Thursday, June 23, 2011

Pride Week

You wouldn’t have known it if you lived in Regina - hell, you probably wouldn’t have known it if the Gay and Lesbian Community of Regina building was your neighbour - but last week was Pride Week here in town. As such, I got to participate in my first ever Pride events.

And I was thoroughly ___________________ (fill in the blank) with everything. Except the dancing.

I went to a film viewing. The Politics of Pride. Made me sad, and want to cry, and carry dramatic signs at the parade.

I went to a Coming-Out Party. Watched a woman ask various voluntary speakers (anybody from the audience) questions about their coming out experience. Made me sad, and want to cry, and carry dramatic signs at the parade (particularly when I saw a student that I had taught collect the courage to go up and speak).

I went to a White Party - which is merely a party where everybody wears white and dances with strobe lights until the end of time (or whatever that instant in which the lights are turned on at the bar is actually called). Had a great time. Smiled a lot. Felt like I was a part of something. Made me want to carry dramatic signs at the parade.

Saturday afternoon came and past.

I went to a coffee shop and read.

Didn’t go walking down any streets with my ‘brothers and sisters’ carrying rainbows and waving signs and holding hands and kissing and wearing minimal clothing - or anything like that.

I started a new book instead.

Saturday night arrived. I danced. There was supposed to be a drag show, but it was cancelled - so there was only dancing. And more meeting of people. Lots of people. Having random men call for my attention - offering some random men my attention and then moving on. If only I was a slut.

So I danced. Me and some lesbians, avoiding boys that I didn’t know.

Overall, a good-ish week. Nothing special - except for a reminder of the importance of being gay, and the joy of being gay.

I disappointed myself though. I kept my participation in the festivities limited to myself - meaning, I didn’t tell people I was going to them. My parents didn’t know I was going to a viewing party. Neither did my friends (not even the friends I happened to run into down the street from the theatre who were curious about what I was up to). These people know I am gay. Why did I not tell them?

Oh yeah - because I don’t know if they are willing or able to accept the cultural side of me being gay. One of those things where I have to give them a chance to decide, and behave as a response to their decision.

1 comment:

  1. I'm so proud of you for not being a slut, Neal. That's the easy way. That's the stereotypical way. At least you still have your self-respect. You were involved in the Pride festivities to the extent you felt comfortable, and you left the rest behind. Good for you. Your parents have raised a decent son and a decent human being. You should be proud of yourself.