My love/hate relationship with Pride

This weekend is the annual San Francisco Pride Celebration, where ideally people come together to rally around each other and make our presence known. Unfortunately, somehow the event has turned into Mardi gra on steroids.

I struggle with supporting the event. I don’t have a problem with people taking a day to let loose, wear only their black leather chaps and party it up. But when the national news covers the event, and we’re fighting to gain respect, acting like you’re eighteen and in Tijuana partying is only detrimental.

In fact, I’ll say it’s downright selfish. I understand that having to suppress yourself on a daily basis is overwhelming, and by the time Pride comes around, you’re ready to explode and express yourself. And really, you should be able to party it up, but unfortunately people in more conservative areas of the country aren’t aware enough to know that this is only a party and you don’t go to Starbucks in the morning wearing white speedos and costumed wings. They are so sheltered that they base everything they know about homosexuals on clips of the parade… and as a result, probably think you go to work and hump your cubicle every day.

And I’m not saying we always play it safe and kiss ass… screw that. Just keep in mind as you put your nipple in some random chic’s mouth this weekend that there’s a gay child in Texas who you’re contributing to what’s going to be a difficult time dealing with their identity because they’re parents associate homosexuality with being a perverted freak.

I will be attending Pride this weekend, and I’m going to drink and have fun just like everybody else. But mostly I’m going to participate in what the event is supposed to be about… to come together as a group, and to encourage, motivate, and remind each other that we’re in this together.