The pride parade was unbelievable. I went with a bunch of kids who I thought were straight but it turned out that a couple of the guys and (maybe) one of the other girls was also alternatively-inclined, which was nice. And the inevitable question was posed, a couple of times, and I answered it with all the honesty I could muster. I fall for people. I'm more likely to be attracted to women in a personality-free encounter. I'm just generally queer. Labels are for food and detergent. Pride parades are wondrous.
We were on a float, float #90, the Bank1 float (we're citywide with pride!), standing on a revolving circular platform. I had rainbow beads and the required bank1 shirt and a noisemaker and a fan, my hair newly-dyed, and an irrepressible smile on my face. I was so happy, so proud, felt so much like I belonged. Like I was with people like me, people who really understood what it was to be Other, people who stood together against the fundies with their protest signs. God hates fags, homosexuals will never inherit god's kingdom. Well I don't need their God, I have my own. I don't want to be a part of a kingdom so exclusive as to condemn people for such things as who they love. My love is sacred, no matter who it's bestowed upon, and they are only bitter, frightened voices trying to force us all back into their box. We smiled and waved and shook our noisemakers so loudly we drowned out their screams of hatred, though they had megaphones and we were only ourselves. They looked so small, so out-of-place, ten or fifteen voices of hatred amidst a sea of love and acceptance and the all-inspiring rainbow. I can't help but wonder whose idea it was to spend a beautiful Sunday morning persecuting people out to celebrate their own power and happiness. I just wish it didn't hurt so much, because hurt it did. Hurt that there is such bitterness, such hatred, directed at us with our smiles and our dancing and our joy. Hurt for them, that they couldn't join the fun. But then we moved past them, past their ten feet of angry shouting and die faggots die signs, and there were joyous rainbows and our smiles were returned. And we triumphed. So mote it be.
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