A PRIDE to Remember
From Secret Love to Out and Proud
My very first PRIDE was back in 1995 in New York City. At that time, I was newly out and not entirely comfortable with the "gay thing." The whole LGB world (that's all the letters we used back then) was new to me. For a lot of my 21 years, I suspected I was gay, but there was no way I was ever going to allow myself to explore this idea. Then, I accidentally stumbled into a relationship with a woman. I was a teacher's assistant; she was a college student in my volleyball class (I know, I know.) She asked me out. I said no and was pretty indignant while letting her know she had mistaken me for the type of person I was not. Boy, did I show her? I drove home that night and didn't sleep for the next three weeks. I lay in bed wondering when I might allow myself to live. I hit a breaking point, and I reached back out to her and said let's give this a go and see what happens. Before I move this story along, I want to clarify that I was a first-year grad student, and she was a senior in college who was older than me. I want to make sure the right doesn't co-opt my story and start screaming, "Robin Kay Letourneau is using volleyball to recruit straight children!"
Back to my point. A couple of things became apparent quite quickly while I was in this relationship: first, I was super gay, and also, I had a lot of internalized homophobia. I couldn't escape the feeling that there was no way I could allow my friends to find out I was dating a woman. I couldn't risk losing them.
In response, I did what felt very natural at the time. I attempted to hide this relationship from all my friends. The word "attempted" should jump out at you because I was falling apart lying to my friends. I felt guilty, but it also turns out I'm a horrible liar and can't handle the pressure of hiding a significant portion of my life. My friends asked me simple questions like, "Where did you go for lunch?" Instead of answering normally, my inner Susan Lucci appeared, and I dramatically yelled, "Where did I go for lunch?" I shouted with just a hint of a British accent. "I can't recall. Why do I need to tell you?! I had a cheese steak. Am I not allowed to have a cheesesteak? Leave me alone!"
Things got so messy that one of my best friends said, "You know Robin, my friend Jackie is gay." I know she was lovingly trying to open a door for me to walk through, out and proud. Instead, I said, "Well, good for Jackie!" Then stormed off.
Eventually, I came out. My friends patiently sat through tear-filled admissions about a relationship they knew about all along. Not one of them rejected me. Instead, they loved me just as they had before. Their love and openness were the beginning of the processing of my shame. The more I shared, the easier it was to talk about, and the more I could love myself.
It was a journey to pride, which meant I had to go to the PRIDE parade that year. I needed to risk the judgmental looks of strangers walking by the parade route, risk running into someone from work, and I also needed to be in a place where I could see thousands of others like me. The early 90s were not like they are today for LGBTQ folks. Politicians didn't march at the front of the parade. There was no PRIDE merch stocked on Target's shelves. We didn't have dating apps. It wasn't always safe to be out. It was difficult to find your people.
I asked my straight besties if they'd come to New York and walk in the PRIDE parade with me. They showed up with bells on. I don't have many specific memories from that day, but I remember my feet hurting from marching and thinking, "It probably would have been just as good if we had posted up on a corner with a cocktail in a sippy cup." Live and learn. I also remember when my friend Kerry dipped into a bar to use the bathroom. Next thing we knew, she was leaving the bar while looking over her shoulder, yelling back at some old man inside, "Honestly, I don't know how lesbians have sex." It was an offensive question through today's filter, but that was the time, and we laughed for a solid 20 minutes as we continued marching along the route.
Once I found some gay friends, PRIDE became a week-long celebration where my dorky pals and I attempted to meet girls. We were at the Dyke March, at the clubs, and all the gay movie events. We got open-container tickets for our big beer cans in brown paper bags. We peed on the streets between cars because bathroom lines were beyond belief. We spilled out onto the streets with our beers, hanging out, dancing, and listening to Robin S sign about showing her love. Gays poured into New York from all over the world, and for one week only, the city was ours.
The parade itself has always been my favorite part of PRIDE. It's filled with music, laughter, dancing, and love, and I've cried through every parade I've attended. I cried seeing the brave LGBTQ police and firefighters march as the police working the parade scoffed at them. I cried seeing the PFLAG folks (Parents, Families, and Friends of LGBTQ+) marching side by side with their children. I cried when the Hetrick Martin Institute float went by, filled with resilient teens dancing and smiling despite being kicked out of their homes for who they love. I cried over every older person sitting on the SAGE bus. Those folks paved the way for all the rights we have today.
Once I got married and had kids, PRIDE became a much different experience. Long gone were the days of calling in sick the Monday after the parade because "I just can't." As a family, we are the first ones in and the first ones out, finding a spot at the top of the parade away from the crowds and the riff-raff. Instead of hitting the dance parties on the pier, we attend the family movie night.
We started taking the kids to PRIDE as soon as they were old enough to talk about our family and what PRIDE means. I wanted our kids to feel proud of our family and to be free of the shame that I had growing up. I'm sure they felt that deep down (maybe?), but back then, I think they mostly loved it because there were sparkly rainbows and people dressed in funny costumes throwing necklaces into the crowd. I do think it helped them understand their moms' journey and how fortunate they are to be loved no matter what.
We have come so far since my first PRIDE. Never did I think that I would be able to marry my wife. Never did I think that I would have children and their lives would be as uneventful as any other straight family in New York City. Never did I think we would have so much representation in the media, including characters and stories that go beyond tragic tales of coming out,
In the last few years, I've missed the PRIDE festivities. My kids are older and doing their own thing, and we're two middle-aged lesbians who'd rather stay home and order in while wearing pajamas. In some way, not being near PRIDE events reduces the connection to PRIDE's impact. It can be easy to wonder if it is still relevant or necessary in a day and age where kids fearlessly come out as bisexual, pan, gay, lesbian, trans, or queer in middle school.
But, you have to put it into the context of all that PRIDE has been over the years. It is not only a celebration of our history, of how far we have come, but it is a reminder of how our community has moved through horrific events like the AIDS crisis, how we have mobilized to repeal laws making it illegal to be gay, or how we've made progress on the all too common beatings and killing of LGBTQ people.
We have miles to go for all LGBTQ folks to feel safe and accepted, so PRIDE must rage on, filled with color and glitter and all that love.
PRIDE is a place.
PRIDE is a concept.
PRIDE can be anything you need it to be.
Happy Pride, y'all.
In honor of PRIDE I have some powerhouse LGBTQ folks on my podcast Well…Adjusting. Lesbian stand up comic and improver, Micaela Fagan joins us to talk about balancing dreams with her daily life. With aspirations to soar in her career, Micaela finds herself caught up in her daily routines, leaving little room to set concrete goals and map out her path to success. And there’s a special appearance by THE Judy Gold, who shares her comedic wisdom and expert advice on chasing your dreams and never giving up.