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Thursday July 1, 2010
I’m From Goodlettsville, TN.
by Andre Woodard
I’m only 16 years old today, but I tried to come out to my parents when I was barely 14. I had a boyfriend at the time who I was crazy about. My mom took up my phone because I was texting too late and I just started crying because I didn’t want her to find out who I was talking to. A couple minutes later she called me into the other room and asked me why I was so upset. I said “Mom…I can’t tell you, you’ll hate me.” When she called my dad into the room I just had to say “I’m gay” to both of them.
I was so scared, and expected a horrid reaction, but it didn’t seem that bad at first. But over the course of the next week, I argued with them about how it wasn’t a choice, how I couldn’t help it, and they just told me how wrong and bad I was. After all the trouble, I was forced to go back into the closet to them, so once again they think I’m straight. I’m just glad I have greats friends and brothers who I can tell anything to and who can really except me for who I am.
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saben
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On fire! |
Registered: May 2003
Messages: 1537
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How has Pride month helped this kid?
Look at this tree. I cannot make it blossom when it suits me nor make it bear fruit before its time [...] No matter what you do, that seed will grow to be a peach tree. You may wish for an apple or an orange, but you will get a peach.
Master Oogway
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13750
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It's a good question and one the post doesn't answer I'm going to guess that he wrote this triggered by a pride event and that it reminded him that he wasn't alone.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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I think you hit the nail on the head, Timmy. I couldn't get over the number of families that attended our pride festival. These were people who obviously didn't believe they were exposing their kids to anything dangerous. And I saw boys, barely in their teens, wandering around, alone, taking in the sights. And when I saw them I thought "thank God for this one day of sanity for these kids". This is not an easy community to be a gay kid in. Yet, no one could walk away without feeling the love and acceptance that permeated this huge crowd of folk. There were a lot of Andres there that day. Too bad we can only give them one day a year. But then, let's be thankful we can give them that.
Youth crisis hot-line 866-488-7386, 24 hr (U.S.A.)
There are people who want to help you cope with being you.
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13750
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Saben says that he has no need to attend a pride parade or event, so I think this may be why he asked the question. I'm sure he'll tell us.
After last year, where I found the Pride London parade quite by accident and was overwhelmed with emotion, walked with MW in the Brighton Pride event, and was joined briefly by Deeej and his friend James, and found it hugely freeing, though initially daunting, and marched with Deeej in the rather lacklustre Reading Pride 'parade' (an unfortunate raggle taggle bunch yelling "We're here, we're queer, get over it" - so disappointing and a tired cliché and a pity) I found, despite knowing it, that I was not alone.
THe sheer joy of not being alone is impossible to describe.
I've been gay all my life. I first realise I wasn't alone in 1996 because the internet was available. That felt good. I met other gay and married men (and no, I am damned if I will redefine that as was suggested a while back), and learned I was not alone. But I've truly felt liberated and able to come out properly since this time last year.
That was caused by my totally accidental glimpse of Pride London 2009. I never planned it, but I was there, and I felt its power simply as a spectator.
And yes, the families and the ordinary heterosexual folk there were a huge eye opener.
Hence my assumption in the answer I gave.
[Updated on: Fri, 02 July 2010 09:12]
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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saben
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On fire! |
Registered: May 2003
Messages: 1537
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I just didn't see how Pride month helped Andre. That seems ambiguous in the article- as written.
He's still been forced back in the closet at home. I don't know that Pride is helping him there. I guess I thought "is Pride enough- kids are still going through this crap".
Also there's nothing to say that participating in a Pride event is what has been helping Andre- in the article he says having supportive friends and siblings is what helped him.
I'm not denying that Pride events help some people- obviously they do. I'm just not sure what the events have done for Andre.
I struggled with my sexuality a lot, too. But it wasn't Pride events that helped me. It was the internet and websites like this that helped me. It was having supportive friends online and in real life. Pride events seem more to be targeted at people that are already out and already comfortable with what they do. From the flaming queens to the leather daddies, they aren't people looking for acceptance- they are people that already don't give a damn.
Look at this tree. I cannot make it blossom when it suits me nor make it bear fruit before its time [...] No matter what you do, that seed will grow to be a peach tree. You may wish for an apple or an orange, but you will get a peach.
Master Oogway
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13750
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Saben wrote:
> I just didn't see how Pride month helped Andre. That seems ambiguous in the article- as written.
I second that view. I'd like to see more about why he is Brody's poster child.
> He's still been forced back in the closet at home. I don't know that Pride is helping him there. I guess I thought "is Pride enough- kids are still going through this crap".
The problem is that kids will always go through this crap while religions tell their parents that they ar ebad, bad, bad people, and whole parents are too stupid to love their kids unconditionally. Paul's comment shows how Pride is helping in a very general way, but no, we don't know how it helped Andre.
> Also there's nothing to say that participating in a Pride event is what has been helping Andre- in the article he says having supportive friends and siblings is what helped him.
>
> I'm not denying that Pride events help some people- obviously they do. I'm just not sure what the events have done for Andre.
>
>
> I struggled with my sexuality a lot, too. But it wasn't Pride events that helped me. It was the internet and websites like this that helped me. It was having supportive friends online and in real life. Pride events seem more to be targeted at people that are already out and already comfortable with what they do. From the flaming queens to the leather daddies, they aren't people looking for acceptance- they are people that already don't give a damn.
I think you need to make some distinctions here. Pride parades have a whole mix in them. In the UK they are often led by open and out members of the Gay Police Association (may have got the name wrong), marching in uniform. There are ordinary men and women marching as themselves. There are carnival turns. There are feathered carnival costumes, there are leather fetishists, bears, political parties marching as that party. The mix is endless.
The thing about it is that there is always something to despise in any carnival parade. There is bound to be one, more than one, person in the parade who offends someone. You, not unreasonably, are put off by the acres of bare flesh on display, and by the prancing and camp behaviour of some participants. Me too. But I saw past that, and so do most of the audience.
In Brighton last year families had come to watch the carnival. They cared not one jot for the sexuality on display, nor for some of the strange behaviour.
I identify with other normal blokes who happen to be gay. I was not really out last year before the pride events. They, including the prancing queens, the leather harness guys, the buses of twinks in speedos, they all gave me the courage to come out.
That is what pride means to me.
With luck that is what it will mean to Andre, too. I'd love to know.
[Updated on: Fri, 02 July 2010 11:16]
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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In many ways Andre's tale is a reflection of the trials & tribulations that many LGBT youth still endure & suffer from. I can only speak in regards to the United States and not Melbourne, Australia where Saben resides nor Devon, UK Tim's residence.
Pride is so much more than a 'carnival' or a public parading of one's self identity be it fabulous or be it deviant or be it homonormal. What it is, is a gathering where kids like Andre can see that they're not alone and that it really is okay to be themselves.
Pride is the older generations of LGBT folk leading the way and being role models, and yes, even the more fabulous among the community, to give those youth & even some oldsters as in the example cited by Tim, the ability to feel a measure of acceptance for themselves instead of a never ending stream of cognitive disorders brought about by being forced to maintain oneself in a closet due to environmental pressures such as those brought to bear in this instance by Andre's parents.
Pride is a gathering to celebrate. True, not everyone needs it, agreed. And yes, there are elements that are brazen-BUT... When you see the families- LGBT families, straight families, adopted families, and those of mixed everything from colour to background, to see two boys kissing without fear, this, this is what it is about.
Andre is my 'Poster' boy simply because I found his simple story poignant, compelling, and all too common still because of the tyranny of bigotry & the ultra right Christiban religious claptrap here in the United States.
He's an excellent reminder of why Pride is still needed... year-round.
Andre's story by the way can be found along with thousands of other 'coming-out' stories here:
[ http://www.imfromdriftwood.com/ ] Go visit!
In closing, this simple post was to prompt conversation & reflection.
[Updated on: Fri, 02 July 2010 21:51] |
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If I ever had any doubts about the value of Pride, the last couple of years would have dispelled it. Last year's visit to Brighton with timmy, and yesterday (London Pride), which was the first time the young lad in my life had attended. He's bi, which in some ways is even more difficult (because the pressure to ignore the gay side can be intense): I think it was the first time he's truly understood that many others are, and it's something he can be confident about.
We stayed after the parade in Trafalgar Square until nearly the end - tough on the back, and I can't walk more than 20 yards today as a result, but this picture shows why it was worth it:
"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. ... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night devoid of stars." Martin Luther King
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That is wonderful for you and even more wonderful for him, NW. But I think the best thing that ever happened for him is YOU. You have my utmost respect and admiration.
Youth crisis hot-line 866-488-7386, 24 hr (U.S.A.)
There are people who want to help you cope with being you.
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Yes, Paul, I think so too.
Love,
Anthony
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... throughout most of the World; but, there are myriad number of reasons why "we" should celebrate it all the year through.
In the week, or more, that has passed since Brody posted this thread, I've written, and re-written, this response in my head countless number of times; and, if all is as I suspect, I had better tell my story now or it likely will never get said; and my thoughts and remembrances of the "Best Of Times and The Worst Of Times" are worthy of being told; just as those self-same thoughts and remembrances of all LGBT persons of a certain age are equally worthy of being spoken about.
It is beholden upon each and every one of us to pass on to the next generation, the trials, the tribulations, and yes, the joys of our being "as we are", and our having endured, in many (but not all) cases terrible instances of prejudice, humiliation, and just as often as not, fear; and how it is that our "Pride", our inner strength, our willingness to speak out, to lobby, to in some instances get our hands downright dirty and fight, "we" have made it possible for today's youth to have less fear, to suffer less humiliation and prejudice, and enable them to experience far more about the joy of their being "as they are" than was likely ever possible for those who have passed before them.
"Pride", and its' celebration, is an opportunity, for especially my generation and the one before mine, to regale those gathered around us in fellowship, with the tales of our exploits, good, bad, or indifferent, as they applied to our daily passage as gay, bi-sexual, lesbian or transgendered men and women in a society that was largely afraid of us; a circumstance that continues to prevail today throughout much of the World.
The aforementioned now having been iterated, let me regale you all with my story. A tale that might have been shared during Toronto's "Pride" celebrations in any one of the past dozen-years or so, had I had anyone to share them with; but, you see for me "Pride" comes and goes because those I might have most wanted to parade about the town with are all since deceased more than a decade ago; and whilst I haven't made an appearance at any "Pride" event for many more than those those ten-years, I have contributed financially towards their success, and have in the earlier years helped organize, build and man booths, and at one time or another handed out hand-bills and gone door-to-door seeking financial assistance.
I will now speak of what being my being gay has meant to me, and how it has governed my behaviour for more than half a century, and contributed most generously to my being the man I became, and hopefully, have continued to be ...
[Updated on: Thu, 08 July 2010 13:41]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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I don't plan on getting long-winded, or weepy here; what I have to share should likely be covered in five parts of equal length; with part 1 already a done deal and gone.
What I plan to speak about are the places, the events and the people who have shaped and crafted much of the person I would become; the camaraderie and fellowship so generously, and freely, given by those I was fortunate in being able to consider friends; glimpses into what I consider to be milestone events that occurred, as I saw and experienced them; in essence, the whys and the wherefores of how I would not change one iota of how I have lived for 60-years; and of the "Pride" I have in myself, and those I have walked hand-in-hand in fellowship with in that most fabulous of gay struts.
I've often spoken at length in other threads of my "charmed" life, and the ease with which I embraced my gayness, and of my success in which ever avocation I applied myself; so, I'll not repeat myself; instead let me reminisce most fondly about the whos and the wheres and the whats.
Resulting from early onset puberty, at age-13 or -14, I could likely pass for a youth of age-18 or -19 and most often did, especially in the dimmed, and hallowed, lighting that prevailed in most establishments that likely would catch my fancy; this granting me access to events and venues in Toronto, and often-times my family's native Montréal, that would have been denied most others of my age; and whereever my appearance didn't gain me access to, my family's wealth and position generally did.
The whos:
Firstly, five adults, four from my high school years, and one not, numbering amongst these is Alan Clarke (one time Musical Director of Standard Broadcasting Company), who, after changing fashion and technology had made his retirement necessary, was inveigled into heading the Music Department of the local high school I attended, a school he had attended some 40-years earlier, and located in the community not far distant from the family farm where he was born, and a fellow-traveller if there ever was one.
Too, I must include Edith Robertson, sometime Editor at the Toronto Star, and like Alan, coerced after retirement into teaching at her Alma Mater, with her discipline being English Grammar, and her simply a marvel and a joy for her innate ability to impart in each and every one of her charges her life-long love of the language.
Next has to be Vilma Teelucksing. She the most exotic confection I, and likely any others of the hormonally charged youth she instructed in ancient Latin and Greek, had ever encountered. Mixed race (Carib, Caucasian, Chinese and Negro ... oh my), satiny pale mahogany-toned skin, translucent silk blouses attenuated by colour coordinated Emilio Pucci lingerie and Balenciaga and Lanvin tailored suits; and her white Cadillac Elderado convertible, with genuine white leather interior. Vilma was in charge, and, LOL, knew her stuff smelt just fine!
Lastly William Robb, Vice-Principle, charged with discipline, fresh from noteworthy success at Guelph Reformatory for Boys, whipping a school-body into shape that had morphed from just under 600 souls before summer break to more than 4,000 come September next. It was "His way or the highway", make no bones about that; but, to his credit he was the individual who made all the suitable introductions that would later pave the way for my Civil Service career.
The fifth, a Dr. Enright (I'm afraid I can no longer recall his first name, and this is a paramount disservice to the man that he was), my psychiatrist at Whitby Psychiatric Hospital (now the Dr. J. O. Ruddy Medical Centre, and he of the E.L. Ruddy Electric family and Billboard fame, and one of whose family homes was across the road from the high school I attended) who early in 1964, decided that my gayness was nothing for me to be concerned about, and that clinically there was nothing wrong with me, this at a time when most Psychiatric Associations were still calling homosexuality an illness, and advocating God knows what radical treatment to suppress it.
These five worthy individuals, were largely responsible for my having survived the rigours of being a teenager, and my not having become the walking disaster that I truly was. Each recognized in me, my gayness, and rather than discouraging my tendencies, they embraced them for all their worth and helped me to harness and channel the best of them, enabling me to leave high school emotionally intact, with self-confidence and self-worth firmly in place ...
[Updated on: Thu, 08 July 2010 13:53]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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The other whos:
My closet childhood buddy:
Paul, he's right at the top of the list. He who, in his sophomore year, played Harvey Johnson in the school's rendition of Bye, Bye Birdie, getting the job solely because he couldn't carry a tune, and needed the Music credit because he couldn't play his Sousaphone for all its' worth; and to whom when I needed to speak about my rapidly apparent gayness, said "So what else is new, now sit down and drink that beer with me."; and with whom I would fool around as we both, and he generously so, explored my sexuality, and whom likely accounts for my unrelenting fascination with uncircumcised penises.
Schoolmates:
Gary (of the previously mentioned auburn hair, and one of two worthy young souls who account for my life-long affair with red-hair), Rob, Chris (within whose arms I lay cuddled buried deep in a pile of autumn leaves as we lay sheltered during a game of hide and seek before going indoors to play with his slot-cars), Alan, Jim, Michael, the two Geoff's and Glenn (all British by birth, gloriously uncut and generous with my fascination with their being so) amongst others; all high-school chums who showed their sensitive side, and enabled me to express mine in their company, both in and out of bed; and especially Steve, he of the counting condoms in English Grammar class, and the bane of Miss Robertson's existence, and each and every school-girls wet-dream; who taught me the pleasures of late afternoon rides with my arms firmly clutched around his waist, groin mashed into buttocks, on the back of his Yamaha, all the while thundering down the twisted road of Dixie Trestle, where upon our arrival we'd disrobe one another and luxuriate naked until the sun had set in the warm shallow pool under the railway tracks before companionably making love until dawn's early light.
My one and only lover:
Jon, of whom I've spoken so much; but, about whom so little has really been said, and could never be said.
The "tricks":
Chris, (a Northern Franco-Ontarian, he of the disarming pout, emerald-green eyes, and legs from the arm-pits down) enamoured with the tunes of The Alan Parson's Project, with his tokes and fornicating (and not necessarily in that order either), and prodigious circumcised tackle that wouldn't ever quit, no matter how many times he achieved orgasm, and who should have had a career, where he would have excelled, in the Adult Entertainment Industry, instead of languishing away his twenties in Penitentiary as suitable butt-fodder.
Sudbury Pete, Aurora David, Mississauga Jonesy, Welland Martin, Ottawa Leo, Brampton "B.J." (imagine naming your only child Billie-Joe and not expecting it to get appropriately enough nicked, and throwing him out of the house as a teenager to fend for himself), and far too many others to ever count; remembering of course that this was the 60's and 70's and HIV/AIDS wasn't even on the radar yet. Each of these worthy souls, were instrumental in the healing process I needed to go through after Jon's death; and I thank them all for it; knowing that I was partial to "Straight" men, they all rose to the occasion and fulfilled that need with both grace and equanimity.
The closest friends:
David, Henry (I call him Mona, from the Sid and Mona Gillette Right Guard commercial fame), Christopher, Robert, Brian, Donn, Neil (another red-haired beauty), Alan, Azar; Greer (my longstanding Mistress, who upon her deciding she wanted to have children by me, I promptly found a husband), Sandy (the only woman I have ever truly loved and whom I might have married had I not already been married to Jon) Linda, Darlene (her father put three set of staircases inside of the CN Tower, and she a "raven-haired" beauty and siren if ever there was one); "Rusty Ryan", "Jackie Lorens", "Michelle Du Berry" together of the Great Imposter's fame; and co-worker Mike whose cocaine habit fueled many of his anal fantasies and our shared weekends four or five times a year at Sutton Place Hotel quaffing Champagne with fresh berries and Devonshire clotted cream in between our bouts doing the big nasty; all with whom I shared years of amiable adventures, be they games of pool, bowling, bar-hopping, vacationing, theatre and cinema, clubbing, dancing, weekly canasta games or jaunts to the tubs.
Not all of these people were gay; nor, did they all agree with my lifestyle; but, all shared one defining trait in common, whether they be gay or straight, none of them were ever judgmental ...
[Updated on: Thu, 08 July 2010 11:08]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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The wheres:
Being young, and gay, and in Toronto, especially during the 1960's, was an adventure. It was vibrant, thrilling, more than just simply "out there", it was in of itself an event.
My fondest memories, and those that are most pertinent to the subject of "Pride" include, but are not limited to:
The twice-a-day, daily, seven days-a-week, "Journey" that every self-respecting "Queer" worth his or her salt, in Toronto, made at 4:00 PM from the basement Café Normandie (and main dining-room) at The Westbury Hotel to the Saint Charles Hotel and Tavern directly across from one another on Yonge Street, and again promptly at 7:00 PM when the dining room at The Westbury closed for the evening and their Café/Bar again opened. Lordy, you would have to have seen this to have believed it; hundreds, upon hundreds, of the "girls" grandly, and openly, parading their wares, stopping traffic in both directions for the better part of half-hour each time as they made their Trek. It became the Police's worst nightmare, and caused all manner of discord in the community; but, the Trek continued well into the mid-1970's until the Café Normandie closed for good, and the hotel was renovated.
The Saint Charles Tavern was, and had been for generations, a mainstay in the Queer community in Toronto. It's "Clock" Bar (named after the 100-foot oval bar that stood directly beneath the hotel's steepled Clock-tower, was the "de rigeur" meet and greet, and cruising venue. Above all else, no matter what time of the day, if you wanted to get 'laid', it would invariably begin (but, not of necessity end) with a visit to the Charles. The "Clock" Bar was never quite the same when they renovated, sawing the bar in half, pushing it up gain the wall, and discarding the other half, turning the space into one huge beer-hall (and tricking frenzy), rather than the more intimate cuddy that it had been for nearly a century. Long after The Saint Charles closed its' doors for the last time, Pink Triangle Press (of Body Politic fame, XTra, Man-line, and G-Cruise fame) had their offices located on the Tea-room Mezzanine of the hotel, sharing the venue with weekend Tea-dances, and in later incarnations, Disco-fever as it swept the gay community in particular, and the general population at large.
The "5-11", Lettro's, The Milkbar, The Manatee, The Barn, Crispins', The Tool-box, and a host of others all shared the spot-light in their time and place with The Gogue Inn and The Rock Pile, with these latter two, and The Club Manatee, being the only unlicensed establishments of the bunch, and the places most likely for the youngest of (non-trade) gays to be found.
At one and the same time, The Club Riverboat and The Purple Onion in Yorkville, having both morphed into something akin a folksy bluesy kind of places, from their earlier 1940's and 50's "Beat" incarnations, were doing a brisk gay business, with a clientele as diverse as the community that surrounded them. The sixties were upon us, and the young (quickly becoming the Torontonian variant of the "Flower-child") flocked to where the drugs were (a hit of acid that would put you away for three-weeks, if you returned ever at all, could be had for 25-cents), and action was with music and dancing and partying going steady from dusk until dawn seven days-a-week, and you just know that gays were lured like bears to honey.
All manner of business sprung up, doss-houses abounded, and the "Submarine Sandwich" was born to cheaply feed the clamouring, under-nurished and starving throngs.
Yorkville had "arrived" and taken off, and with it came activism and marches, and all manner of protest; not the least of these being for gay-rights; and the locals didn't like any of it one bit, which prompted more protests and more marches, and on, and on, and on.
In the midst of all this were the Bath-houses (the "Tubs"), and a fixture of gay life for many, and for the straight and not-so-straight a-like who simply wanted to get their rocks off; and the Police who were ever so vigilant in their duty, rigorously rounding up patrons at every opportunity; but, not limited to strictly the bath-houses either; the tea-rooms which abounded the down-town core, and the emerging underground network created by the newly completed City Hall and its' environs were targeted and at every opportunity, as well transit and subway facilities, department stores, public parks, and literally anywhere else two people could unzip their pants and get readily serviced.
Then came the first changes to the Criminal Code of Canada in March of 1967, and the Police were promptly put on notice: Gay-equality had arrived, and "we" weren't going to endure their harassment any longer, nor were we required to have to ...
[Updated on: Thu, 08 July 2010 12:07]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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The whats:
Probably first, and foremost, would have to have been the pronouncement of my sane good health given to me by my Psychiatrist regarding my homosexuality; with this followed a very close second by the aforementioned changes to the Criminal Code of Canada; both of these being life-affirming events in that of mine, and that of my family; with too, the latter likely forever having changed (for the better) the landscape of families throughout all of a Canada, as we then knew it, and would in time prove to be perhaps the greatest catalyst for change, and for Canadians in general to embrace diversity to the extent that it grudgingly did back in 1970, and surely paved the way for the capability of celebrating our first "Pride", granting a previously unheard of dignity to all within the gay community.
The Gays of Ottawa, and it's sister organizations in Montréal and Québec City; for whatevr reason, these three groups, each largely Franco-Canadien, were at the forefront of gay causes, championing gay-rights long before it became fashionable, or safe to do so, and would retain that leadership well into the worst of the not yet on the horizon HIV/AIDS crisis.
The Glad Day Bookstore, originally located in and run out of the garage of the teen-aged owner's parent's home, and later above a store-front next door to The Saint Charles Tavern, and much, much, later just above the corner of that bastion of WASP commercialism, Yonge and Bloor Streets, in the heart of Toronto, and no-longer something to be snickered at. Here, all manner of the most delicious sights and sound could be found, not the least of these being the suburban boys who hid behind the magazines and picture-books, all the while soaking up whatever information they could about their emerging sexuality, furtively looking over their shoulders at each and every gust of wind as the front doors opened and closed admitting another questioning soul just like themselves.
"Fantasy Follies" and The Griffin Organization, who in response to the dangers posed by LGBT youth practicing their sport at Hallowe'en, sponsored the first of what would become an annual event for the next decade, held in the roof-top ballroom of the King Edward Sheraton Hotel. You should have seen the faces of the Hotel's patrons, the night of the first event, as the limousines started to arrive, each and everyone of them disgorging an ever increasingly bizarre panoply of gay fabulousness, all of them parading across the lobby to the elevators that would whisk them to the top floor. Too, I could never forget, ever, "Miss Jackie Lorens", from centre stage, belting out that Ronnie Spector standard, "It's so nice to see you all here tonight ... we're hoping you're going to have a real good time", and the entire audience roaring it's approval, thus marshalling in the evening's festivities. How many young lives were touched by the "Follies" likely will never be known, but to the many who were not injured, maimed, or killed, on that sacred night amongst the gays of Toronto, in each of its' subsequent years, pays silent vigil to the generosity of the sponsoring organization and its' benefactors; and surely this laid the foundation for what would later become Toronto's legitimate "Pride" celebrations.
The murder of Emmanuel Jacques, who I happened to know, as did the many wandering souls who inhabited Yonge Street's then "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"; and the disgust, and shame "we" felt at such an event and travesty having occurred right under our noses.
The "horror" of HIV/AIDS, its' stigma, the prejudice displayed by all concerned, the injustices, its' then finality.
Sven Robinson's election as an openly gay Member of Parliament; and the sense that times were really changing; and that anything could become possible regardless one's sexuality.
The Department of Defense lifting the ban on openly LGBT persons from serving in the Canadian Forces.
The Supreme Court of Canada, exercising the "Supremacy Clause" of the Canada Act, and its' landmark ruling that same-sex marriage was constitutionally legal and therefore possible in all of Canada.
"Pride" simply oozed from my pores with each and every one of these milestones in the lives of all Torontonians and Canadians, and I likely would have danced in the streets in celebration had I been able, and were I to have had the fellowship of those closest to me to join in; but, sadly both of my parents had quietly, and peacefully, passed away when the biggest of them, the election of LGBT Members of Parliament, changes in the Armed Forces and in Marriage were to come to pass; and those friends nearest and dearest to me had either expired due to AIDS-related trauma, or the last of them were about to, and I certainly didn't want to celebrate without them because each of them, in their own way had contributed to some degree or another on the outcome of, and impact, these events, just by their having been proud, and had had the strength and the courage of their convictions to live their lives openly, and freely, and gayly.
Warren C. E. Austin
The Gay Deceiver
Toronto, Canada
[Updated on: Thu, 08 July 2010 13:32]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13750
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Well said.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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ray2x
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Really getting into it |
Location: USA
Registered: April 2009
Messages: 429
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Pride never ends. I discovered this late in life.
Raymundo
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Even though Pride Month is over, remember why we need it! 
Re: Even though Pride Month is over... In answer. 
