were being named as grand marshalls of Pride parades. It was 2017, the year that ACLU affiliates all over the U.S. Waffle, Remi, and I were walking with my then-employer, the ACLU of NY, in our local upstate NY Pride parade. The first time I took my child to a Pride event, she was in a stroller. Taking it all in casually, as though it was not a big deal, I held tight to the quiet thrill of being not just visible, but seen. It was my first queer normative space outside in the world, not shrouded in a windowless room, not mixed with the general populace, a place where I was assumed to be queer by all the other queers who I also assumed to be queer. Pride was my first experience with queer normative space outside of the small LGBTQ student club on our campus. Being together transferred that visibility to me. However, at Syracuse Pride 2005, I had, for the first time, a queer partner who was very visibly queer. I had been vocally out for five years already, but because I had a boyfriend, hadn’t fully allowed myself to enter LGBTQ spaces due to internalized biphobia mixed with actual biphobia.
The first time I went to a Pride event, I was 22, fully grown, and very recently visibly out. What do we really need right now? How can we show up for each other? How can we celebrate the resilience of this community while still making space for our own rest? How do we honestly feel about Pride?
We’re taking some time this Pride to look out for ourselves and each other, with the intentionality and respect we all deserve.