Ten Thousand Proud Elephants :: Personal Narrative Homosexuality Essays

Ten Thousand Proud Elephants I wore a dress to the gay pride parade this year. It’s a grand parade, fun filled with hundreds of stories like this, and how people go there looking for voice and they scream so loud for it that they come home voiceless. I wore my voice in the threads of a dress. I’m not gay but these are the bravest, most respectable people I’ve ever seen, and I wore a dress for hope that people feel safe to be people. The day began with a beer breakfast morning. My lover, Stephanie and I walked our dog, bleu (whom we think is secretly gay), and then came home to countless phone calls from friends planning to get together, all of them recognizing that the reason they were doing so was because they had dreamt the night before that people in the world started to make plans to get together. Stephanie lent me the dress and we started out the door hand in hand, man in drag, and the day rolled on like the curve of a rainbow. Walking through Chicago was frightening, but the very thought gave even more purpose to the day so I walked a little prouder. Stephanie showed no fear and I look back at a very beautiful couple. We were met outside of jock-ville u.s.a., Wrigley field, by a bunch of cross dressing, wig wearing, loudly free with passion like jack hammers for hearts†¦homosexuals. We follow them to the beginning of the parade. One of the first things you see at the parade is people drinking beer on the streets in front of the cops who are there for "protection." Another thing you might see is those same cops also drinking beer. Soon nudity, free-wielding like breasts and butts were newspapers†¦Street Wise! and fancy free, is fleshed before you, and every once in a while a flash of seriousness that is lying under the covers of freedom for fun like a body awake at night, rears it’s fancy face. An organization called PFLAG (parents of gays and lesbians) gathered to march, holding signs proclaiming that they are "†¦proud of my gay son!" and "I love my lesbian daughter." I started crying. Following this crowd a group of Chicago’s gay cops walked by, and that just about sold the crowed a kleenex for every wave of those brave peoples hand.