I’ve been going to what was then called Gay Day Parades since I was probably five or so. My mother came out as a lesbian when I was four. We then proceeded to go to “gay” events. We went to pride parades and Equal Rights Amendment marches. In my little brain, everything my mother took me to was “gay.” At one ERA march someone asked me if I was for equal rights for women. I said that no, I wasn’t into gay stuff. Oops. I was a kid, forgive me.
When I was a kid we lived in Santa Rosa and drove down to San Francisco for Gay Day Parades. Santa Rosa suffers from being too close to San Francisco, and living in its shadow. I learned this as a child when I had to take Greyhound buses between my mother’s in Santa Rosa, and my father’s in Redding (yes, you should feel sorry for me). There were no direct routes between Santa Rosa and Redding because San Francisco was so close. I usually went from Santa Rosa to Vallejo and then changed buses to go on to Redding. I did this alone, and at the age of seven or eight. These days parents barely let their kids out of their sight; I was alone on buses and in bus stations when I was under ten.
Once I changed buses in San Francisco. That was the first time I saw a syringe in person. It was on the street. I was scared. I must’ve told my mother how freaked I was, because I never again took a Greyhound through San Francisco.
Having lived in San Francisco for the last ten years, I’ve mostly avoided the Pride Celebrations because I know what’s going on and because crowds don’t do all that much for me. But this year, with the prospect of moving away from San Francisco meant I should do the parade and other things that can only be done here. (Though Chicago also had its Pride Celebration this weekend.) Also, the Viking had never been to any Pride Parade.
Just before I moved away from Pasadena, back in January 1997, I went to the Tournament of Roses Parade. I had lived in the San Gabriel Valley since 1990, and had done the parade route, along Colorado Boulevard, on a number of occasions. The parade route thing meant walking around, people watching, drinking, and smoking pot, all between about 11pm and 4am. By the time the parade came around I had usually walked home and crashed. I would then watch the parade on tv. However, with the prospect of moving away from Pasadena, I finally woke up early enough to attend a parade. That was back when the Ex and I first got together so we were willing to wake up early for each other. Also, he lived much closer to the Rose Parade route than did I at the time.
So with the Viking about to move from San Francisco, the putative gay capital of (at least) the US (if not the world), I figured it was my place to take him to the parade. We got a ride with a friend who was to be in the parade, and then walked to the parade route, on Market Street.
We walked along the south side of Market Street, watching the parade. Lots of local politicians. Lots of animal-centric and -friendly organizations. The Viking asked me what the deal was with all the animal stuff, and I explained that animal are like children to the gays. I also pointed out that I was silly and obsessive about my animals, and that this is the kind of shit that happens when people don’t have kids. Kind of like me with my animals.
On our walk we saw some interesting people. We saw some families, including kids the age I was when I first began going to such parades, which I really appreciated. We saw a shirtless blond guy wearing not only a belt and (rainbow) suspenders, but also a gas mask, because clearly he thought safety should be first. He also had blond chest hair. He was creepy enough that I requested the Viking and I move on, well away from him. He wasn’t looking for conversation, for sure, but if I wanted to take a photo, I would have had to at least request such.
I decided I’d take no photos at the parade. For the most part, the people who wanted to be seen, wanted to really be seen. I have no interest taking pictures of people who want their pictures taken too much.
So, in the spirit of Pride 2010, I present my Gay Pride Lego people:
I love Lego. I love ‘em a lot. I also love – and find political and personally necessary – open gay pride. I probably said this already, but I’d love, love, LOVE how open is San Francisco. I know enough about Chicago to know that it, too, is a gay-friendly city. I have no interest in living in a city that’s otherwise.
I swear. True story.