A kind reader wrote me a note asking why I didn’t write about Brooklyn Pride. I was there with my family and my extended gay parent family, it is true.
I guess I didn’t write about it for a good reason: Pride is fun, but no longer the highlight of my year. What I mean is, I am lucky enough to live in a place where hanging out with the gaybies and their folks is not an unusual event.
Recently, as we were planning our summer vacation trip, we had the idea of going to Family Week in Provincetown. It seemed fun, though a little hectic. Upon thinking of it more, I realized that we don’t really need to go to it. Our motive would be to have a nice vacation around a bunch of other gay families. We are always around a bunch of other gay families. So why drive eight hours and pay a grand? Well, maybe when the boys are old enough to understand it, it might be worth the effort.
I remember when Chicory of the late great blog An Accident of Hope posted pictures from the Utah Pride family tent, which she helped organize. It looked like a theme park. There were so many people and so much to do. Our tent was on such a smaller scale. We had some yummy food and an arts and crafts table. Cake made a monster puppet and taped a third eyeball on himself and called himself an “Eyeclops.” We had frisbees. It was great. It was enough. We played on the grass while gay friends from different arenas showed up. The familyo was there. My lovely readers/friends from way uptown surprised me by stopping by with Trucker’s sassy little girlfriend in tow. A bunch of families from that crazy lesbian mom gathering I’d hosted in February showed up. There were also some gay dads there, one of whom claimed that his partner was Angelina Jolie’s stylist — upon googling when I got home, I found that her stylist is a woman, so maybe he was her stylist’s assistant or something. We had a great time.
I guess my point is, I’m happy I live here. I’m happy that blowing bubbles in the park with other gay parents is not just a once-a-year event. I’m really grateful for the folks who set up our little family tent and taped an extra eyeball on my kid; for the drag queens who were performing for about five people on the stage a few hundred feet away; and for the kid-less dykes who played air guitar with Cakie. I’m grateful and proud.