Pride

I would be amiss if I didn’t write something, finally, on pride weekend, right?!  I actually had a great experience that I’d like to share.  I was driving on my way home from Cahoots Thursday after having purchased a rainbow flag.  I was hanging it from my balcony reflecting on the upcoming weekend, and wondering half-seriously if hanging a 4 x 6 rainbow from my balcony was asking for trouble from the few annoying neighbors we have, when I started thinking about my favorite part of pride weekend… which happens to be the Sunday parade.  Sure sure, the cowboy line dancers last year were amazing, and it’s always good to see the club exhibits complete with half naked go-go boy dancers, but I think my favorite entry every years is PFLAG. 

There is nothing more touching to me than to see the family members and friends of gay and lesbians marching in support.  Usually this group is quiet… they don’t have thumping speakers, or extreme looking people; in fact, this group is usually quite homely.  But when I look into the eyes of the mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers, and other relatives of gay people, carrying signs that read “I love my gay son,” I’m reminded of touching moments like in Prayers for Bobby, or the stories I hear of parents responding in love and acceptance of their queer youth.  One of my favorite moments of gay cinema is when the mother in Another Gay Movie simply responds to her son’s coming out with a “Duh! What took you so long?”

I was not one of the kids who got that reaction, and I imagine that most of the people reading this blog wouldn’t be either.  I have friends whose mothers asked them not to come over for mother’s day this year.  I have others who haven’t seen or spoken to their families in years.  This makes me grateful for the family I do have, even if they aren’t willing to march in a pride parade, publicly acknowledging their support.

But then again, it isn’t really about me, but I’m really proud of the PFLAG marchers every year.  They aren’t afraid to look in your eye, and I like to think that when they do, they have the realization that they make a difference to people like me.

Oddly enough, the very next day my mom called.  We usually have a once a week call if I don’t go over to their house during the week.  We usually just chat about how our weeks went, but this time something happened that I just had to share.  When my mom asked what time the festival ended Sunday, I half-jokingly asked her if she wanted to come with us (ok, actually I pictured her marching in the PFLAG group holding a rainbow flag… haha).  I was surprised when she said, “Well, this Sunday is fast Sunday, and your sisters are coming for dinner, but maybe I could find some time to make it.”

Unfortunately, we couldn’t find a time that would work since the festival ends at 4 on Sunday, but when I said, “Well, maybe next year,” her response was that she was really going to have to consider it.

And that’s progress.

Maybe one year…  maybe one year soon…