The Gay Pride Parade happened today. It happened without my younger brother or myself in attendance. We apparently discovered our apathy at essentially the same moment. Or maybe apathy is too strong a word. We are both full of pride for the gay, lesbian and transgender community, but we came up a little short trying to figure out how to show it. It would never occur to either of us to promote any sort of hetero pride display, since we are both clever enough to know that it would be in the poorest possible taste and would fall into this category: "Dad, how come there's a Mothers' Day and a Fathers' Day, but no Kids' Day?" We all know the answer don't we? "Because every day is Kids' Day."
I'm not expecting any parades or sales on mattresses, but it did occur to both of us that we had, in our youth, experienced much of the same persecution and shame that is generally associated with growing up gay. Anyone who has ever had to come inside to practice the piano, or took one too many art classes, or sang along with "West Side Story", or wore glasses has endured some of that prejudice. From about fifth grade on, it has little or nothing to do with sexual preference, it has everything to do with being "different."
I know first hand how cruel children can be. Many of them grow up to be cruel adults. Most of that fear and hate never evolves past the age of ten or eleven. I got punched in the arm dozens of times a day during junior high "for flinching" - or probably because I carried a lunch box and played sousaphone in the band. It had nothing to do with liking boys more than girls, or flinching. I just sat there and took it, because I knew that fighting back would make it worse.
Now I'm grown and have a family of my own. Most of the things that made me "different" back then make me "interesting" now. Every so often, I find a scrawled bit of graffiti on the wall at school: "Mister Caven is gay". I get that. It's the worst thing some of these kids can think of to say about me. Okay. At least they didn't call me a band geek.
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