A Friendly Parade

Well, this is my new personal blog, and the most awkward part about blogging is that very first post. So, to just do an icebreaker I am going to share an essay that I wrote last quarter in my English class (that got an 'A' of course :) Here ya go:

A Friendly Parade

Remembering my first time going to the Gay Pride festivities in Piedmont Park will never be hard. Since I had only been in Georgia for a few months, I had just a few friends, no sense of the Atlanta area, and little self-esteem. Not only was I new to Georgia, but I was new to the whole out and proud gay lifestyle. Living in Tennessee for most of my youth, kept me in the dark about what homosexuals really go through on a day-to-day basis. Little did I know that a lesson was going to be taught to me as a result of attending Gay Pride. I learned no matter who you are, where you are from, or what you look like, there is always going to be someone that will not like things about you. However, there will always be a person that will readily stand at your side as a friend.

After about a month of nagging from Adam, who was the only friend that I had at the time, I decided to see first-hand what Gay Pride was all about and be a part of this grandioso festival. Saturday had finally arrived, and it came as no surprise when Adam called me saying, "Sorry dude, I got called into work, so I won't be making it to Pride after all. Make sure to go and have fun without me anyways!" Now I was even more alone than I was in the first place, but finally I dragged myself off the couch and went on without Adam at my side.

After walking a mile away from my parking spot, I sat down under a full and luscious shade tree. This tree happened to be beside the massive iron gate guarding the main entrance to the park. Moments later I heard a commotion coming around the corner. As it drew nearer I saw the people chanting as though they were at a high school pep-rally. The excitement they were showing was not of good intentions, not for me at least. I did not know it then, but this event was going to be the most horrifying and life scarring event in my young adult existence.

There was a group of about twenty or so people expressing their disapproval of my lifestyle. Most were middle aged or older except for the handful of kids that could not have been any more than ten years old. The adults were all wearing t-shirts containing embroidered sayings such as, "God hates gays," "You're going to hell," and "Repent or die." The most disturbing ones were worn by the children and read, "God hates fags!" Trying to contain the sadness at this point was like swallowing a grenade. I could not stop thinking to myself that those kids are our future teachers, politicians, and voters. For a split second, I envisioned a recurrence of the Holocaust in our future, but this time, it would be right here in our backyard.

I was sitting by myself, when suddenly one of the protesters came running in my direction. He started screaming in my face and rambling gibberish that seemed to make no sense or at least it was not any form of English. The man placed his hand on my head, and instantly I figured out that he was trying to perform a ritual that would extract the so-called demons from my soul!

After only a few confused seconds, I began to fear of the man escalating the situation into a physical brawl. Before i knew it, he clenched my arm as though he was using a pair of vice grips. I started to turn and tell the man that even though I respected his opinion, he needed to stop touching me. Little did I know that someone had already beaten me to the punch by grabbing the evangelist's arm the same way that he had grabbed mine. The man, Juanos, explained to the protester that we are all family and need to love each other. Both men began tossing words around like spears in a battle of the Romans. People were beginning to gawk at the two men as they were causing such a spectacle. The protester was not going to have one of "our kind" correcting him, because of course he was so close to God and all. While the protester was yelling the same phrases superfluously, there was no doubting that he was getting nervous with the 100 or so Pride participants gathering around and getting angrier by the second. I was not sure of it at first, but the heated conversation had come to an end with not one shred of resolve on either side. The protester finally gave up to join back with his group, which had already started making its way up the street in order to protest at the other entrance to the park.

Afterwards, Juano walked over to my side and made sure that I was all right since the rosy red cheeks on my face were catching fire from embarrassment. I told him that I was new to the area and did not know many people in the gay community. Juanos explained to me that all 100,000 people in the park that day were my friends for life. After that day, Juanos became one of my close confidants in rough times when I needed someone to talk to about my life's problems.

From then on, I have loved every Pride Festival because I finally understood the meaning behind it. The parade, booths, concerts, and lectures were not just a reason to go out and party, but a reason for the entire "family" to come together as one entity. This allows us a safe haven from slandering, persecution, and freedom from all of our worries, even if only for that one solitary weekend. Since then, I have tried to make as many friends as possible so that, if the situation ever happens to someone else, then I can help them just as Juanos had helped me that day.