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| Favorite Pride Photo Mary, 2011 |
But for all I've said thus far, it's here, most of it. My goodness, I've had so much to say, about marriage, as it can now officially be called.
NorthSideFour: You're never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child. Dr. Suess
Showing posts with label Pride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pride. Show all posts
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Proud to be an American
But for all I've said thus far, it's here, most of it. My goodness, I've had so much to say, about marriage, as it can now officially be called.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Defining Pride
In our home Pride is about being who you are, which is how the annual neighborhood festival is presented to Mary and Kate. They go to the parade every year but where once there was awe at the loud music and bright colors, there are now questions and curiosities that are sometimes impossible to explain. My need to not label anything proves challenging when faced with terminology so common to pride celebrations: gay, straight, breeder. What we stress is the need to celebrate who you are; thankfully we are not all the same but we are all proud of what makes us unique.
And so, rather than watch from the crowded sidelines, we walked through the streets of Lakeview, with friends and their five year old daughter. Most of us walked, some of us rode, in a stroller decorated for the occasion by Mary and Kate.
They began working last week, retiring to the playroom with markers, crayons, paper and poster board. An hour later there were signs, "Be Yourself", with letters in various shapes and colors, and two large rainbows. "Why rainbows?" I asked, and Mary answered, "because we are all different colors, just like rainbows".
While I shelter my children from pop culture, from Hannah Montana and ICarly and things that I find to be too mature for their six year old selves, I have no problem walking them the four mile parade route of the annual Pride festival. Exposing them to different cultures and lifestyles, to young and old, gay and straight, will hopefully give them a basis for understanding who they are far greater than the teenage cable channels. Teaching them about being yourself and celebrating who you are is more important than allowing them to follow tween culture that encourages uniformity and conformity to one set of ideals.
At six, pride is not about sexuality but individuality. The terms gay and straight are not part of their repertoire because they don't need to be; at six they don't have to navigate the real world where who you are is so frequently defined by who you love. And at six, they don't know who they might be, nor do I, and it is important that they understand now that we will always love and respect them, in whatever way they define themselves in years to come.
And so, rather than watch from the crowded sidelines, we walked through the streets of Lakeview, with friends and their five year old daughter. Most of us walked, some of us rode, in a stroller decorated for the occasion by Mary and Kate.
They began working last week, retiring to the playroom with markers, crayons, paper and poster board. An hour later there were signs, "Be Yourself", with letters in various shapes and colors, and two large rainbows. "Why rainbows?" I asked, and Mary answered, "because we are all different colors, just like rainbows".While I shelter my children from pop culture, from Hannah Montana and ICarly and things that I find to be too mature for their six year old selves, I have no problem walking them the four mile parade route of the annual Pride festival. Exposing them to different cultures and lifestyles, to young and old, gay and straight, will hopefully give them a basis for understanding who they are far greater than the teenage cable channels. Teaching them about being yourself and celebrating who you are is more important than allowing them to follow tween culture that encourages uniformity and conformity to one set of ideals.
At six, pride is not about sexuality but individuality. The terms gay and straight are not part of their repertoire because they don't need to be; at six they don't have to navigate the real world where who you are is so frequently defined by who you love. And at six, they don't know who they might be, nor do I, and it is important that they understand now that we will always love and respect them, in whatever way they define themselves in years to come.Peace, it's the summer of love in our neighborhood. Kick off your shoes, relax, but please look the other way when the inflatable, excitable, and anatomically correct man appears along the parade route. At six, we're not ready for that.
Monday, October 18, 2010
I'm Coming Out!
She looked to me first, "my name is Ally, um, let's see, I just finished my last class, well no, this will be my last class.And...it sounded interesting?". The girl next to me pushed back from the table, half slammed her hand on the table and said "My name is Brenda, I'm a lesbian". Nods from around the room, a welcome from the teacher and then next, a very quiet voice "my name is Beth. Um, yes, hello, I'm a lesbian. Oh! That's the first time I've ever said that!". Applause, cheers, a real self help group welcome for Beth; I clapped madly, so very proud of this woman I had never before met.
It was all because of math. Having dropped basic algebra three times, I finally passed the torturous and mentally grueling Math 101 at a community college the summer after graduation. Congratulations said the University, but your last credit hours must come from us, back to school please. The choices were limited, given that I was willing to put very little effort into a post graduation required but not specified class. Whittled to German Cinema, Insects in Your World and Gay and Lesbian Studies, the decision was easy.
The rest of the introductions were similar: a young man who had not yet told his family he was gay, a woman (who looked oddly like my mother) who had just come out to her husband and three children (wherein she promptly discovered her youngest son was gay), and a woman who had been out for years and was thrilled to be in a classroom of her peers. This left me, the only one in the room not coming out, coming in or otherwise moving about.
We met once a week, in the evening, in what quickly shifted from a classroom to a support discussion group. My role emerged as the voice of straight America, an interesting shift to the absolute minority. On the nights when the crowd got going it was my job to raise my hand and point out that my choices were also limited, as a single woman, at which point someone would often yell "well get married then" and we would move on. An informal survey found that I was the only one in the class who had not considered what having this class on my transcript might mean at a job interview in years to come, it had not even crossed my mind.
Beth brought in lesbian music, so named said Beth "because I like it", as did I. Brenda brought in the Beastie Boys which I liked then as much as I do now, which is to say not at all; the Beastie Boys just do not serenade as background music when working to understand the true symbolism of the rainbow. The lesbian masquerading as my mom brought great snacks: samosas, hummus, guacamole and tapenade. Clearly the past few years had been spent in a closet well stocked with ethnic cookbooks and for that we were all grateful.
"Cleaning Closets", "When I Knew", and "Is It a Choice?" were tops on my summer reading list. My friend Megan and I became regulars at a local gay friendly book store, stocking up before heading to the pool for the afternoon. Even my dad pitched in, picking up lesbian literature from a bar he errantly walked into after his weekly card game at the downtown club. An unmarked manila envelope left for me in the top left drawer of his desk, not with the secretary, and not with my name on it, but full of information about upcoming gay themed events in Kansas City.
Our final assignment was to be a full length paper on our own coming out experience. Meg, the teacher, went into great detail, going around the room offering suggestions and ideas to personalize our efforts . It was agreed that Beth had the best story to tell as she had used the class as a jumping off point and had spent the summer coming out to her friends and family, all well received, and she was certain the camaraderie in the class had allowed her to do this. Meg stopped when she got to me, "what will we do with you?". She suggested I interview someone, about their experience, but the only gay person I knew, at 22, was the guy who cut my hair and even he hadn't been terribly forthright, although he dressed as a cowboy each year for Halloween. There were others, I had my suspicions, but calling an old friend out of the blue to inquire about their coming out, which none had actually done, just didn't seem like the thing to do to secure a lifelong friendship, perhaps I was wrong. I considered snooping, writing about everyone else in my class but that was invasive and odd. Had I known how to get in touch with the guy from college that I bumped into that summer in a gay bar, the one who almost fainted when he saw me and then mumbled something about "well now you know everything about me", I would have called him. But then what I really wanted to ask him was why was he so nervous when I too was dancing around like mad to "In the Navy".
In the end I wrote a long and colorless research paper on the state of coming out in the U.S. Dull, dull, dull, full of boring details and information that no one really cared to read, robbed of the most important and enlightening thing we did all summer, all because I was the minority in a class full of people who had spent most of their life feeling that they were. It seems fair now really, I suppose. What a wonderful summer.
I originally wrote this to post last Monday on National Coming Out Day, but in a busy week it was just never finished. My hope is that my alma matter, and other schools around the country continue to offer such courses, and that my former classmates celebrated a wonderful day with those that they love.
It was all because of math. Having dropped basic algebra three times, I finally passed the torturous and mentally grueling Math 101 at a community college the summer after graduation. Congratulations said the University, but your last credit hours must come from us, back to school please. The choices were limited, given that I was willing to put very little effort into a post graduation required but not specified class. Whittled to German Cinema, Insects in Your World and Gay and Lesbian Studies, the decision was easy.
The rest of the introductions were similar: a young man who had not yet told his family he was gay, a woman (who looked oddly like my mother) who had just come out to her husband and three children (wherein she promptly discovered her youngest son was gay), and a woman who had been out for years and was thrilled to be in a classroom of her peers. This left me, the only one in the room not coming out, coming in or otherwise moving about.
We met once a week, in the evening, in what quickly shifted from a classroom to a support discussion group. My role emerged as the voice of straight America, an interesting shift to the absolute minority. On the nights when the crowd got going it was my job to raise my hand and point out that my choices were also limited, as a single woman, at which point someone would often yell "well get married then" and we would move on. An informal survey found that I was the only one in the class who had not considered what having this class on my transcript might mean at a job interview in years to come, it had not even crossed my mind.
Beth brought in lesbian music, so named said Beth "because I like it", as did I. Brenda brought in the Beastie Boys which I liked then as much as I do now, which is to say not at all; the Beastie Boys just do not serenade as background music when working to understand the true symbolism of the rainbow. The lesbian masquerading as my mom brought great snacks: samosas, hummus, guacamole and tapenade. Clearly the past few years had been spent in a closet well stocked with ethnic cookbooks and for that we were all grateful.
"Cleaning Closets", "When I Knew", and "Is It a Choice?" were tops on my summer reading list. My friend Megan and I became regulars at a local gay friendly book store, stocking up before heading to the pool for the afternoon. Even my dad pitched in, picking up lesbian literature from a bar he errantly walked into after his weekly card game at the downtown club. An unmarked manila envelope left for me in the top left drawer of his desk, not with the secretary, and not with my name on it, but full of information about upcoming gay themed events in Kansas City.
Our final assignment was to be a full length paper on our own coming out experience. Meg, the teacher, went into great detail, going around the room offering suggestions and ideas to personalize our efforts . It was agreed that Beth had the best story to tell as she had used the class as a jumping off point and had spent the summer coming out to her friends and family, all well received, and she was certain the camaraderie in the class had allowed her to do this. Meg stopped when she got to me, "what will we do with you?". She suggested I interview someone, about their experience, but the only gay person I knew, at 22, was the guy who cut my hair and even he hadn't been terribly forthright, although he dressed as a cowboy each year for Halloween. There were others, I had my suspicions, but calling an old friend out of the blue to inquire about their coming out, which none had actually done, just didn't seem like the thing to do to secure a lifelong friendship, perhaps I was wrong. I considered snooping, writing about everyone else in my class but that was invasive and odd. Had I known how to get in touch with the guy from college that I bumped into that summer in a gay bar, the one who almost fainted when he saw me and then mumbled something about "well now you know everything about me", I would have called him. But then what I really wanted to ask him was why was he so nervous when I too was dancing around like mad to "In the Navy".
In the end I wrote a long and colorless research paper on the state of coming out in the U.S. Dull, dull, dull, full of boring details and information that no one really cared to read, robbed of the most important and enlightening thing we did all summer, all because I was the minority in a class full of people who had spent most of their life feeling that they were. It seems fair now really, I suppose. What a wonderful summer.
I originally wrote this to post last Monday on National Coming Out Day, but in a busy week it was just never finished. My hope is that my alma matter, and other schools around the country continue to offer such courses, and that my former classmates celebrated a wonderful day with those that they love.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
In the Name of Love
Mary has decided to name her first born Laura. Mary is five and unaware that I decided to name her Mary about five minutes before she was born.
Kate: Mom has a friend named Laura.
Mary: Who? I don't know her.
Kate then reported in full detail about the time they met my friend Laura and gave a complete and accurate description of her, including specifics about her partner, Candace. Bells then rang out for Mary,
Mary: I remember! Is she married to that lady?
Me: Not now, but they are thinking about getting married.
Kate: Will there be a wedding? Can we go?
Me: Maybe, but they live in New Mexico. I would love to take you there.
Mary: We would love to go to New Mexico!
Me: And they have two babies.
Kate: Why do they have babies if they aren't married?
Thankfully having two children outside the bonds of marriage is the only part of this conversation that didn't make sense to my children. As we celebrate Pride in Chicago today, I couldn't be more proud of my girls.
And those other girls, Laura and Candace, who I'm proud to call my friends.
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