My First Pride
A healing journey I'm Proud of, from an "accidental" parade with my kids, to marching in D.C. with my husband
Happy Pride!
Those are words I could’ve never imagined saying to anyone.
For years I drove by Oklahoma City’s gayborhood and wondered. At the heart of it, the LGBTQ+ District Hotel is front-and-center along one of our major highways — a haven for queer people, not just in OKC, but for those in surrounding states. As a closeted man, it beckoned me for decades. What would it be like to be among queer people, dancing the night away? But the thought of what would happen if I even went to explore brought me back down to reality.
Would someone see my car, tell the wrong person, and burn my life down to ashes?
Would I be ostracized by my friends and parents?
Would I lose my family and my livelihood?
Those were my fears. After all, I still had no idea who I really was. Sure, I knew I wasn’t exactly straight, but I loved my wife, and was at least attracted to women. So how could I really be gay? Maybe I was bisexual? There was no chance to find out. I got married in college to my high school girlfriend, and built a life together with two kids, two businesses, and a hefty mortgage. I spent my 20s not going out to clubs or having boyfriends, but working my way up business and social ladders, trying to “be someone” — a life I could be proud of…
When I did finally break down at 38 and decide that I could no longer live in the closet, my life did burn to the ground. Looking back, I cannot fathom how I came to the decision to out myself to my wife with those words: “I think I might be gay.” After all, I had never so much as touched another man. How was I so sure? But after the initial dust settled, and I was thrown out of the house one late night, I knew that at least now I could be myself and have the freedom I so desperately needed after so many years of living with a secret I had literally told no one.
Pride was the opposite of that closeted life, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. All I pictured was leather-clad guys in jock straps, marching in a parade, and scantily clad twinks who — while attractive to me — scared me to death. What did I have in common with what I thought this community was all about? The truth is I had no idea what the LGBTQ+ community was about, or how diverse it truly is. All I knew had been shaped by the conservative hetero community I had made my life in:
“Why do they need a parade?”
“What about straight Pride?”
“I don’t care about what happens in your bedroom, but you shouldn’t broadcast it to the world!”
My first Pride was an accident.
One beautiful June day, I — along with my wife and two kids — decided to take a drive in our little classic convertible, headed down Classen Boulevard in OKC, towards downtown. Ice cream sounded like a good idea, so I turned on 39th Street, through the heart of the gayborhood to our local dairy chain, Braum’s. But all of sudden, as we came over a hill, we found ourselves near the end of the Pride parade. Everyone thought we were just another classic convertible carrying a drag queen or a local dignitary, but upon second glance, they were probably baffled to see what looked like a heterosexual nuclear family. The kids had fun waving to everyone, though.
A couple of years later, not publicly out yet, and in the middle of the fallout from my disclosure to my wife that I wasn’t exactly straight, I found myself at that same Braum’s, meeting a man who was unknowingly eating an ice cream cone in what I thought a suggestive way. I had found Michael online, when I searched for “support group for gay men married to women.” He suggested we meet at a chill gay pub on the 39th Street strip, but again, I was terrified to set foot there. I had never been to a gay bar, or hung out with almost any gay men. So the Braum’s across the street would be as close to the gayborhood as I would get, because at least I could explain away someone seeing my car there.
Gay men weren’t scary. I didn’t have to have abs, a perfect skin care regimen, or fashionable clothes to find a date. I could just be myself.
As I got to know Michael, and found out we shared many experiences, we got to be close friends, and he gradually introduced me to this community I had for so long feared and thought I didn’t belong. I met more people from every part of the LGBTQ+ spectrum, and realized it was so different than what I had imagined. Gay men weren’t scary. I didn’t have to have abs, a perfect skin care regimen, or fashionable clothes to find a date. I could just be myself.
After a year or so, it finally felt right to attend my first Pride, now that I finally felt kinda proud. Proud to have had the guts to face who I really was, Proud of my former years, not regretting my decision to try out a “traditional” life. Proud of getting to be a good dad to my kids, and Proud to be open to talk about all of it without shame.
My oldest was 11 then; very mature, and very happy for me to be myself. Selling the idea of Pride to that kid was easy. Hazel, my youngest, was the wild card. She was seven, and I wasn’t sure if she still grasped the concept of having a queer father, or what the LGBTQ+ community is. So I sat her down and explained what being queer was about, and that we might go to a parade celebrating being proud of who you are, as a show of Pride to a world that could be openly hostile. It was a bit above her level, but the moment I mentioned rainbows, her eyes lit up and the excitement came spilling out of her. She rushed to her closet, grabbed her rainbow dress that she dearly loved, and was ready to go see a parade full of rainbows. It was so pure.
Next came the negotiation with my ex, who was less than enthusiastic to say the least. After all, she had literally told me to “stop trying to make the kids gay,” and that Pride was not appropriate for children. After a heated back and forth, I finally dug in and told her that since it was held during my weekly time with the kids, we would be going.
When the day came, it coincided with a nearby car show, and we decided to attend both. As that was concluding, my car buddies started talking about maybe a drive to a brewery after, but I nervously told them we had other plans, admitting that we were going to the Pride parade nearby. But their response surprised me. No snide comments, even in jest, just support. One of my straight friends said “Oh that’s today? I might join you.”
As we all walked together to find a shady spot, my friend Dean saw someone along the way, started chatting, and told us to go ahead. We continued to walk down the street when we heard a little girl calling out “Hazel! Hazel!” My kiddo turned around to find one of her classmates, excited to see a friend. I was introduced to her moms, who invited the three of us to join them.
As I watched Hazel jumping for joy, dressed head to toe in rainbow, waving a Pride flag next to her friend, I realized that WE belonged. No matter how we all got to this place, we were all proud to be there next to our family and friends, showing up to demonstrate that family is made up of all kinds of people — some we are related to, some are found family. The common denominators are mutual love and dedication to each other. I looked over at my oldest, and they gave me a warm, knowing look, and I gave them a big hug back.
I knew the next few years were going to be hard, but that moment gave me hope that somehow, some day, it will be okay.
While my kids haven’t got to go to another Pride with me, I have hope one day it happens again. Maybe even with their kids.
But now, after attending so many Pride celebrations all over the world, from the Ozarks to Australia, standing proudly next to the most amazing man I could’ve imagined, I know exactly what Pride is about.
Last year, Matt and I accidentally found ourselves leading the parade for WorldPride in D.C., walking right towards our nation’s Capitol, holding a sign that said, “We won’t go back.” And I won’t. I couldn’t if I tried.
I finally know what it’s like to be loved for exactly who I am, to be respected for who we are as a couple, and seen as “normal” alongside straight people. I finally know that love is simply love, and if someone can’t understand that, then I need to be outspoken for the Pride I have for who I am, displaying a direct protest to that disrespect, or even downright hate. We cannot be silent, hiding in the shadows, hoping it will just go away.
Pride is more important now than ever. So, whether you’re newly out or in the closet, and whether you’re a beautiful queer person or a homophobe who still needs to learn, I want to wish all a heartfelt and happy Pride!
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