My Aversion to Pride

Jason Hanrahan is a wise and thoughtful acquaintance of mine, and a member of Equality Springfield's advisory board. In today's post, Jason shares about his perspective on Pride. This piece first appeared on Jason's website. 

by Jason Hanrahan

I've never been one to participate much in Pride celebrations.  I have used many different reasons since I officially came out to rationalize my aversion to the yearly season of rainbow flags, skin-clad participants and damaged livers.  I make my excuses and plan my events to purposely conflict with the nearby festivals in hope that I can get by one more year without falling into the ‘stereotype’ of being a gay man.

While I have always been aware of Pride’s history and the reason behind the inaugural event (I will let you research that for yourselves), I have always found its current state to be more damaging than helpful to the cause of showing the world that we are ‘normal’.  The internal struggle between whether I was standing up for a good cause or just denying myself at a deeper level has always existed and thus I chose to ignore it altogether.  I tend to do that when I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to confront myself in any real way.

Recently, I have decided that those things that I stand so strongly against, are more than likely the very things I need to confront.  So, I reluctantly let some friends drag me out to the bars in Dayton this year on the Saturday afternoon of Pride.  The first bar we visited was packed and had its usual programming typical of a Saturday evening, just in matinee form.  Although the entertainment was the same and the drinks were being served as any other evening I would spend there, I noticed a palatable difference.  Not only were there families with young children, everyone seemed to have dropped the air of judgement towards each other and the outsiders that only dare show their colors during this yearly reprieve.  While I initially reacted in shock to there being young children watching the drag queens lip-sync on stage, I gradually grew accustomed to their presence and began to open my mind to what was going on. 

We made our way to another club that opened its doors for a special open stage event that afternoon.  This venue usually has one door you can enter through and requires their patrons be over 18 years of age.  Covers tend to more expensive because of the quality of the show and environment.  On this particular afternoon all of their doors were open, staff were outside greeting those who wanted to come in and entry was free.  We walked in, ordered our drinks and sat in front of the stage to watch the performers who signed up to show off their stuff.  Again, I noticed that there were families in the crowd and everyone was enjoying the afternoon watching their friends and relatives perform.

It wasn’t until the very end of the show when the host, Amaya Sexton, opened the stage for a dance break that I realized what Pride means today.  The crowd was hesitant to join her on stage so she had to pull people up to get the dance break started.  I noticed that she went over to a group of deaf individuals and invited a young girl who was autistic up on the platform.  The girl readily agreed and joined Amaya.  Then, a straight couple who were no older than sixteen years old hopped up on the stage.  A few others rallied behind them and when Amaya cued the DJ to start the music.  Once the music started, everyone on that stage fell victim to the rhythm.  Young, old, deaf, autistic, lame and many others were showing off their moves and enjoying their moment in the lights.  

That Saturday was a day for acceptance and love no matter who you were or your background.  There was a sense of community, not defiance.  I was blessed that day.  Blessed by the open arms that the bars extended to families and those young people who may not currently have a support system.  I was blessed by the way everyone was accepting of each other and what they had to offer.

My wish is that we start to treat every day as if it were Pride.