From there, has grown an annual march, and a week of education and celebration that has spread to every major city in the country, and to the world. But, I knew nothing of the Stonewall, or of equality when I was a little boy in my small, traditional Southern town. I only knew that I was a misfit, and that misfits were easy targets.
It is not easy for a child to endure the confusing metamorphosis that is puberty. It is made even more difficult by the taunting and bullying that may accompany it. I was teased as a child. I was teased a lot. I was called “the slickster” because my hair wasn’t cool enough, and “sophisticated lady” because I was quiet and effeminate, and a slew of other derogatory terms (sissy, queer, faggot, among others) designed to tear down my self esteem and keep me in my misfit place. I was shoved, threatened, and even beaten up once or twice. There were times when it became so cruel and personal, it seemed unbearable.
I wasn’t alone. It was happening in schools all across the nation, just like mine, to children just like me.
I thought about this as I stood on Sunday, across the street from the legendary Stonewall Inn, watching the Gay Pride Parade. There was an extra electric charge in the air because just a couple of days before, New York had just become the sixth state to allow gay marriage. Couples marched with signs declaring their engagements and people dressed as brides and grooms, danced in the street and posed for photographs.It was magical.
Heritage of Pride 2011
But, what resonates with me most at these events are organizations such as Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) who march with their signs declaring, “I Love My Gay Son/Daughter,” and the organizations who promise to look after and protect the young people, such as the It Gets Better Project and The Trevor Project. These organizations exist because our society still has much to learn, even after all these decades. This year, I was especially thrilled to see a group of proud children wearing t-shirts with slogans such as “Turkey Baster Baby,” marching with their misfit moms and dads.These are the images and messages that give hope to those who are still living a life they believe will never be anything but oppressed. I love knowing that most of the people watching and marching proudly have once felt the sting of being an outsider or a misfit. There is solidarity in coming together, and in there is pride in that solidarity.
Not only are they delivering the statement that they are proud. They are sending a message to those watching that it is okay to be proud. Be proud of what makes you different, because all of us are different in some way. Be proud of the people who have come before you, paving the way to a time that is now more accepting than their own had been. Be proud of where you’ve been, so that you may be proud of where you’re going.
Part of my personal pride lies in reality that I was able to survive that frightening period of childhood that I thought would last forever. One day, I looked in the mirror and realized that I am all the things they said I was. My hair is slick sometimes. I am sophisticated. Sometimes, like in the show I just finished, I am a lady. So what? As I watched the colorful revelry of the Heritage of Pride parade, I thought how fortunate I am to belong to such a dynamic, versatile and resilient population. We are misfits, and we are proud. Today, if a bully walks up to me, I’ll spit in his eye. Well, perhaps I won’t spit. That’s a bit unrefined. But, I will hit back.
Manila Luzon of Rupaul's Drag Race at Heritage of Pride 2011
Still, it saddens me that not all of the misfits are able to share in a Pride celebration. You see, there are many children who do not get to make the journey to adulthood to find that it does get better. They become victims of our bigoted society, often at the hands of other children, like themselves. Being a certain type of person still has such a stigma in some areas that individuals are forced to either live in silence, or suffer the cruel treatment that is born of ignorance. We should be proud of our accomplishments both socially and politically. But, we should not forget that there are still many miles to go, and so many of us to save along the way. So, whether you’re in combat boots, or running shoes, ballerina slippers or six inch sequined high heels, march on brave misfits, march on.
Officer Livingston (NYPD) was there to serve and protect, but quickly became a crowd favorite.
