6/2/2011 - Pride season is upon us. . .

Today, on a walk in the intermittent sunshine, I saw rainbow flags flapping against lampposts on Market Street and remembered that Pride season is upon us.

In San Francisco, on the first of June every year, rainbow flags are raised on the city's most famous thoroughfare, from the waterfront to the Castro, heralding the arrival of Gay Pride month, a time to celebrate all things gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, queer, questioning, straight (even), and anything else the community has picked up for inclusion along the way.  From film festivals to guest speakers to fundraisers, June is a good time to be a homosexual in the City.

It all culminates in a seemingly endless parade of floats on the last Sunday of the month, with streams of waving walkers holding banners, underwear-clad muscle guys gyrating on platforms, and bike-riding dykes, all of which terminate at City Hall and are greeted by a massive street fair with vendors, food, and entertainment.  I have lived in San Francisco for four years (almost to the day), was always a stone's throw from the City (including the five years I lived in Davis/Sacramento, where you just would have had to throw very hard), yet I have only been to this event three times, have only watched the parade itself once, and only for 20 minutes or so before I got bored.

Though I like the idea of the parade and the after party and all the ancillary events sprouting throughout the City in the coming weeks, I rarely participate.  Just like in high school, when I was struggling with my sexuality and longing to meet other gay people, I never attended a single Rainbow Pride Club meeting, held after school every week or so.  I just took comfort in knowing that it existed.  As an adult, I feel the same way about Pride.

Truth is, I sometimes find the whole thing to be a little overwhelming with the crowds and hoopla, as well as simultaneously a little underwhelming.  I have apparently adopted the attitudes of those I've known who have lived in the City much longer than I and have attended much more of these types of events: same as it was last year, with the same organizations, the same booths, the same people, same same same. 

But when I stopped and thought more about it today, I realized that while I am simply glad that it happens year after year, people from all over the world flock to San Francisco to witness and be a part of it, truly thankful that such an event could exist.  I often fail to consider that for some, gay pride is an act of rebellion, where a display of rainbow flags, or even one rainbow flag, for that matter, would say, "I am putting myself out there because I am proud of who I am, secure and above your reproach."  For those still fighting for the right to just be gay, participation in a pride event is an act of bravery, a risk to their well-being, their families, their lives, not just an occasion to drink outside and walk around shirtless.

From that perspective, Pride doesn't seem so blasé, and I shouldn't take it for granted.  After all, I, too, am proud to be gay, though I rarely, if ever, put it in those words.  I'm proud to be the kind of gay guy I am, however I may be, and I am grateful to live in a place that embraces it.  To actually take the time and see the rainbow flags brazenly flying in the breeze, to remember what it represents and the people who made it possible, as well as the ones waiting for it to be--no, Pride isn't blasé at all.