By Kelsey Gledhill
I’ll be honest—I’m a black sheep when it comes to being queer. My semi-small town roots, “traditional” upbringing (whatever that really means), and just above average socioeconomic lifestyle primed me for a more straight-laced, conventional future. However, I didn’t follow such a planned path, and in fact, took a “road less traveled,” as my mom likes to call it. My need for creative interaction coupled with a craving for something more than hometown gossip, catapulted me on exciting journeys to Austin, Los Angeles, Europe, and beyond. But even after distancing myself from the orthodox ideals that fervently dominate the South, ultimately, I’m still a moderate with a right lean limp.
Because of my background doused in conservatism, Pride was and still is somewhat of a foreign concept to me. I never imagined taking a liking to its theatrics, provocative nature, and pure eccentricity. I’m the oldest of the standard two-child—one boy, one girl—household from small town, USA, whose only interaction with a gay person was with my short-haired, wind suit-wearing female softball coach (can I get an amen for stereotypes?). And if I thought Coach Johnson’s hair and wardrobe style was off-putting, then having condoms land at my feet while seeing guys dressed as adult babies, girls in glittery rainbow pasties, and half-naked, rock-hard (and some not-so-rock-hard) bodies prance around, would be downright insanity.
And at first, it was. Instinctively, my modesty was offended and I saw such behavior as disrespectful, thinking, “Who’d ever take us seriously like this?” Then I battled with how I fit into all of it. “This is weird…embarrassing…awkward…and not me.” My thoughts went on and on.
I had failed to see Pride for what it truly is—honest self-expression, celebration, and emancipation from the confines of what society deems “normal.” But what the hell is normal anyway? Once I realized that only I could define my personal normal, and no one else’s normal needed to look like mine, I was freed from the constraints of my previous perspective.
The beauty of Pride is that anything goes. We’re free to bask in the joy of our identity. Now, am I brave enough to walk around in assless chaps and nipple pasties? No. I don’t want to be that free (and I’d rather not have awkward tan lines), but can I see how it’d be liberating? You bet your ass! It doesn’t matter what you look like, who you love, or what side of the aisle you’re on—it’s about celebrating our personal journeys, our individualism, and our community as a whole, however we see fit.
Community and unity amongst us all—including a slightly right-leaning moderate like me—is where it’s at. We’re a team working together toward the greater good, and if we can do it while having a great time—and possibly ruffling a few feathers—you can bet your bottom dollar we will. Happy Pride!
