In our family, Pride is a holiday... a weekend celebration packed with good times and, hopefully, memories that will last longer than the balloons and temporary tattoos. Pride is a time to dance and sing loudly. It is a time for taking candy from smiling strangers and having your face painted. It is a time for playing games and winning prizes, for eating snow cones and lying around in the shade. It is a time for fabulous costumes, each one an invitation to stare in wonder. It is a chance to be among people just like you and yet nothing like you and to spend lots of time with people you love. Pride is a time for riding your scooter in the street and blowing a whistle with no one hushing you. It is a time for marching down crowded city streets while happy people cheer you on.
In the waning moments of the parade, Miguel looked at me and asked, "Is Pride a time when we can break all the rules?" I looked around at the drag queens walking with politicians, at the men in leather following church banners and tried to think of a simple answer to the question. I held his little sun-kissed body in my arms and told him that Pride is about freedom. He nodded his head seriously, satisfied with my answer, and turned his attention back to Cheer Dorothy Cheer.
Freedom with flair.