I skipped the Pride Parade today for the first time since moving here. Not that I’ve ever stayed for the full parade: at around three hours minimum, my ancient knees just can’t take it. But I didn’t even try to catch any of it this year. Why?
Parades are for the young. In the case of the Pride Parade, the parade is for young gay men. Oh, I would guess the audience for the parade these days is close to half straight--this is a very popular parade; but you know what I mean--still young, straight or gay. Even though there are floats for such organizations as Prime Timers, the majority of the parade is for the young: the music, the spectators, and the young men on the floats. I am not young, and I do not feel comfortable around young gay men anymore. Not that they see me: I have become the Old Invisible.
Which is ironic, as these young gay men would not be able to be so out and proud were it not for those of us of a certain age coming first. I remember when gay bars were raided and bartenders’ and customers’ names, addresses, and places of employment were published in the paper. Many people lost their jobs because of a bar raid. I worked as a bartender, starting in gay clubs before moving to straight supper clubs, and it was sheer luck, and, in one case, being tipped off in advance, that kept me out of jail and off that list. My teaching career would have been ruined instantly. A friend of mine was a passenger in a car with his partner; he leaned over and kissed his partner on the cheek not realizing there was a cop behind them. They were pulled over and arrested; my friend was asked to leave the art department of the university where he was a student. The art department asked him to leave? For being gay?
We helped change the world, some by protesting, others, like myself, by trying to teach tolerance and never permitting bullying or abusive language in my class, by not hiding the fact that Walt Whitman was gay (my college professor insisted that the Good Gray Poet was just friendly to men), and by telling students that Allen Ginsberg and Adrien Rich, both included in high school anthologies that didn’t mention their being gay, were, in fact, out and openly gay. No protest signs for me, but I did my part, I think.
I hope that some of these young people understand what went before. But I have my doubts. It’s too easy to let the past slip away, and when I was young I was just as guilty. Now, I am the past, I fear, and I am slipping away also. At least when it comes to Pride parades and young men and popular music and . . .
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Note: I just caught the evening news: 850,000 people were in attendance today! And as always the governor walked the entire length of the parade as did the mayor.
Parades are for the young. In the case of the Pride Parade, the parade is for young gay men. Oh, I would guess the audience for the parade these days is close to half straight--this is a very popular parade; but you know what I mean--still young, straight or gay. Even though there are floats for such organizations as Prime Timers, the majority of the parade is for the young: the music, the spectators, and the young men on the floats. I am not young, and I do not feel comfortable around young gay men anymore. Not that they see me: I have become the Old Invisible.
Which is ironic, as these young gay men would not be able to be so out and proud were it not for those of us of a certain age coming first. I remember when gay bars were raided and bartenders’ and customers’ names, addresses, and places of employment were published in the paper. Many people lost their jobs because of a bar raid. I worked as a bartender, starting in gay clubs before moving to straight supper clubs, and it was sheer luck, and, in one case, being tipped off in advance, that kept me out of jail and off that list. My teaching career would have been ruined instantly. A friend of mine was a passenger in a car with his partner; he leaned over and kissed his partner on the cheek not realizing there was a cop behind them. They were pulled over and arrested; my friend was asked to leave the art department of the university where he was a student. The art department asked him to leave? For being gay?
We helped change the world, some by protesting, others, like myself, by trying to teach tolerance and never permitting bullying or abusive language in my class, by not hiding the fact that Walt Whitman was gay (my college professor insisted that the Good Gray Poet was just friendly to men), and by telling students that Allen Ginsberg and Adrien Rich, both included in high school anthologies that didn’t mention their being gay, were, in fact, out and openly gay. No protest signs for me, but I did my part, I think.
I hope that some of these young people understand what went before. But I have my doubts. It’s too easy to let the past slip away, and when I was young I was just as guilty. Now, I am the past, I fear, and I am slipping away also. At least when it comes to Pride parades and young men and popular music and . . .
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Note: I just caught the evening news: 850,000 people were in attendance today! And as always the governor walked the entire length of the parade as did the mayor.
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