Last weekend was Gay Pride in San Francisco. Now, I know that they have Gay Pride celebrations in other cities, but Pride was born here in my neck of the woods — and yet, I’ve never been there to celebrate. So this year, I lost my Gay Pride virginity. Matt, Siena and I showed up for the Gay Pride festival at the Civic Center, the Dyke March at Dolores Park, and the Gay Pride parade down Market Street.
I probably grew up like many of you when it comes to all things homosexual. I was raised to think that homosexuality was a sin and that gays could be reformed, if only they accepted Jesus Christ as their personal lord and savior. So when one of my dear friends in college informed me that she couldn’t hang out with me any more because she was secretly in the closet and madly in love with me, it totally freaked me out.
But I’ve evolved since then. Half of my best friends are gay, and many of my patients are lesbians and post sex-change transsexuals. These people are some of the Pinkest people I know. They OWN who they are, even when it means being judged by their families, their employers, their friends, and society at large. I think it takes so much courage to live out loud (and really let your freak flag fly!).
Way out of the closet
We were staying at a friend’s house in the Castro, where the rainbow flags fly high from most of the neighbors’ houses and the party was rocking right down the street, and where the hot, buff security guards wore thigh-high striped tights and pink tutus. Lady Gaga blared from loudspeakers and people came way out of the closet. T-shirts read “Can’t Think Straight” and “I Can See Queerly Now” and (this one made me smile) “I LOVE PINK.”