrounded by all of these couples who could now happily marry no matter what city they lived in. The joy was palpable. I even sprung for a meet and greet with Steve Grand. I am horrible at these kind of things. I can never seem to articulate what these people mean to me and how important they are to me when I meet them. But I keep throwing myself into the situation because I am a convention goer. So I keep trying. Steve Grand was even sexier in person and he put on a hell of a show. I think I said something like "Hi it's nice to meet you in person. You've been doing a great job on your YouTube vids." And though he didn't say much back (probably "Thank you") it was cool. The only thing that marred the incident is I never got my picture of me and Steve together. To this day, after emailing and calling numerous times, no one has ever responded (even an ill-advised tweet to Steve himself since I don't wanna piss him off but hey I was upset I didn't get my picture). Lesson learned. Scream and shout and don't leave until they put that picture in your hand. But over-all, it was a beautiful night. People made speeches that still ring true, if not moreso now, a year later. Every day some new law is proposed by some hateful religious politician hoping to take away LGBT rights. They're STILL fighting to ban marriage equality. Its sad. But that's also why Pride continues to be important to me. Never take your community and your rights for granted.
